When it came to Betty's turn she played conscientiously through the Sonata Pathetique, with which she had been wrestling for two hours a day for the last month. That very morning she had played it over without a single fault, and really and truly the runs had sounded quite professional; but when your head throbs, and your cheeks burn, and your heart pounds, and your feet grow cold, and your fingers are hot, and stick together, and refuse to do what they are told, it is wonderful how differently things sound! Poor Sonata! It really _was_ rather pathetic, and it is to be feared that the audience was almost as much relieved as was Betty herself, when it came to an end. The Magnetic Lady performance was a great success, Miles as showman being an agreeable surprise to his relations, for if he were not discursive, he was at least perfectly composed and business-like, and the poker trick and balancing feats were alike marvellous and perplexing. Agatha recounted a story of a haunted castle, and of a ghost which was not a ghost at all, but simply a gentleman's bath-gown hung on a nail. The plot was decidedly thin, but the audience found amusement in the quaint and truly Rendell-like phraseology in which it was presented, and in the lavish use of italics. Poor crushed Betty congratulated Agatha on her success, and Agatha rolled her eyes, and cried tragically-- "My dear--I nearly _expired_ with embarrassment! I was _purple_ with agitation. As a candid friend, tell me truly--_has_ it spread to my nose?" Somebody recited; someone sang a song; somebody introduced a new game; somebody showed card tricks; a budding artist took lightning portraits of host and hostess and a few of the leading guests, and presently supper was announced before Christabel had had time for her turn. "Never mind! It will be even better afterwards! I intended it to be afterwards," she said, smiling mysteriously, as she was led down to supper by the oldest and most important man in the room. Miles eagerly appropriated Cynthia, and Betty's partner was one Mr Ned Rendell, the only brother of the houseful of girls, a somewhat lofty and self- satisfied gentleman, who let her see that he considered her a mere child more plainly than was altogether polite. Not being possessed of Jill's youthful love of good things to eat, she was thankful when it was time to return to the drawing-room, where Christabel was already awaiting her turn, with an eagerness which had been lacking in any other performer. "Put your chairs against the wall, please--quite against the wall! I need all the room I can get," she directed, waving her hands to right and left in masterful fashion. "That's better! Move that table, please. I don't want to knock it down. I shall want someone to help me. Mr Ross, will you be so kind? We must have a musical accompaniment, too. A little slow music--Agatha knows what I mean. Begin at once, please!"