will, however, never reach the front rank of her profession.” Now that she knew the truth as the truth, she knew also that this was what she had been fearing and expecting for weeks and months, that she had been during that time slowly and imperceptibly accustoming herself to the idea now confronting her, and that for a long time the maintenance of her old dreams and ambitions had been a stupendous self-deception. And she knew also, by a subtle and curious instinct, something which to herself she admitted was amazing and mysterious. She was not going to be very disappointed. Or, if she were, her disappointment, like her former hopes, would be counterfeit.... She was angry with herself for accepting the situation so coolly, angry at the callousness of her soul. But nevertheless, the truth stood unassailable: she was not going to be very disappointed. Not disappointed? she argued, in terrific revolt against herself--not disappointed when the last ideal she possessed had joined its fellows on the scrap-heap, not disappointed when nothing remained to shield her from the gutter whence she sprang? Not disappointed to hear the news of her own spiritual extinction? ... And something within her replied, very quietly: No; what I said was perfectly true. I am not going to be very disappointed. I was dreading all those hours and hours of practice, she admitted, a little ashamed. And the thought occurred to her: I don’t believe I should have the pluck to face an audience. I had once--but not now. Or perhaps it was never pluck that I had--perhaps it was something else that I have lost.... Well, the game’s played out. It would have meant a terrible lot of work to make myself a pianist again. I shan’t need to do all that now. Oh, I have lost ... courage and ... enthusiasm ... for all big things.... I am getting old ... and tired ... and that’s why I am not going to be very disappointed.... Amelia and Mrs. Lazenby might be returning any moment. The crowd of noisy children pouring out of the Council school across the road (it was used by a religious organization on Sunday) proclaimed the hour to be four o’clock.... Catherine began to replace the red plush cloth and the shells with black spikes and the lithograph of New Brighton Tower and Promenade.... At ten minutes past the hour Amelia came in, cross and sullen. Catherine heard her slam the hymn book and Bible on the wicker table in the hall. Evidently her spirit was more than usually in revolt this afternoon.... “Amy!” Catherine called, opening the door and looking down the passage. A rather sulky voice replied: “What is it?” “Will you come and have tea with me this afternoon?” Catherine called back cheerfully. The fact was, she wanted somebody to talk to, particularly somebody who was discontented, so that by this she could measure her own rapidly growing contentment. “Righto,” called Amelia, rather less sulkily.