Beyond the arched doorway stood a little group of the best men and women:  a reception committee clearly, and Mrs. Heth had not been asked to serve upon it, as she was instantly and indignantly conscious.  However, she was one to bear martyrdom nobly, knowing that truth would prevail in the end; and accordingly she greeted Byrds, Daynes, and others with marked and lingering cordiality.  Carlisle, passing down the receiving line more quickly, soon found herself introduced to Pond, the imported Director, according to her plan.  The phrase is accurate, for Mr. Pond appeared to be panjandrum here, and people of all degree were presented to him, as to royalty.  Frequent hearing of the man’s name in the last few days had suggested nothing to Carlisle, but the moment she caught sight of his keen face with the powerful blue-tinged jaw, she recalled that she had seen Mr. Pond in the Dabney House before now.

The Director had turned with businesslike indifference as Mr. Dayne spoke her name, but his expression as he looked at her took on a sudden half-surprised intentness which Carlisle had seen upon the faces of strangers before now.  His reply to her commonplaces of greeting was: 

“Where have I met you before?”

“Nowhere, I think.”

Bored with the tenor of his speech, she looked at him steadily yet negligently for a moment; and then, releasing her gaze, continued:  “This is the assembly room, isn’t it?  What sort of meetings are to held here?”

A faintly quizzical look came into the man’s incisive stare.  “Do you really think it worth while for me to explain, when—­”

He left this beginning hanging in midair, while he turned, without apology, to accept the humble duties of three new arrivals.  Cally waited patiently.  Mrs. Berkeley Page had left her possessed of an impulse, which she took to be almost tantamount to a resolution.  She would give at least part of her time to doing something solid....

Director Pond, turning back to her, concluded: 

“When we are both well aware that you don’t care a continental what sort of meetings are going to be held here?”

“Oh, but I do, you see,” replied Cally, distinctly irritated.  “I’m very much interested.  One of the reasons I’m here this afternoon,” she explained, not without an under-feeling of sad nobility, “is that I am thinking of offering myself as—­as a worker.”

“Oh!—­As a worker.”

“Yes.”

“A worker.  You mean it?”

She said, glancing indifferently away:  “But probably Mr. Dayne is the person I should speak to about it....  Or—­perhaps Dr. Vivian....”

“What’s Dayne or Vivian got to do with it?  Walk a little away from the door with me—­there!  Thank the Lord when this mob clears out....  So you want to offer as a worker,” said Director Pond, his face gravely authoritative.  “Good.  We need workers more than money now, which is putting it somewhat strongly.  I am pleased that you will join us.  When can you move in?”