arm. "There's the bell, and this room is needed for the cloaks.
Where is Julie?"

Paying no attention to her husband's apparent desire to say something
more, Mrs. Whitney stepped into the hall. Whitney stood in deep thought
for a brief moment, then hastened after her, but his hope to slip
upstairs unseen was frustrated. Miss Kiametia Grey, enveloped in a heavy
fur coat, promptly hailed him and as he stood chatting to her in the hall
the front door again opened and Henry, the chauffeur, who had been
requisitioned to assist Vincent, ushered in Sinclair Spencer.

"Good evening, Mrs. Whitney," Spencer's loud cheery voice boomed through
the hall, and under cover of his jovial manner he scanned Whitney and his
wife. Had Kathleen spoken to them of his proposal of marriage that
morning and her refusal? "Just dropped in to see your husband, Mrs.
Whitney; hadn't hoped for the pleasure of seeing you. Hello, Whitney.
Evening, Miss Grey." But the spinster, with a stiff bow, slipped past the
lawyer and into the reception room without seeing his outstretched hand.
Spencer's florid complexion turned a deeper tint as he met Henry's blank
stare, but a covert glance at the Whitneys convinced him that they had
not seen Miss Kiametia's rudeness.

"Do take Mr. Spencer upstairs, Winslow," suggested Mrs. Whitney, as the
chauffeur opened the door to admit more guests. "I have a meeting of my
club tonight, Mr. Spencer, and therefore..."

"Certainly, certainly; please don't let my presence put you out," with a
courteous bow. "Come on, Whitney, let's go up to your studio," and he
followed his host into the elevator.