The two were inclosed in the intimacy of their blended cigar-smoke
when the door opened and Varick walked into the room. Waythorn rose
abruptly. It was the first time that Varick had come to the house,
and the surprise of seeing him, combined with the singular
inopportuneness of his arrival, gave a new edge to Waythorn's
blunted sensibilities. He stared at his visitor without speaking.

Varick seemed too preoccupied to notice his host's embarrassment.

"My dear fellow," he exclaimed in his most expansive tone, "I must
apologize for tumbling in on you in this way, but I was too late to
catch you down town, and so I thought--" He stopped short, catching
sight of Haskett, and his sanguine color deepened to a flush which
spread vividly under his scant blond hair. But in a moment he
recovered himself and nodded slightly. Haskett returned the bow in
silence, and Waythorn was still groping for speech when the footman
came in carrying a tea-table.

The intrusion offered a welcome vent to Waythorn's nerves. "What the
deuce are you bringing this here for?" he said sharply.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but the plumbers are still in the
drawing-room, and Mrs. Waythorn said she would have tea in the
library." The footman's perfectly respectful tone implied a
reflection on Waythorn's reasonableness.

"Oh, very well," said the latter resignedly, and the footman
proceeded to open the folding tea-table and set out its complicated
appointments. While this interminable process continued the three