It stirred Avery also, but in a different way. The personality of the player forced itself upon her with a curious insistence, and she had an odd feeling that he did it by deliberate intention. Every chord he struck seemed to speak to her directly, compelling her attention, dominating her will. He was playing to her alone, and, though she chose to ignore the fact, she was none the less aware of it. By his music he enthralled her, making her see the things he saw, making her feel the fiery unrest that throbbed in every beat of his heart. Gracie, standing beside him, watching with fascinated eyes the strong hands that charmed from the old piano such music as probably it had never before uttered, was enthralled also, but only in a superficial sense. She was keenly interested in the play of his fingers, which seemed to her quite wonderful, as indeed it was. He took no more notice of her admiring gaze than if she had been a fly, pouring out his magic flood of music with eyes fixed straight before him and lips that were sometimes hard and sometimes tender. He might have been a man in a trance. And then very suddenly the spell was broken. For no apparent reason, he fell headlong from his heights and burst into a merry little jig that set Gracie dancing like an elf. He became aware of her then, threw her a laugh, quickened to a mad tarantella that nearly whirled her off her feet, finally ended with a crashing chord, and whizzed round on the music-stool in time to catch her as she fell gasping against him. "What a featherweight you are!" he laughed. "You'll dance the Thames on fire some day. Giddy, what?" Gracie lay in his arms in a collapsed condition. "You--you made me do it!" she panted. "To be sure!" said Piers. "I'm a wizard. Didn't you know? I can make anybody do anything." There was a ring of triumph in his voice. Jeanie drew a deep breath and nodded from her sofa. "It's called hyp--hyp--Aunt Avery, what is the word?" "Aunt Avery doesn't know," said Piers. "And why Aunt Avery, I wonder? You'll be calling me Uncle Piers next." Both children laughed. "I have a special name for you," Jeanie said. But Piers was not attending. He cast a daring glance across the room at Avery who was darning stockings under the lamp. "Do they call you Aunt Avery because you are so old?" he enquired, as Avery did not respond to it. She smiled a little. "I expect so," she said. "Oh no!" said Jeanie politely. "Only because we are children and she is grown up." Piers, with Gracie still lounging comfortably on his knee, bowed to her. "I thank your majesty. I appeal to you as queen of this establishment; am I--as a grown-up--entitled to drop the title of Aunt when addressing the gracious lady in question?" Again he glanced towards Avery, but she did not raise her eyes. She worked on, still with that faint, enigmatical smile about her lips. Jeanie looked slightly dubious. "I don't think you could ever call her Aunt, could you?" she said.