“You might have brought the dog along too,” I said sweetly. “Then you’d have given us both a bit of experience.”

Chapter Three

THE DINNER THAT NIGHT was a howling success. Certainly it did what it was meant to do. It healed the breach between the Hill and the village.

I took my first full breath when everyone was seated, with no leftovers; that nightmare of all large parties. I believe, too, that the food was wonderful. Pierre, the chef, had hardly been approachable for two days. Maud—she had asked me to call her that—was radiant. She wore a full ice-blue dress, and with that gold crown of hair dressed high on her head she looked almost young and certainly happy.

I suppose all dinners are alike. Perhaps it was because of my six years of exile from the elegance of living that I found that one so impressive.

What is chiefly important about the party is that, with one or two exceptions, it brought together so many of the people who were to be involved in our tragedy: Bill Sterling and Lydia; Julian Stoddard, who was master of the Hunt Club, and his wife Margery; Dwight Elliott, Maud’s attorney; Jim Conway, our most popular Beverly bachelor, who had run for chief of police on a bet and won the election; and even Audrey and Larry Hamilton.

Audrey was exquisite that night, and knew it. She wore a white lace dress over crinoline, and she might have stepped out of Godey’s Lady’s Book. Tony danced with her whenever he could, and I saw Maud watching them. But I was too busy to notice much of anything. There were bridge foursomes to be arranged in the Chinese room and the library, the stag line to be kept in the ballroom and away from too much champagne, and at one time Roger—the mastiff—showed a determination to go outside which could not be denied, and I had to let him out myself.

Only Audrey annoyed me. She was dancing with Tony when she saw me, and she came over and gave me a condescending hand.

“How are you, Pat?” she said coolly. “It’s a nice party, isn’t it? But I do wish you’d see that they ice the champagne. It’s nasty when it’s warm.”

It was deliberate, of course. Little Audrey putting me in my place. I knew the champagne was not warm.

“Aren’t you a trifle young for champagne, Audrey?” I inquired gently. “There’s punch in the hall. It’s quite mild.”

I dare say Tony saw it was time to interfere, for he came forward holding out his hand and grinning.

“Miss Abbott, isn’t it?” he said. “I’m Mrs. Wainwright’s little boy. Haven’t we met before?”

“Possibly. I’m afraid I don’t remember. There are so many young men about,” I said, and gave him a vague but pleasant smile.

Some time later I found Maud at my elbow. The dancing crowd had gone down to the playhouse, where a ball supper was being served, and the music had followed them. The sudden quiet was almost startling.