Arthur Aldington was there, but Cecil Jones was not. And the time passed much as it had passed on the occasion of Gerard’s last visit until quite late in the evening, when suddenly, while Gerard was sitting in the music-room, with Arthur, listening to Cora’s exquisite singing, a man’s voice rang out through the adjoining room, and that in which they were, from the room devoted to card-playing, which was the furthest away of all. “I say that you’re not playing fair! I say that I’ve been cheated!” It was the voice of Sir William Gurdon, and upon the last word they all heard his fist come down with a loud crash upon the table. CHAPTER XIX Upon Gerard the sounds of the disturbance came with a curious sense of something long expected having come to pass. He scarcely felt so much as a slight shock of surprise. Being, therefore, in a condition to notice things, he looked round him at the various faces in the music-room, and noted the effect the noise had upon his companions. Cora, who was singing at the piano to her own accompaniment, stopped short with a low cry, and covered her face with her hands. Arthur who was standing beside her, grew red and indignant, and called Sir William by several uncomplimentary names. Lady Sylvia and Delia, who were talking on a sofa, looked at each other in horror, and rose, as if uncertain what to do. Two men whom Gerard had previously seen at the Priory, and who were staying in the music-room to listen to Cora’s singing in the intervals of poker, muttered something to each other in an undertone, and promptly went to the scene of the disturbance. Gerard, having noticed these things, and hearing that the disturbance in the card-room was growing louder instead of calming down, slipped out of the room and across the next, and looked in at the third, where the unpleasant scene was taking place. As he passed through the intermediate room, he noticed that Mrs. Van Santen, with her poor old face blanched with horror, was sitting alone bolt upright in a corner, clasping her hands and apparently too much alarmed to speak or to move. In the card-room itself all was confusion. Sir William Gurdon, flushed, excited, scarcely intelligible was glaring across the card-table at Denver Van Santen, who had risen, like all the rest of the players, and who was standing with his arms folded and with a proud look of indignation on his handsome face, surrounded by men who were all speaking at once, some addressing one of the disputants, and some the other, and all failing in making themselves distinctly heard. Harry Van Santen, who was the coolest man in the room, was the first person to make himself clearly heard. Standing on the outskirts of the crowd, he cried, in a thin, sharp, penetrating voice-- “Give him a chance. Make yourself understood, Sir William, if you’re sober enough.”