to her the aspect of a well-chosen peep-show with the satanic Kerr officiating as showman. Even the smooth and pallid Clara, who usually coerced by her sheer correctness, failed to dominate this fantastic image; rather, she took on, as she was handed into the supper-room, the aspect of his chief exhibit.The room, hot, polished, flaring reflections of electric lights from its
glistening floor, announced itself the heart of high festivity, through
the midst of which their entrance made an added ripple. The flushed
faces of the women under their flowers, under their pale-tinted hats,
with their smiling recognitions to Clara, to Flora, to Ella, smiled with
a sharpened interest. It proclaimed that Kerr was a stranger, and, in a
circle which found itself a little stale for lack of innovations, a
desirable one. Exclamatory greetings, running into skirmishes of talk,
here and there halted their progress, and even after they had settled
about their table in the center of the room the attention of one and
another was drawn over the shoulder to some special, trans-table
recognition.

Apparently the dominant note of their party was Ella's clamorous
selection for the supper; but to Flora the more real thing was the
atmosphere of excitement and mystery she had been moving in all the
evening. She was pursued by the obsession of something more about to
happen--something imminent--though, of course, nothing would; at least,
how could anything happen here, to them? And by "them," she meant
herself and these people around her so stupidly talking--the eternal
repetition of the story she had read out that evening to Clara, and not
one glimmer of light! She wondered if her obsession was all her own--or
did it reach to one of them? Certainly not Ella; not Judge Buller,
settled into his collar, choosing champagnes. Clara? She had to skip
Clara. One never knew whether Clara had not more behind her smooth
prettiness than ever she brought to light. Kerr? Perhaps. With him she
felt potentialities enormous. Harry? Never. Harry was being appealed to
by all the women who could get at him as to his part in the affair--what
had been his sensations and emotions? But Flora knew perfectly well he
had had none. He was only oppressed by the attention his fame in the
matter, and the central position of their table, brought upon him.
Protesting, he made his part as small as possible.

"Oh, confound it, if I can't get at my oysters!" he complained, leaning
back into his group again with a sigh.

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