Then she crossed the floor, listened for a moment intently at the door, and slipped out. A moment or two later one’s ears, if they had been listening, would have heard the front door shut. Clare Heywood had escaped. A little while later Mrs. Heywood, her mother-in-law, came into the room again and went over to the piano to open it and arrange the music. “I do hope Clare is getting dressed,” she said, speaking to herself. Then Herbert came in, carrying a tray with decanter and glasses. “Isn’t Clare ready yet?” he asked. “No, dear. She won’t be long.” “I can’t find the corkscrew,” said Herbert, searching round for it, but failing to discover its whereabouts. “Isn’t it in the kitchen, dear?” asked Mrs. Heywood. “Not unless Mollie has swallowed it. It’s just the sort of thing she would do--out of sheer spite.” “Didn’t you use it the other day to open a tin of sardines?” asked the old lady, cudgelling her brains. “Did I?” said Herbert. “Oh, Lord, yes! I left it in the bathroom.” He went out of the room to find it. Mrs. Heywood crossed over to the fire and swept up the grate. “Clare is a very long time to-night,” she said. Then Mollie came in carrying a tray with some plates of sandwiches. One of her fingers was tied up with a rag. “It’s a good job the guests is late to-night,” she remarked. “Yes, we are all very behind-hand,” said Mrs. Heywood. Mollie dumped down the tray and gave vent to a little of her impertinent philosophy: “I’ll never give an At Home when I’m married. Blest if I do. Social ‘ipocrisy, I call them.” Mrs. Heywood rebuked her sharply: “We don’t want your opinion, Mollie, thank you.” “I suppose I can _have_ a few opinions, although I _am_ in service,” said Mollie. “There’s plenty of time for thought even in the kitchen of a flat like this. I wonder domestic servants don’t write novels. My word, what a revelation it would be! I’ve a good mind to write one of them serials in the _Daily Mail_.” “If I have any more of your impudence, Mollie----” “It’s not impudence,” said Mollie. “It’s aspirations.” The girl was silent when her master came into the room with the corkscrew. “It wasn’t in the bathroom,” he explained. “I remember now, I used it for cleaning out my pipe.” “I could have told you that a long time ago, sir,” said Mollie. “Well, why the dickens didn’t you?” asked Herbert. “You never asked me, sir.” Mollie retired with the air of having scored a point. “Well, as long as you’ve found it, dear,” said Mrs. Heywood. “Unfortunately, I broke the point. However, I daresay I can make it do.” He pulled one of the corks out of the whisky bottle and filled the decanter. “Hasn’t Clare finished dressing yet?” he said presently. “What on earth is she doing?” “I expect she wants her blouse done up at the back,” said Mrs. Heywood. Herbert jerked up his head. “And then she complains because I can’t tie my own tie I Just like women.” He drew out another cork rather violently and said: