"Mother has had seventeen partridges sent her as presents this week, and she wants you to help her eat them, and father's offered a bargain in some good Beaujolais, and won't decide until you tell him what you think of it." Deftly she set out the meal, and drew a chair to the table. Angelo Fardetti rose. "That I should love you all," said he simply, "is only human, but that you should so much love me is more than I can understand." You see, he knew that watchful ears had missed his usual outgoing footsteps, and that watchful hearts had divined the reason. To refuse, to hesitate, would be to reject love. So there was no more to be said. He sat down meekly, and Sonia ministered to his wants. As soon as she saw that he was making headway with the partridge and the burgundy, she too sat by the table. "Godfather," she said, "I've had splendid news this morning." "Geoffrey?" "Of course. What other news could be splendid? His Symphony in E flat is going to be given at the Queen's Hall." "That is indeed beautiful news," said the old man, laying down knife and fork, "but I did not know that he had written a Symphony in E flat." "That was why he went and buried himself for months in Cornwall--to finish it," she explained. "I knew nothing about it. Aie! aie!" he sighed. "It is to you, and no longer to me, that he tells things." "You silly, jealous old dear!" she laughed. "He _had_ to account for deserting me all the summer. But as to what it's all about, I'm as ignorant as you are. I've not heard a note of it. Sometimes Geoff is like that, you know. If he's dead certain sure of himself, he won't have any criticism or opinions while the work's in progress. It's only when he's doubtful that he brings one in. And the doubtful things are never anything like the certain ones. You must have noticed it." "That is true," said Angelo Fardetti, taking up knife and fork again. "He was like that since he was a boy." "It is going to be given on Saturday fortnight. He'll conduct himself. They've got a splendid programme to send him off. Lembrich's going to play, and Carli's going to sing--just for his sake. Isn't it gorgeous?" "It is grand. But what does Geoffrey say about it? Come, come, after all he is not the sphinx." He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. "Would you really like to know?" "I am waiting." "He says it's going to knock 'em!" she laughed. "Knock 'em?" "Those were his words." "But----" She interpreted into purer English. Geoffrey was confident that his symphony would achieve a sensational success. "In the meanwhile," said she, "if you don't finish your partridge you'll break mother's heart." She poured out a glass of burgundy, which the old man drank; but he refused the food.