No sooner, accordingly, had the after-luncheon coffee been served and drunk than he rose and held the door open, saying; "Pray don't let us keep you, Chloë."
Chloë sat tight. She lit a new cigarette, inhaled smoke, leaned back in her chair and discharged a tenuous cloud. "That's all right, Pontifex," she said. "Resume your seat, my very dear and venerable sir. Far from making my exit here, this is where my big scene comes. Isn't it, Bish?"
"Yes, Archdeacon," said Dunkle. "We can't spare dear Chloë yet awhile."
The Archdeacon, looking rather like a fool, closed the door and returned to his seat at table. It was pretty plain to him that something was going to happen; something for which, while making his dispositions, he had not allowed; some-
