A skeleton was propped against the mantelpiece. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him. But with returning breath came returning vociferations; and the carpenter, with a faint hope of lessening the clamour by change of scene, took up his lantern, opened the door, and walked out. It is bad policy.
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