her arm. Her resemblance to Manford established her identity beyond debate. She glanced at Garth with an amused curiosity quite at variance with her husband's emotion. She smiled tolerantly.
"Quite like a bearer of evil tidings in a play, but even they don't come upstairs, unannounced."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Black," Garth said apologetically. "Your man drew the long bow. I couldn't be put off."
But the smiling, graceful figure was a defence, almost incontestable. Nothing short of Nora's danger could have armed him to overcome it. He would, however, spare Black's wife as far as possible.
"I wanted to speak to you, Mr. Black, privately."
He turned back to the woman.
"You see I come from your brother, the head of the Society for Social Justice."
"What can he want at this time of night?" she said.
She advanced to the head of the staircase.
"It makes no difference, John. You weren't coming anyway. I'll tell Aunt Sarah why—business!"
She laughed lightly and passed on down the stairs.
Garth breathed more freely. He waited until the front door had slammed, until he had heard the motor whir, until he was sure she was started for her reception or dance, unsuspecting the desolation he had brought into her home. Then he swung on Black.
"Come in here."
He indicated the living-room.
