“But I prefer to do the work myself; it makes life so much more peaceful. . . . Run along, Adrian darling, and get ready for school.” “Oh no, that’s not it!” Reginald pretended to smile. “You do the work yourself, because, for some extraordinary reason, you love to humiliate me. Objectively, you may not know that, but, subjectively, it’s the case.” This last remark so delighted him that he cut open an envelope as gracefully as if he had been on the stage. . . . “DEAR MR. PEACOCK, I feel I cannot go to sleep until I have thanked you again for the wonderful joy your singing gave me this evening. Quite unforgettable. You make me wonder, as I have not wondered since I was a girl, if this is _all._ I mean, if this ordinary world is _all._ If there is not, perhaps, for those of us who understand, divine beauty and richness awaiting us if we only have the _courage_ to see it. And to make it ours. . . . The house is so quiet. I wish you were here now that I might thank you in person. You are doing a great thing. You are teaching the world to escape from life! Yours, most sincerely, ÆNONE FELL. P.S.—I am in every afternoon this week. . . .” The letter was scrawled in violet ink on thick, handmade paper. Vanity, that bright bird, lifted its wings again, lifted them until he felt his breast would break. “Oh well, don’t let us quarrel,” said he, and actually flung out a hand to his wife. But she was not great enough to respond. “I must hurry and take Adrian to school,” said she. “Your room is quite ready for you.” Very well—very well—let there be open war between them! But he was hanged if he’d be the first to make it up again! He walked up and down his room, and was not calm again until he heard the outer door close upon Adrian and his wife. Of course, if this went on, he would have to make some other arrangement. That was obvious. Tied and bound like this, how could he help the world to escape from life? He opened the piano and looked up his pupils for the morning. Miss Betty Brittle, the Countess Wilkowska and Miss Marian Morrow. They were charming, all three. Punctually at half-past ten the door-bell rang. He went to the door. Miss Betty Brittle was there, dressed in white, with her music in a blue silk case. “I’m afraid I’m early,” she said, blushing and shy, and she opened her big blue eyes very wide. “Am I?” “Not at all, dear lady. I am only too charmed,” said Reginald. “Won’t you come in?” “It’s such a heavenly morning,” said Miss Brittle. “I walked across the Park. The flowers were too marvellous.” “Well, think about them while you sing your exercises,” said Reginald, sitting down at the piano. “It will give your voice colour and warmth.” Oh, what an enchanting idea! What a _genius_ Mr. Peacock was. She parted her pretty lips, and began to sing like a pansy.