The boys shouted. Somebody began to sing, "For He's a jolly good fellow." Muriel went back to the drawing-room. Her mother still stood on the steps. Mr. Hammond had gone to lock up the garage.
Connie stood in her tweed coat and skirt still by the fire-place, kicking a mouldering log with her mud-splashed boot. Her face was turned aside from Muriel, but her whole figure drooped with weariness.
"Connie, has something happened?"
"You'd better ask Mother," replied Connie's muffled voice.
Muriel looked round at the desolation of the disordered room, the cigarette ash spilled upon the carpet, the scattered sheets of music, the cushions overturned. Outside she could hear the hum of the motor, the call of last farewells, and her mother's answering "So glad that you were able to come."
Connie lifted her head to listen, and Muriel saw then that she had been crying.
"Oh, Connie," she began.
Mrs. Hammond came into the room and shut the door behind her.
Connie stood looking at her. "A top-hole evening, Mother, was it? So glad that they were able to come."
Then the storm broke.