She gave him an extraordinary glance of mingled triumph and defiance. “You _ought_,” she said, “but you’re not going to, are you?” He smiled grimly. “On the contrary,” he replied, “I will compliment you so far as to say that your playing was extraordinarily good.” Like an impulsive child she seized hold of his coat sleeve. “Say it again!” she cried ecstatically. “Oh, _do_ say it again! That’s the biggest compliment you’ve ever paid me, and I do love being praised! Say it again!” She was looking up into his face with delirium in her eyes. Also she was trembling, and her hot fingers tightened over his wrist. “Don’t get excited,” he replied reprovingly. “And don’t imagine you’re famous all at once. You didn’t play the Mozart very brilliantly.” She laughed hysterically. “I don’t care what you say about that! You’re trying to unsay that compliment and you can’t! I don’t care whether you say it again or not--you’ve said it once. And I shall remember!” “You shouldn’t live for compliments.” “I don’t. But I should die without them.” “You’re much too excited. Calm down.” “I can’t.... Oh, I can’t.... I feel I shall never be calm again.” “Well, get home as quietly as you can, anyway. I’m not going back to Upton Rising to-night or I’d take you.... Don’t think too much of yourself ... Good-bye!” He went abruptly from the room. She gazed after him and then again at herself in the mirror. A man appeared at the door and asked if she wanted a cab. “Oh yes--a taxi,” she said, and was thrilled at the polygon significance of what had happened. Now she was suddenly translated to that social sphere in which taxis are habitually employed.... § 2 She realized something of her indebtedness to Verreker when the following day she received a sheaf of interesting literature from a press-cutting agency. Nearly all the press notices were distinctly favourable, and some were well on the way to being fulsome. She experienced the rich delight of reading pleasant things about herself. And she felt: This is Fame! When she went out into the streets she experienced all the subtle joys of a prince travelling incognito. She felt: If people knew who I was I should be stared at. She was conscious of the disadvantage of being always stared at, yet she was proud to think of herself as something more than what she seemed. She was conscious of the subtle democracy of her travelling on a London County Council tram-car. She thought: I, sitting amongst you all, so ordinary, so commonplace, so seemingly like yourselves, am really stupendously, immeasurably different I You might talk with me, walk with me, know me for years and years and never discover that difference. But put me in front of a grand piano and I will show you that difference in thirty seconds! ...