She listened intently.
When the record was spun out she could hear Sheridan rumbling in the library, during the ensuing silence, and Roscoe's voice, querulous and husky: "I won't say anything at all.

I tell you, you might just as well let me alone!" But there were other sounds: a rustling and murmur, whispering, low protesting cadences in a male voice.

And as Mrs.Sheridan started another record, a sudden, vital resolve leaped like fire in the eyes of Sibyl.

She walked down the hall and straight into the smoking-room.
Lamhorn and Edith both sprang to their feet, separating.

Edith became instantly deathly white with a rage that set her shaking from head to foot, and Lamhorn stuttered as he tried to speak.
But Edith's shaking was not so violent as Sibyl's, nor was her face so white.