He acted with great decision and literally _dashed_ upstairs. I heard the door gently closing as Will fitted his key into the lock... My dear, I am too old for excitements of this kind; my heart was _beating_; I had no idea what to say if they asked me why a taxi was standing there unattended. Oh, and I felt _sure_ Phyllida would say she had left her work or her book in the drawing-room... It was agony! I _could_ not persuade them to go to bed. First of all they wanted to know why _I_ was still up, then they must needs tell me about their party, then Phyllida wanted a cigarette, then Will wanted to give her some soda-water. One false start after another... When at _last_ I thought I had set them moving, Phyllida sat down again and said: "Will dear, see if there are any letters for me, there's an angel." Do you know, I was so much _obsessed_ by the thought of that man in the drawing-room that I was _blind_ to everything else. As my boy went into the hall, I felt that I had _seen_ a change without noticing it, if you understand me. Will was transformed, elated ... and there was a new gentleness about Phyllida. When he brought the letters to her, I could see that he pressed her hand; and she sighed wistfully and then smiled. _Now_ I could understand why they complained that the dance was so crowded, no room to sit, impossible even to talk... "Read those upstairs, dear Phyllida," I begged. And I took her arm and led her up, past that terrifying drawing-room, into safety. Will ... When I returned, he wanted to talk; but I implored him to go up and let me come to him in a moment. He was curious, mystified ... but at least he could not doubt my earnestness. Then at last I released my prisoner and hurried him through the hall and into the street. When I had shut the door I leaned against it, panting. I couldn't walk, I could hardly stand... "And now, Will?," I said, when I was able to drag myself upstairs.