Gerald was host.

He stood in the homely entrance hall, friendly and easy, attending to the men.

He seemed to take pleasure in his social functions, he smiled, and was abundant in hospitality.
The women wandered about in a little confusion, chased hither and thither by the three married daughters of the house.

All the while there could be heard the characteristic, imperious voice of one Crich woman or another calling 'Helen, come here a minute,' 'Marjory, I want you--here.' 'Oh, I say, Mrs Witham--.' There was a great rustling of skirts, swift glimpses of smartly-dressed women, a child danced through the hall and back again, a maidservant came and went hurriedly.
Meanwhile the men stood in calm little groups, chatting, smoking, pretending to pay no heed to the rustling animation of the women's world.

But they could not really talk, because of the glassy ravel of women's excited, cold laughter and running voices.