Roddy rang. As they waited they began to laugh again. Helpless, ruinous, agonising laughter. "Oh--oh--I can hear Martha coming. _Do_ something. You might be unbuckling my snow-shoes." The party was waiting for them in the drawing-room. Dr. Charles. Miss Louisa Wright, stiff fragility. A child's face blurred and delicately weathered; features in innocent, low relief. Pale hair rolled into an insubstantial puff above each ear. Speedwell eyes, fading milkily. Hurt eyes, disappointed eyes. Dr. Charles had disappointed her. Dorsy Heron, tall and straight. Shy hare's face trying to look austere. Norman Waugh, sulky and superior, in a corner. As Roddy came in everybody but Norman Waugh turned round and stared at him with sudden, happy smiles. He was so beautiful that it made people happy to look at him. His very name, Rodney Olivier, sounded more beautiful than other people's names. Dorsy Heron's shy hare's eyes tried to look away and couldn't. Her little high, red nose got redder. And every now and then Dr. Charles looked at Rodney, a grave, considering look, as if he knew something about him that Rodney didn't know. V. "She shall play what she likes," Mr. Sutcliffe said. He had come in late, without his wife. She was going to play to them. They always asked you to play. She thought: "It'll be all right. They won't listen; they'll go on talking. I'll play something so soft and slow that they won't hear it. I shall be alone, listening to myself." She played the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata. A beating heart, a grieving voice; beautiful, quiet grief; it couldn't disturb them. Suddenly they all left off talking. They were listening. Each note sounded pure and sweet, as if it went out into an empty room. They came close up, one by one, on tiptoe, with slight creakings and rustlings, Miss Kendal, Louisa Wright, Dorsy Heron. Their eyes were soft and quiet like the music. Mr. Sutcliffe sat where he could see her. He was far away from the place where she heard herself playing, but she could feel his face turned on her like a light. The first movement died on its two chords. Somebody was saying "How beautifully she plays." Life and warmth flowed into her. Exquisite, tingling life and warmth. "Go on. Go on." Mr. Sutcliffe's voice sounded miles away beyond the music. She went on into the lovely _Allegretto_. She could see their hushed faces leaning nearer. You could make them happy by playing to them. They loved you because you made them happy. Mr. Sutcliffe had got up; he had come closer. She was playing the _Presto agitato_. It flowed smoothly under her fingers, at an incredible pace, with an incredible certainty. Something seemed to be happening over there, outside the place where she heard the music. Martha came in and whispered to the Doctor. The Doctor whispered to Roddy. Roddy started up and they went out together.