He at once liked Chopin’s Funeral March. He entered profoundly into the spirit of it. With the gun-metal levers he produced in a marvellous fashion the long tragic roll of the drums, and by the manipulation of a clutch he distilled into the chant at the graveside a melancholy sweetness that rent the heart. The later crescendi were overwhelming. And as he played there, with the bright blaze of the chandelier on his fair hair and beard, and the blue cigar-smoke in his nostrils, and the effluence of the gilded radiator behind him, and the intimacy of the drawn window curtains and the closed and curtained door folding him in from the world, and the agony of the music grieving his artistic soul to the core--as he played there, he grew gradually happier and happier, and the zest of existence seemed to return. It was not only that he felt the elemental, unfathomable satisfaction of a male who is sheltered in solitude from a pack of women that have got on his nerves; there was also the more piquant assurance that he was behaving in a very sprightly manner. How long was it since he had accomplished anything worthy of his ancient reputation as a "card," as "the" card of the Five Towns? He could not say; but now he knew that he was being a card again. The whole town would smile and forgive and admire if it learnt that-- Nellie invaded the room. She had resumed the affray. "Denry!" she reproached him, in an uncontrolled voice. "I’m ashamed of you! I really am!" She was no longer doing the dignified. The mask was off, and the unmistakable lineaments of the outraged mother appeared. That she should address him as "Denry" proved the intensity of her agitation. Years ago, when he had been made an alderman, his wife and his mother had decided that "Denry" was no longer a suitable name for him, and had abandoned it in favour of "Edward Henry." He ceased playing. "Why?" he protested, with a ridiculous air of innocence. "I’m only playing Chopin. Can’t I play Chopin?" He was rather surprised and impressed that she had recognised the piece for what it was. But of course she did, as a fact, know something about music, he remembered, though she never touched the "Pianisto." "I think it’s a pity you can’t choose some other evening for your funeral marches!" she exclaimed. "If that’s it," said Edward Henry like lightning, "why did you stick me out you weren’t afraid of hydrophobia?" "I’ll thank you to come up-stairs," she replied with warmth. "Oh, all right, my dear! All right!" he cooed. And they went up-stairs in a rather solemn procession. IV.