He paused, embarrassed, reluctant to go on, for in the brightly lighted doorway of the living-room a woman had appeared, small, with an extraordinary grace of figure, and a face which, in a trivial, light-hearted way, impressed him as rarely beautiful. She wore evening dress. A wrap was draped across her arm. Her resemblance to Manford established her identity beyond debate. She glanced at Garth with an amused curiosity quite at variance with her husband's emotion. She smiled tolerantly.
"Quite like a bearer of evil tidings in a play, but even they don't come upstairs, unannounced."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Black," Garth said apologetically. "Your man drew the long bow. I couldn't be put off."
But the smiling, graceful figure was a defence, almost incontestable. Nothing short of Nora's danger could have armed him to overcome it. He would, however, spare Black's wife as far as possible.
"I wanted to speak to you, Mr. Black, privately."
He turned back to the woman.
"You see I come from your brother, the head of the Society for Social Justice."
"What can he want at this time of night?" she said.
She advanced to the head of the staircase.
"It makes no difference, John. You weren't coming anyway. I'll tell Aunt Sarah why—business!"