When were you last confessed, Sir Rowland?" he added abruptly. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. Earles closed the piano with a little bang. The barmaids had too strongly appealed to his sense of novelty. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Last time— you made me feel snubbed. Ennison slightly——” There was a dead silence in the little room. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain.
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