Kildair came into
the room like a lengthening shadow. Her entrance had been made with
scarcely a perceptible sound, and yet each guest was aware of it at the
same moment, with a little nervous start.
"Heavens, dear lady," exclaimed Flanders, "you come in on us like a
Greek tragedy! What is it you have for us, a surprise?"
As he spoke she turned her swift glance on him, drawing her forehead
together until the eyebrows ran in a straight line.
"I have something to say to you," she said in a sharp, businesslike
manner, watching the company with penetrating eagerness.
There was no mistaking the seriousness of her voice. Mr. Harris
extinguished the oil lamp, covering the chafing dish clumsily with a
discordant, disagreeable sound. Mrs. Cheever and Mrs. Enos Jackson swung
about abruptly, Maude Lille rose a little from her seat, while the men
imitated these movements of expectancy with a clumsy shuffling of the
feet.
"Mr. Enos Jackson?"
"Yes, Mrs. Kildair."
"Kindly do as I ask you."
"Certainly."
She had spoken his name with a peremptory positiveness that was almost
an accusation.
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