The heavy doors leading from the hall into the drawing-room sheltering Mr. Shelby’s Corot were closed, but Dan’s voice was audible and although his words were indistinguishable he was evidently in high spirits and holding forth upon some subject that required a great deal of emphatic expounding. Harlan stepped forward to open the doors and go in but halted abruptly, for at this moment Martha made her appearance at the other end of the hall. She came from the rear of the house and carried an oval silver tray whereon gleamed, among delicate napery and china, a silver coffee pot of unusually ample dimensions. Her serious but untroubled look was upon the tray; then she glanced up, saw Harlan, and in surprise uttered a vague sound of exclamation. He went quickly toward her, but before he reached her she nodded to the housemaid in dismissal. “You can go to bed now, Emma.” “Yes’m, thank you,” said Emma. “I’m full ready,” she added, as she disappeared. “I came over because I was afraid you——” Harlan began. But Martha interrupted him at once. “You needn’t be,” she said. “There’s nothing the matter.” “I only thought their coming here—disturbing you at this hour——” “It doesn’t disturb me,” she said. “It isn’t very late.” “But wouldn’t your father——” At that Martha laughed. “The chandelier in there fell down one night last winter, and _it_ didn’t wake him up! At least I do run the house when he’s asleep. Don’t look so tragic!” “But I’m afraid they——” “It’s nothing at all, Harlan. I’d gone upstairs, but not to bed, when the bell rang; and when Emma told me Dan and Fred Oliphant were here, I came down and brought them in and lit the fire for them. They _were_ rather damp!” “But why didn’t you——” “Send them home? Because Dan wanted to tell me all about the baby.” “Good heavens!” “Not at all!” she said; and as his expression still remained gloomy, she laughed. “Won’t you open the door for me? I made coffee for them because I thought it might do them good—especially your cousin Fred.” Harlan uttered an exclamation of reproach addressed to himself: “Idiot! To let you stand there holding that heavy tray!” He would have taken it from her, but she objected. “No; you might spill something. Just open the door for me.” He obeyed, then followed her into the drawing-room and closed the door. Before him, in a damask-covered armchair, was seated his second cousin, Mr. Frederic Oliphant, a young gentleman of considerable pretensions to elegance, especially when he had spent an evening at the club. In fact, since the installation of this club, which the well-to-do of the town had not recognized as a necessary bit of comfort until recently, Fred had formed the habit of arriving home every evening with such a complete set of eighteenth-century manners that there was no little uneasiness about him in his branch of the Oliphant family.