men stood motionless, watching it with a fascinated stare, till
Waythorn, to break the silence, said to Varick: "Won't you have a
cigar?"

He held out the case he had just tendered to Haskett, and Varick
helped himself with a smile. Waythorn looked about for a match, and
finding none, proffered a light from his own cigar. Haskett, in the
background, held his ground mildly, examining his cigar-tip now and
then, and stepping forward at the right moment to knock its ashes
into the fire.

The footman at last withdrew, and Varick immediately began: "If I
could just say half a word to you about this business--"

"Certainly," stammered Waythorn; "in the dining-room--"

But as he placed his hand on the door it opened from without, and
his wife appeared on the threshold.

She came in fresh and smiling, in her street dress and hat, shedding
a fragrance from the boa which she loosened in advancing.

"Shall we have tea in here, dear?" she began; and then she caught
sight of Varick. Her smile deepened, veiling a slight tremor of
surprise. "Why, how do you do?" she said with a distinct note of
pleasure.

As she shook hands with Varick she saw Haskett standing behind him.
Her smile faded for a moment, but she recalled it quickly, with a
scarcely perceptible side-glance at Waythorn.