Leveling inscrutable eyes upon Mme. Petrovskey, she caught a return flash from the babyish blue orbs. They both bowed constrainedly. From her refuge in the back row, Claire grasped Dr. Elliott's arm. Her gaze, never long withdrawn from Anne's box, had intercepted the bow between the two women on opposite sides of the house. Her cheeks, hitherto pale, flamed crimson. The man beside her cursed inwardly. As he had feared, the whole thing was proving too much for the poor child. He was glad that he had insisted upon accompanying her. It would have been abominable to have permitted her to come alone. She ought not to be here as it was. The glamour of Petrovskey's music was sufficient to unnerve her, let alone his triumph. As the magic notes floated out upon the air in a very fury of perfection, Claire's companion wondered no longer at the hold that the player had obtained over her. He was just the sort of man that a woman would fall for. And having fallen, remain prostrate to be trampled upon at his will. And the creature had charm (damned if he hadn't) a sort of melancholy charm--the charm that conceals discrepancies as a tropical vine flowers about a rotten stump. No, he did not blame Claire for being infatuated with the fellow. Settling back into his seat, he sighed resignedly. The concerto ended upon a dramatic silence. It seemed as if the whole world were holding its breath. Then a storm of applause broke out. With a shock, shattering as thunder, rhythmic as the roll of gigantic drums, Alexis was recalled over and over again. Upon one of his returns a woman in the front row threw her bunch of violets on to the stage. They dropped at Alexis' feet. He stooped, and picking them up, pressed them to his lips. The applause rose to a deafening crescendo. Cries of "bravo" punctuated the clamor shrilly. With a smile, Alexis placed the violets upon the piano, where he characteristically forgot them. As Alexis made his last exit before the intermission, Dr. Elliott turned towards Claire. About to express enthusiastic, if unwilling praise of the performance, he stopped short at sight of her face. The small features were convulsed into a mask of agony. She was weeping softly, weakly, as if her very blood were seeping out with her tears. "You must let me take you home at once," he exclaimed under the general uproar. Without a protest she followed him out into the aisle, "Yes," she whispered, "I didn't think that I would disgrace myself like this. I suppose I ought to have taken your advice and not come. But oh, I wanted to so much. I was so afraid for him, you know. I had a silly feeling that my love might help him, even if he didn't care or know that I was there!" She sobbed beneath her breath. "But I see he didn't need me after all," she added, as they fought their way out into the lobby.