ht, had closed the hall door against Tottie.
But the others had no thought except for the meeting between Farvel and
Clare. Mrs. Milo, quite within the embrasure of the bay-window, looked
on like a person at an entertainment. Her glance, plainly one of
delight, now darted from Farvel to Clare, from Clare to Sue.

With Balcome it was curiosity mixed with hope--the hope that here was
what would completely absolve Wallace, who was waiting, all bent and
shaken.

Sue stood with averted eyes, as if she felt she should not see. Her
face was composed. There was something very like resignation in the
straight hanging down of her arms, in the bowed attitude of her figure.

Thus the six for a moment. Then Farvel crumpled and dropped to the
settee. "Laura!" he said, as if to himself; "Laura!"

"Oh, it's all over! It's all over!" she quavered.

CHAPTER VII

On those rare occasions of stress when Mrs. Milo did not choose to feel
that the unforeseen and unpleasant was aimed purposely at herself and
her happiness, she could assume another attitude. It was then her
special boast that she was able invariably to summon the proper word
that could smooth away embarrassments, lessen strain, and in general
relieve any situation: she knew how to be tactful; how to make peace:
she had, she explained, that rare quality known as "poise."

Now with Clare Crosby swagging against the double door of Tottie's
back-parlor, watching Farvel through despairing eyes, and admitting
with trembling lips her own defeat; with Farvel seemingly overcome by
being brought thus suddenly face to face with the soloist, Mrs. Milo
experienced such complete satisfaction that she seized upon this
opportunity as one well calculated to exhibit strikingly her judgment,
balance, and sagacity; her good taste and pious gentleness.

"Ah, Mr. Farvel!" she cried, in that playfully teasing tone she was
often pleased to affect. "Aren't you glad you came?--Oh, I guessed
your little secret! I guessed you were interested in Miss Crosby!"

At the sound of her own name, Clare took her eyes from Farvel and
turned them upon Mrs. Milo--turned them slowly, as a sick person
might--with effort, and an almost feeble lifting of the head. Her look
once focused, she began, little by little, to straighten, to stand more
firmly on her feet; she even reached to flatten the starched collar,
which had upreared behind her slender throat.

Mrs. Milo went twittering on: "Where