invalid, that the latter had fallen into a much-needed sleep, and Nancy,
eager to escape to that mind-world where the happenings are so momentous
and the silence is so tense, had crept like a mouse from the room.

At the top of the stairs she paused to gather up her skirts. Then her
ears seemed to catch the sound of voices on the floor below and she
remained motionless for a second, listening. She had no desire to
encounter for the second time the torrent of Mrs. Wyeth's manner, no
wish to meet unnecessarily one so disagreeably gifted in the art of
arousing in her an aversion of which she was half ashamed.

No further sound greeted her straining ears, and, deciding that the way
was clear, she descended the thickly carpeted stairs. Near the bottom,
opposite the open doors of the front drawing-room, she paused to look
into the big mirror on the opposite wall. As she turned her head for a
final touch to the back of her veil, her eyes became alive to something
in that corner of the room now revealed to her by the mirror--something
that held her frozen with embarrassment.

Though the room lay in the dusk of drawn curtains, the gown of Mrs.
Wyeth showed unmistakably--Mrs. Wyeth abandoned to the close, still
embrace of an unrecognized man.

Distressed at the awkwardness of her position, Nancy hesitated, not
knowing whether to retreat or go forward. She had decided to go on,
observing nothing--and of course she _had_ observed nothing save an
agreeable incident in the oft impugned domesticity of Mr. and Mrs.
Wyeth--when a further revelation arrested her.

Even as she put her foot to the next step, the face of Mrs. Wyeth was