She continued to count, while in the methodic unvarying note of her voice there was a rasping reiteration that began to affect the company. A slight gasping breath, uncontrollable, almost on the verge of hysterics, was heard, and a man nervously clearing his throat.
“Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven—”
Still nothing had happened. Mrs. Kildair did not vary her measure the slightest, only the sound became more metallic.
“Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine and seventy—”
Some one had sighed.
“Seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six, seventy-seven—”
All at once, clear, unmistakable, on the resounding plane of the table was heard a slight metallic note.
“The ring!”
It was Maude Lille’s quick voice that had spoken. Mrs. Kildair continued to count.
“Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one—”