Mr. and Mrs. Germaine glanced at one another. The husband's face
plainly expressed the suspicion which this second apology had
roused in his mind. The wife was steady and calm. An interval
passed--a silent interval. Mr. A and Mr. B retired together
guiltily into a corner. My wife and I looked at the pictures.

Mrs. Germaine was the first to relieve us from our own
intolerable silence. Two more guests, it appeared, were still
wanting to complete the party. "Shall we have dinner at once,
George?" she said to her husband. "Or shall we wait for Mr. and
Mrs. C?"

"We will wait five minutes," he answered, shortly--with his eye
on Mr. A and Mr. B, guiltily secluded in their corner.

The drawing-room door opened. We all knew that a third married
lady was expected; we all looked toward the door in unutterable
anticipation. Our unexpressed hopes rested silently on the
possible appearance of Mrs. C. Would that admirable, but unknown,
woman, at once charm and relieve us by her presence? I shudder as
I write it. Mr. C walked into the room--and walked in, _alone_.

Mr. Germaine suddenly varied his formal inquiry in receiving the
new guest.

"Is your wife ill?" he asked.

Mr. C was an elderly man; Mr. C had lived (judging by
appearances) in the days when the old-fashioned laws of
politeness were still in force. He discovered his two married