"Really, Mr. Bolton!" said Mrs. Craske-Morton, looking anxiously at Bowen.
Miss Sikkum's cheeks had assumed the same tint as her nose, and her eyes were riveted upon her plate. Miss Pilkington muttered something under her breath about Mr. Bolton's remark being outrageous.
"I think we'll take coffee in the lounge," said Mrs. Craske-Morton, rising. Turning to Bowen, she added, "We follow the American custom, Lord Peter, the gentlemen always leave the dining-room with the ladies."
There was a pushing back of chairs and a shuffling of feet and Galvin House rose from its repast.
"Coffee will not be served for half an hour, and if you and Miss Brent would like to—to"
Mrs. Craske-Morton paused significantly. "My boudoir is at your service."
Bowen looked at her and then at Patricia. He saw the flush on her cheeks and the humiliation in her eyes.
"I think we should much prefer not to interrupt our pleasant conversation. What do you say, Patricia?" he enquired, turning to Patricia, who smiled her acquiescence.
They all trooped into the lounge, where everybody except Patricia, Bowen and Mrs. CraskeMorton stood about in awkward poses. The arrival of Gustave with coffee relieved the tension.
For the next hour each guest endeavoured to
