Stella had seemed likely at first to give the favor of her attention more to Hazlewood than to anybody else, but Maurice was in a dauntless mood and, with Guy handicapped by having to pretend to assent to Wedderburn’s suggestions for entertainment, he managed at last to monopolize Stella almost entirely. Alan had declined the invitation with the excuse of wanting a steady hand and eye for to-morrow. But Michael fancied there was another reason. Stella played three times and was much applauded. “Very sporting effort, by Jove,” said Lonsdale, and this was probably the motive of most of the commendation, though there was a group of really musical people in the darkest corner who emerged between each occasion and condoled with Michael on having to hear his sister play in such inadequate surroundings. Michael himself was less moved by Stella’s playing than he had ever been. Nor was this coldness due to any anxiety for her success. He was sure enough of that in this uncritical audience. “Do you think Stella plays as well as she did?” he asked Mrs. Ross. “Perhaps this evening she may be a little excited,” Mrs. Ross suggested. “Perhaps,” said Michael doubtfully. “But what I mean is that, if she isn’t going to advance quite definitely, there really isn’t any longer an excuse for her to arrogate to herself a special code of behavior.” “Stella says a great deal more than she does,” Mrs. Ross reassured him. “You’d be surprised, as indeed I was surprised, to find how simple and childlike she really is. I think an audience is never good for her.” “But, after all, her life is going to be one audience after another in quick succession,” Michael pointed out. “Gradually an audience will cease to rouse her into any violence of thought or accentuation of superficial action—oh, Michael,” Mrs. Ross exclaimed, breaking off, “what dreadfully long words you’re tempting me to use, and why do you make me talk about Stella? I’d really rather talk about you.” “Stella is becoming a problem to me,” said Michael. “And you yourself are no longer a problem to yourself?” Mrs. Ross inquired. “Not in the sense I was, when we last talked together.” Michael was a little embarrassed by recalling that conversation. It seemed to link him too closely for his pleasure to the behavior which had led up to it, to be a part of himself at the time, farouche and uncontrolled. “And all worries have passed away?” persisted Mrs. Ross.