Bernald pressed him for farther details. “Does Winterman seem to mind much? Did you hear his version?” “His version?” “I mean what he said to Howland.” “Why no. What the deuce was there for him to say?” “What indeed? I think I’ll take him home,” said Bernald gaily. He turned away to join the circle from which, a few minutes before, Pellerin’s eyes had vainly and enigmatically signalled to him; but the circle had dispersed, and Pellerin himself was not in sight. Bernald, looking about him, saw that during his brief aside with Wade the party had passed into the final phase of dissolution. People still delayed, in diminishing groups, but the current had set toward the doors, and every moment or two it bore away a few more lingerers. Bernald, from his post, commanded the clearing perspective of the two drawing-rooms, and a rapid survey of their length sufficed to assure him that Pellerin was not in either. Taking leave of Wade, the young man made his way back to the drawing-room, where only a few hardened feasters remained, and then passed on to the library which had been the scene of the late momentous colloquy. But the library too was empty, and drifting back uncertainly to the inner drawing-room Bernald found Mrs. Beecher Bain domestically putting out the wax candles on the mantel-piece. “Dear Mr. Bernald! Do sit down and have a little chat. What a wonderful privilege it has been! I don’t know when I’ve had such an intense impression.” She made way for him, hospitably, in a corner of the sofa to which she had sunk; and he echoed her vaguely: “You _were_ impressed, then?” “I can’t express to you how it affected me! As Alice said, it was a resurrection--it was as if John Pellerin were actually here in the room with us!” Bernald turned on her with a half-audible gasp. “You felt that, dear Mrs. Bain?” “We all felt it--every one of us! I don’t wonder the Greeks--it _was_ the Greeks?--regarded eloquence as a supernatural power. As Alice says, when one looked at Howland Wade one understood what they meant by the Afflatus.” Bernald rose and held out his hand. “Oh, I see--it was Howland who made you feel as if Pellerin were in the room? And he made Miss Fosdick feel so too?” “Why, of course. But why are you rushing off?” “Because I must hunt up my friend, who’s not used to such late hours.” “Your friend?” Mrs. Bain had to collect her thoughts. “Oh, Mr. Winterman, you mean? But he’s gone already.” “Gone?” Bernald exclaimed, with an odd twinge of foreboding. Remembering Pellerin’s signal across the crowd, he reproached himself for not having answered it more promptly. Yet it was certainly strange that his friend should have left the house without him. “Are you quite sure?” he asked, with a startled glance at the clock. “Oh, perfectly. He went half an hour ago. But you needn’t hurry home on his account, for Alice Fosdick carried him off with her. I saw them leave together.” “Carried him off? She took him home with her, you mean?”