"What pride!" she murmured to herself, as he passed over to Miss Charters with a compliment that made her and Beecher break out laughing. Up to the moment, the group had found not the slightest indication of the probable outcome of the afternoon’s conference. If anything, there was in his carriage a quiet exhilaration. But the moment was approaching when he must come face to face with Mrs. Bloodgood, who, either in order to gain time for the self-control that seemed almost beyond her, or that she might draw him into more immediate converse, had withdrawn so as to be the last he should greet. Majendie perceived instantly the imprudence of the maneuver, and by a word addressed to Mrs. Kildair, who followed at his side, contrived to bring himself to the farther side of the group, of which little Mrs. Cheever and Garraboy were the other two. "I make my excuses to the ladies first," he said, with a nod to Garraboy, whom he thus was enabled to pass. He offered his hand to Mrs. Bloodgood, saying: "Grant me absolution, and I promise to do everything I can to make you as gay as I feel now." Elise Bloodgood took his hand, glancing into his face with a startled glance, and immediately withdrew, murmuring something inaudible. Mrs. Kildair, who with everyone had been listening to his words for the double meaning that seemed to be conveyed, stepped in front of Mrs. Bloodgood to cover her too evident agitation. "Elise," she said sharply, pressing her hand, "get hold of yourself. You must! Everything is all right. Didn’t you understand him?" "Ah, if he were going to die tomorrow he would never tell me," said Mrs. Bloodgood, pressing her handkerchief against her lips. "Nothing will ever break through his pride." "But he told you in so many words," said Mrs. Kildair—who, however, didn’t believe what she said. "He told me nothing—nothing!" "You must control yourself," said Mrs. Kildair, alarmed at her emotion. "What do I care?" "But you must! Listen. When I go into the dining-room don’t follow me. I will contrive to take your husband with me. Profit by the chance. Besides, you are in no state to judge. Does Bernard look like a man who has just been told he is ruined? Come, a little courage." She left her and, stepping into her bedroom, donned a Watteau-like cooking-apron, and, slipping her rings from her fingers, fixed the three on her pin-cushion with a hatpin. From the mirror in which she surveyed herself she could see the interior of the studio—Nan Charters’ laughing face above the piano, where she was running off a succession of topical songs, surrounded by a chorus of men, while Beecher, at her side, solicitously turned the pages.