How long before Ralph would declare himself, and sweep away the blight that hung over Dashwood Hall at the present moment. Already people were beginning to talk, already the servants had strange tales to tell. Dubious men were staying at the Hall, a class of beings quite unknown to that historic house. Sir Vincent Dashwood was entertaining a party at dinner tonight; he had brought his friends down from London with him earlier in the day. As yet nobody had called upon the new owner of Dashwood Hall, for people were holding aloof. They wondered, too, why the deposed head of the house had cared to stay on there. What Mary was actually doing in London was not known to anybody outside the home circle, but her action was approved of. Lady Dashwood hoped that the present state of things was not likely to last; she was going to ask Ralph to see Mary and judge for himself whether the punishment had not already gone far enough. Mary had had her eyes opened and would never be her cold, proud self again. The peach was finished slowly, and Lady Dashwood was thinking of rising from the table. This solitary dining in state was a terrible trial to her. She had reached the time of life when she craved for young people to be about her. The house was very quiet, so quiet that the loud clang of the front door bell fairly startled Lady Dashwood. She placed her hand to her heart in some alarm. Surely something dreadful had happened! No friend of the family would ever ring the bell like that. It was, perhaps, a late telegram to say that Mary--but the noisy voices in the hall did not suggest any catastrophe. Two or three people were talking at once; Lady Dashwood was sure she could smell tobacco smoke. Somebody laughed in a loud, vulgar way. What could it all mean? The staid butler came into the dining-room, his manner respectful as always, but there was a flush on his face. "My good Charles," Lady Dashwood exclaimed, "what is the matter?" "Your ladyship may well ask that question," the aggrieved butler replied, "but I beg your ladyship's pardon, I am forgetting myself. We were sitting down to supper in the housekeeper's room when that ring startled us. I went to the door. Sir Vincent Dashwood was there, and those other men,--I mean gentlemen, together with Sir George,--I mean Mr. Dashwood. And they want to see your ladyship." "At this time of night! Are they mad, Charles? Is it possible that gentlemen who are perfect strangers to me--are smoking in my hall? Are they--are they--sober?" "I think so, your ladyship," Charles said dubiously. "Mr. Dashwood is all right. As to the rest, I really cannot say. But they are bent upon seeing you, at least Sir Vincent is. He--he seems to think that you would find it nice and informal." "Informal, certainly," Lady Dashwood said frostily. "Ask them into the library."