“At any rate,” Miss Pride was saying at my elbow, “I haven’t lost this one,” and she slipped her arm through mine. Through the sleeve of her black suit, I felt her bone on my flesh like a steel wand or, as she bent it into a hook, like a thin, inflexible staple. “And now,” she went on to the Admiral, “now I’m going back to my memoirs.”

The Admiral smiled radiantly. “When is this celebrated volume to be finished?”

Miss Pride returned his smile. “I dare say it will be years. At least that’s what I intend, for I want something to occupy me so that I won’t get foolish, and to occupy Sonie so she won’t forsake me. Am I selfish?”

“No, ma’am. You’re the most generous woman in Boston.” He bowed deeply and then said to me, “And you, Mademoiselle, are the luckiest.”

It was with a sort of sudden desperation that I saw that the drawing-room was empty and that the accommodators were taking down the extra tables in the dining-room and that through the open door to the library only Reverend McAllister was visible, holding open in his hands a large dark green book which I knew was a volume of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Voices still came from the upstairs sitting-room, but presently a little group of people appeared at the head of the stairs and as they came down in a gust of talk, I could tell that even that room was empty now for Ethel, who had evidently been waiting for her chance, crossed the hall and went in with a tray to pick up the glasses that had been carelessly left there by the sight-seers. I wished to detain these last few guests but they were saying good-by. Gratuitously they told their hostess where they were going: to the matinee of Richard II, to the Country Club for ice-skating, to Brookline to shop at Best’s. Amy Brooks and Mr. Pingrey, shy with one another because Amy had caught Hopestill’s bouquet which she clutched tightly against her quivering breast, shaken with silent giggles, passed by me without a word because they could not see me or hear me though I called out to them, “Oh, don’t go yet!” Their only thought was to get through the door and away, by themselves. They hastily told Miss Pride good-by and Amy screamed, “It was lovely! I caught the bouquet, Cousin Lucy! Edward and I are going to Agassiz! I am going to do the glass flowers in pastels for Mrs. McAllister!”

They were gone then, the last. Miss Pride, still holding my arm, linked her other in the Admiral’s, and three abreast we went down the hall towards the library. “We’ll quickly get rid of Ichabod,” whispered Miss Pride, nodding in the direction of Reverend McAllister who was still absorbed in his book, “and then we three can have a nice talk.”