"I expect so," answered Logan. "Do you know how to manage a pianola?" "Yes. We've got one at home." "You might play it then, to keep things going until they liven up." Mitchell was placed at the pianola, and was still there when Mendel arrived with Morrison. "I'm very glad to meet you," said Logan. "Kühler has talked about you so often." "Yes," said Morrison. "I hope you don't mind a Bohemian party. They are a mixed lot." "No," said Morrison. "Good God!" thought Logan. "Not a word to say for herself!" Mendel introduced her to Oliver, who looked her up and down superciliously--this little schoolgirl in her brown tweed coat and skirt. "I'm sorry I didn't dress," said Morrison. "I didn't know." She shrank from the big, fleshy woman, who made her feel very unhappy. Yet she wanted to be fair. She had heard Mendel storm and rage against Oliver and she hated to be prejudiced. It distressed her not to like anybody, for she found most people likeable. She tried to be amiable:-- "I'm so glad the exhibition was such a success. Everybody is talking about it." "Oh! yes, yes," said Oliver vacantly. Obviously she was not listening. She had eyes only for the men, and she bridled with pleasure when she attracted their attention. Morrison was glad to escape to a corner, where she could watch the strange people and be amused by them, their attitudes and gestures and queer, conceited efforts deliberately to charm each other. She blushed when she saw Mitchell at the pianola, and thought she had been rather foolish and weak to allow Mendel to bully her into dismissing him from her acquaintance, and she was relieved when she saw Mendel take in the situation and go up to Mitchell and tap him on the shoulder and enter into eager discussion of the pianola. She was less happy when she saw Mendel take Mitchell's place, and Mitchell make a bee-line for herself. An astonishing change came over the music, which got into Mendel's blood. It was maddening, it was glorious to feel that he had all that wealth of sound in his hands. He knew nothing of music, and it was almost pure rhythm to him, and he wished to beat it out, to accentuate it as much as possible. The machine confounded him every now and then by running too fast or too slow, but he soon learned to pedal less violently, and then he was gloriously happy and drunk with excitement. Astonishing, too, was the change in the company. Everybody began to talk and to laugh, and space was cleared in the middle of the room, and Clowes and a young man from the Detmold began to dance. Jessie Petrie and Weldon joined them, and soon the room was full of whirling, gliding couples. Said Mitchell to Morrison:-- "I didn't expect to find you here. Are you going to dance?" "No. I like watching." He sat on the floor by her side, and, hanging his head, he said woefully:-- "So Kühler's won! Gawd! He always gets what he wants. There's no resisting him." "Don't be absurd," said Morrison. "I hear you've been ill."