The remainder of the meal passed in a strained and uncomfortable manner. Lady Gertrude and Isobel discussed various matters pertaining to the village Welfare Club, while Roger preserved an impenetrable silence, and though Nan made a valiant pretence at eating, lest Lady Gertrude's gimlet eyes should observe her lack of appetite and her thin, disdainful voice comment on the fact, she felt all the time as though the next mouthful must inevitably choke her. The long, formal meal came to an end at last, and she rose from the table with a sigh of relief and accompanied the other two women out of the room, leaving Roger to smoke his pipe alone as usual. An instant later, to her surprise, she heard his footstep and found that he had followed them into the hall and was standing on the threshold of the library. "Come in here, Nan," he said briefly. Somewhat reluctantly she followed him into the room. He closed the door behind her, then swung round on his heel so that they stood fronting one another. At the sight of his face she recoiled a step in sheer nervous astonishment. It was a curious ashen-white, and from beneath drawn brows his hawk's eyes seemed positively to blaze at her. "Roger," she stammered, "what--what is it?" "Is it true?" he demanded, ignoring her halting question, and fixing her with a glance that seemed to penetrate right through her. "Is--is what true?" she faltered. "Is it true--what Isobel said--that you look down on us because we're countrified, that you're still hankering after that precious artistic crew of yours in London?" He spoke violently--so violently that it roused Nan's spirit. She turned away from him. "Don't be so absurd, Roger," she said contemptuously. "Isobel was only joking. It was very silly of her, but it's sillier still for you to take any notice of what she said." "She was _not_ joking. You've shown it clearly enough--ever since you came here--that you're dissatisfied--bored! Do you suppose I haven't seen it? I'm not blind! And I won't stand it! If your music is going to come between us, I'll smash the piano--" "Roger! You ridiculous person!" She was smiling now. Something in his anger reminded her of an enraged small boy. It woke in her the eternal motherhood which lies in every woman and she felt that she wanted to comfort him. She could forgive him his violence. In his furious antagonism towards the art which meant so much to her, she traced the combined influence of Lady Gertrude and Isobel. Not merely the latter's pin-pricks at dinner this particular evening, but the constant pressure of criticism of which she was the subject. "You ridiculous person! If you did smash the piano, it wouldn't make me any less a musician. And"--lightly--"I really can't have you being jealous of an inanimate thing like a grand piano!"