Rather, it was one of acute dismay--almost fear.

Poor Mrs.Weyth, who had just said, "Doubtless I shall not be visible when you go!" Even as she caught this look, Nancy started down the remaining steps, her cheeks hot from her own wretched awkwardness.

She wanted to hurry--to run; she might still escape without having reason to suspect that the obscured person was other than he should be in the opinion of an exacting world.

Then, as her hand was at the door, while the silken rustling of that hurried disentanglement was in her ears, the voice of Wyeth sounded remotely from the rear of the house.

It seemed to come from far back in the library, removed from them by the length of the double drawing-rooms--a comfortable, smooth, high-pitched voice--lazy, drawling-- "Oh, _Linford!_" _Linford!_ The name seemed to sink into the stillness of the great house, leaving no ripple behind.