gave one the impression that if he had lived a century later he might have been furiously modern. And of course Tchaikovsky. In fact---- Catherine listened patiently, putting in an occasional “Yes” and “Of course” and “I daresay.” Her one thought was: “I have been publicly insulted.” And George did not pass even the frontiers of her mind save when she reflected casually: “Considering what a lot George knows, it’s rather queer he should be so remarkably uninteresting at times....” § 8 It was nearly one on Christmas morning when the party broke up. Catherine was waiting in the hall for George. He had gone to help somebody to find his or her music-case. Most of the company had gone; some were going, with much loud chattering on the doorstep and wishing of a “Merry Christmas”; a few were still in the drawing-room sorting out musical property. Catherine felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She turned ... Verreker! ... In the half-light he looked almost demoniacally ugly. A great fur overcoat hung ponderously to within a few inches of the ground, and his hands were encased in huge fur gloves. Under his arm he carried a rather incongruous cloth cap. “Excuse me,” he began gruffly, “I’ve got a word to say to you.” She pursed her lips scornfully. “Be quick, then,” she said. “I haven’t much time to spare.” She was being deliberately rude. “I suppose you noticed I went out while you were playing?” he went on. “Did you?” As much as to say: “How should I know? Do you imagine I keep careful watch upon all your movements?” “The fact is, I went out because I remember your saying that you never played well if I were present....” “Did I say that?” (She was in a deliberately, irritatingly obstructionist mood.) “... So I thought I’d oblige.... Afterwards it occurred to me it would be misunderstood.... That’s all.... It wasn’t anything else. Of course you’re not obliged to believe me.” “Why shouldn’t I believe you?” she said, with no discoverable motive. “I know of no reason at all,” he replied coldly. Pause. “And, as it happened, you did play rather well. Distinctly better than usual.” “Did I? ... How do you know?” “I listened behind the door.” “Did you?” She tapped her foot petulantly on the floor.... Pause.... Then ... “All the same, I really don’t see quite what you mean.” She was merely trying to annoy him. He had come to her humbly, and he was going to be spurned. Yet from the look in his eyes she knew that this last remark had been a mistake. He was not the kind of man who waits to be spurned.... “Oh, well,” he said brusquely, “I’m glad I don’t need to apologize.... Good-night!” She called “Good-night!” so faintly that she was sure he never heard it. He was gone.... § 9 Along the Bockley High Street she remarked thoughtfully to George: “I didn’t know Verreker patronized your musical evenings.” George replied: “Oh, it wasn’t _that_ he came for. It was Helen. She persuaded him to play.” Catherine was surprised.