Hyacinth listened anxiously, waiting for the next explosion, and experienced very great relief when the door opened and Augusta Goold walked in. Unlike Mary O’Dwyer, she was entirely mistress of herself. Her cheeks were not a shade paler than usual, nor her hand at all less cool and firm. She stretched herself, after her usual fashion, in the largest available chair and lit a cigarette. ‘You look excited, my dear Mary,’ she said--‘a little overexcited, perhaps. Have you had tea? No? Perhaps you will be so kind as to ring the bell, Mr. Conneally.’ Mary O’Dwyer repeated the information she had given Hyacinth about her sleepless night, and complimented Augusta Goold on her nerve. ‘As for poor little me,’ she went on, ‘I’m like a--like a--you remember the kind of thing, don’t you?--like a--I’m not sure if I know the name of the thing myself.’ She relapsed into a weak giggle, and Hyacinth stooped for the bottle of smelling-salts, which had rolled under the sofa. Augusta Goold was much less sympathetic. She fixed her with a strong stare of amazement and disgust. Apparently this treatment was the right one, for the giggling stopped almost immediately. ‘I see you have got some sticking-plaster on your face, Mr. Conneally,’ she said, when Mary O’Dwyer had quieted down. ‘Yes,’ said Hyacinth, ‘and a good-sized bump behind my ear.’ ‘I suppose this business will be very awkward for you in college. Will they turn you out?’ ‘I’m sure they will if they find out that I threw that stone at Shea.’ ‘You made a very good shot,’ said Augusta, smiling at the recollection. ‘But how on earth did you come to have a stone that size in the hall with you?’ Hyacinth told the story of the man who had been felled by the chair and his murderous bequest. ‘That’s the proper spirit,’ said Augusta. ‘I admire that man, and he couldn’t have passed his stone on to better hands than yours. Shea went down as if he had been shot. I was afraid of my life he would clutch at my skirts as he fell or squirm up against me after he was down. But he lay quite still. By the way, Mary, I suppose your dress was ruined?’ Mary O’Dwyer was quite subdued. ‘It was torn,’ she said meekly enough. ‘Have you another one?’ ‘Of course I have. I’ve three others, besides some old ones.’ ‘Well, then, you’d better go and put on one of them. An old one will do. It’s disgusting to see a woman slopping about in a dressing-gown at this time of day. I’ll have tea ready when you come back.’ Miss O’Dwyer obeyed sulkily. She wished very much that Augusta Goold had stopped at home. It would have been a great deal pleasanter to have gone on practising hysterics with Hyacinth as a sympathetic spectator. When the door was shut Augusta Goold turned to Hyacinth again.