the long oak refectory table, Blanche
Farrow at the other. But though the table was far wider than are most
refectory tables (it was believed to be, because of its width, a unique
specimen), yet Blanche, very soon after they had sat down, told herself
that there was something to be said, after all, for the old-fashioned,
Victorian mahogany. Such a party as was this party would have sorted
themselves out, and really enjoyed themselves much more, sitting in
couples round an ordinary dining-table, than at this narrow, erstwhile
monastic board. Here they were just a little bit too near together--too
much _vis-a-vis_, so Blanche put it to herself with a dissatisfied
feeling.

But soon things began going a little better. It had been her suggestion
that champagne should be offered with the soup, and already it was
having an effect. She was relieved to see that the oddly assorted men
and women about her were brisking up, and beginning to talk, even to
laugh, with one another.

On the host's right sat Miss Burnaby. She was at once quaint and
commonplace looking, the most noticeable thing about her being the fact
that she wore a cap. It was made of fine Mechlin lace threaded with
pale-blue ribbon, and, to the woman now looking at her, suggested an
interesting survival of the Victorian age. Quite old ladies had worn
such caps when she, Blanche Farrow, was a child!

The rest of Miss Burnaby's costume consisted of a high black silk dress,
trimmed with splendid point lace.

Miss Burnaby was evidently enjoying herself. She had taken a glass of
sherry, was showing no fear of her champagne, and had just helped
herself substantially to the delicious sole which was one of the special
triumphs of the French _chef_ who had come down for a month to Wyndfell
Hall. He and Miss Farrow had discussed to-night's menu together that
morning, and he had spoken with modest enthusiasm of this _Sole a la
Cardinal_....

On the other side of the host sat Helen Brabazon.

Blanche looked at the late Mrs. Varick's one intimate friend with
critical interest. Yes, Miss Brabazon looked Somebody, though a somewhat
old-fashioned Somebody, considering that she was still quite a young
woman. She had good hair, a good complexion, and clear, honest-looking
hazel eyes; but not her kindest friends would have called her pretty.
What charm she had depended on her look of perfect health, and her
alert, intelligent expression of face. Miss Farrow, who was well read,