"Connie, in Heaven's name, what induced you to come in?"
"Come in? I didn't come in. Do you think that I wanted to come and entertain your jolly friends? I was going upstairs when that young idiot found me. Then I had to come. But at least I played up. You must own that. I saved your party for you."
"Oh, yes. You played up." Mrs. Hammond came forward and sat down, crouching over the dying fire, a tired old woman.
"Well," demanded Connie, "now that I am here, what are you going to do with me?"
"We must tell your father," said Mrs. Hammond. "We shall have to tell your father." She spoke as though in this telling lay some unendurable agony. Her voice was bitter with defeat. "Yes," she repeated softly. "We must tell him."
"Oh, tell as many people as you like. Tell Muriel. Tell her now. She'll have to know some time. I'd lie willingly, only I can't. I can't think of a good enough story. You've always been so much better at that sort of thing than the rest of us."
Mrs. Hammond did not speak, but sat, crouching forward, sliding a pearl and ruby ring up and down her finger.
"Why don't you tell her?" jeered Connie. "You do so hate doing anything disagreeable, don't you? Very well, then I will. Muriel, you may be interested to hear that I have left Thraile because I have been dismissed. And I have been dismissed because I am going to have a baby, and the baby's father is Mr. Ben Todd, and I do not happen to be Mrs. Todd. And the worthy Ben's respectable parents seem to object to my staying in the house. Well? . . . Don't look at me like that!" Her voice rose to a scream.
Muriel felt her way to a chair and sat down.
"Well?" persisted Connie. "Well?"