“Well, Mollie, is your mistress quite well?” Herbert grasped his mother’s arm and whispered to her excitedly: “Mother, we must hide it from them.” “Yes,” said Mrs. Heywood. “If the Atkinson Browns suspect anything it will be all over the neighborhood.” Herbert had a look of anguish in his eyes. “Good Heavens, yes. My reputation will be ruined.” Once again they heard Mr. Atkinson Brown’s voice in the hall. “I see we are the first to arrive,” he said in a loud, cheery tone. “Mother,” whispered Herbert, “we must keep up appearances, at all costs.” “I’ll try to, darling,” said Mrs. Heywood, clasping his arm for a moment. Herbert made a desperate effort to be hopeful. “Clare is sure to be back in a few minutes. We’re frightening ourselves for nothing.... I shall have something to say to her to-night when the guests are gone.” Mrs. Heywood’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked at her son as though she knew that Clare would never come back. “My poor boy!” she said. “Play the game, mother,” said Herbert. “For Heaven’s sake play the game.” He had no sooner whispered these words than Mr. and Mrs. Atkinson Brown entered the room, having taken off their outdoor things. Mr. Brown was a tall, stout, heavily built man with a bald head and a great expanse of white waistcoat. His wife was a little bird-like woman in pink silk. They were both elaborately cheerful. “Hulloh, Heywood, my boy!” said the elderly man. “So delighted to come!” said Mrs. Atkinson Brown to Herbert’s mother. Herbert grasped the man’s hand and wrung it warmly. “Good of you to come. Devilish good.” “Glad to come,” said Mr. Atkinson Brown. “Glad to come, my lad. How’s the wife?” “Yes,” said Mrs. Atkinson Brown, glancing round the room. “Where’s dear Clare?... Well, I hope.” Herbert tried to hide his extreme nervousness. “Oh, tremendously fit, thanks. She’ll be here in a minute or two.” Mrs. Heywood appeared less nervous than her son. Yet her voice trembled a little when she said: “Do sit down, Mrs. Atkinson Brown.” She pulled a chair up, but the lady protested laughingly: “Oh, not so near the fire. I can’t afford to neglect my complexion at my time of life!” Her husband was rubbing his hands in front of the fire. He had no complexion to spoil. “Horrible weather for this time o’ year,” he said. “Damnable,” said Herbert, agreeing with him almost too cordially. “Is dear Clare suited at present?” asked the lady. “Well,” said Mrs. Heywood, “we still have Mollie, but she is a great trouble--a very great trouble.” “Oh, the eternal servant problem!” said Mrs. Atkinson Brown. “I thought I had a perfect jewel, but I found her inebriated in the kitchen only yesterday.” Herbert was racking his brains for conversational subjects. He fell back on an old one. “Business going strong?” “Business!” said Mr. Atkinson Brown. “My dear boy, business has been the very devil since this Radical Government has been in power.”