The question of Tony had come uppermost again; that seemed now the momentous thing. He ought to have been there when Tony came back. Whatever he had done to Mrs. Lester, or she to him—that matter could be looked at from two points of view at any rate—he ought to have gone back and seen Tony. The apprehension that he had felt during the afternoon about the boy returned now with redoubled force. His dream, for a time forgotten, came back with all its chill sense of warning. That man Morelli! Anything might have happened to the boy; they might be waiting for him now up at the hotel, waiting for both of them. He could see them all—Lady Gale, Alice Du Cane, Mrs. Lester, his wife. He had in a way deserted his post. They had all trusted him; it was on that condition that they had granted him their friendship, that they had so wonderfully and readily opened their arms to him. And now, perhaps the boy . . . He drank a stiff whisky-and-soda, his hand trembling a little so that he chinked the glass against the decanter. He felt reassured. After all, what reason had he for alarm? What had he, as far as Morelli was concerned, to go upon? Nothing at all; merely some vague words from Punch. The boy was perfectly all right. Besides, at any rate, he wasn’t a fool. He knew what he was about, he could deal with Morelli, if it came to that. He drank another whisky-and-soda and regarded the mirror. It was funny the way that it reflected that corner of the square, so that without looking at all out of the window you could see figures moving, black and grey, and then suddenly a white gleaming bit of pavement where the light fell. His head became undoubtedly confused, because he fancied that he saw other things in the mirror. He thought that the crowd in the square divided into lines. Some one appeared, dancing, a man with a peaked cap, dancing and playing a pipe; and the man—how odd it was!—the man was Morelli! And suddenly he turned and danced down the lines of the people, still piping, back the way that he had come, and all the people, dancing, followed him! They passed through the mirror, dancing, and he seemed to recognise people that he knew. Why, of course! There was Tony, and then Janet Morelli and Lady Gale, Mrs. Lester, Alice Du Cane; and how absurd they looked! There was himself and Mrs. Maradick! The scene faded. He pulled himself up with a jerk, to find that he was nodding, nearly asleep; the idea of the music had not been entirely a dream, however, for a band had gathered underneath the window. In the uncertain light they looked strangely fantastic, so that you saw a brass trumpet without a man behind it, and then again a man with his lips pressed blowing, but his trumpet fading into darkness.