In spite of her husband’s admonishing, Marjorie was acquiring a worry that momentarily gave evidence of becoming panic-stricken as she watched the doors with eager eyes for the boy who did not come. She felt she could not stand it any longer. She must know—must do something. With a hesitancy that would have been most strange in the Atwood days, she approached Hugh where he stood talking and laughing in a care-free manner with a group of his guests. He excused himself to speak to her as she laid her hand on his arm to ask for a word. “Hugh, dear,” she begged, “don’t you think we had better call up Professor Anderson and find out about Howard—when he left, and——” “And get him in bad, I suppose,” Hugh blustered, but there was worry in his own handsome face as he once more glanced at his watch and then at the entrances. “No—he’s probably loitering, and——” Griggs, his valet, touched him on the arm. He turned to hear the few hurried whispered words. “Important ’phone call, my dear,” he explained. “Make my excuses. Back in a minute——” But Marjorie’s sharp ears had caught the word “sick.” Griggs must have been talking about Howard. Oh, where was he—her boy! She could not stand it! She had to find out. Careless of guests, of hospitality, of everything, she hurried after her husband, but already he was out of sight. He must be at one of the private telephones, she thought, as she stumbled blindly along the passage. But her way would have been still more blind had she seen her husband with her son at that moment. At a side entrance two men were trying to persuade Howard to leave a taxi. In a maudlin state of intoxication, he refused to budge an inch, muttering to himself something about “a date with a lil’ blonde.” Ordering the passageway clear, Hugh and Griggs managed between them to convey the indignantly-protesting Howard upstairs to his room. From the telephone, the boy’s mother hastened to his room. They must have brought him home and told her nothing about it. Inside she heard voices. She knocked softly, and was about to enter, when it was opened and Hugh stood before her, quickly closing the door behind him. “My boy?” she asked breathlessly. “What has happened? Is he here? Is he ill?” Hugh was uncomfortable—flustered. “Ill?—No—yes—that is, he is ill—but he will soon be all right.” “I will go to him at once,” and Marjorie started to brush by Hugh. “You will do nothing of the kind,” he answered sternly. “You will return to your guests, and act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I will join you as soon as possible—we can’t both remain away.” “What do I care about my guests, or anyone, if my boy is ill. My place is at his side, and I’m going——” From behind the guarded door, came a volley of oaths, flung at the faithful Griggs, followed by the incoherent singing of a popular song.