"The friendly cloak of night is apt to trip one up," Gifford added.
As he spoke the words there came a startling little cry from Miss Tredworth accompanied by the crash and clatter of falling crockery. Gifford's remark had been made with his eyes fixed on his friend's fiancée, to whom at that moment Miss Morriston was handing the refilled cup of tea. A hand of each girl was upon the saucer as the words were uttered; by whose fault it was let fall it was impossible to say. But the slight cry of dismay had come from Miss Tredworth.
"Oh, I am so sorry," she exclaimed, colouring with vexation. "How stupid and clumsy of me. Your lovely china."
"It was my fault," Edith Morriston protested, her clear-cut face showing no trace of annoyance. "I thought you had hold of the cup, and I let it go too soon. Ring the bell, will you, Dick."
"Please don't distress yourself, Miss Tredworth," Mr. Morriston entreated her as he crossed to the bell. "I'm sure it was not your fault."
"Was that a quotation, Mr. Gifford?" Miss Morriston asked, clearly with the object of dismissing the unfortunate episode.
"My remark about the cloak of night?" he replied. "Perhaps. I seem to have heard something like it somewhere."
And as he spoke he glanced curiously at Miss Tredworth.