She leaned her elbow on the keys and started in momentary fright at the resulting jangle of sound. "I--I get so nervous," she said. "I don't know why. I could never play except to myself--and Clare." She added, slowly, and as if the revelation had only barely come to her: "Do you know--it's strange, isn't it--I think--perhaps--I think I might be able to play in front of you--_now_--without being nervous!" He laughed boisterously and swung himself off the bench. "Very well, then, that's fine news! You shall try. You shall play some of the Chopin waltzes to me. Not very suitable for an organ, but that doesn't matter. Sit further on this bench and play on the lower keyboard. Never mind about the pedals. And I'll manage the stops for you." She wriggled excitedly into the position he had indicated and, laughing softly, began one of the best-known of the waltzes. The experiment was not entirely successful, for even an accomplished pianist does not play well on an organ for the first time, nor do the Chopin waltzes lend themselves aptly to such an instrument. But one thing, and to Speed the main thing of all, was quite obvious: she was, as she had said she would be, entirely free from nervousness of him. After ploughing rather disastrously through a dozen or so bars she stopped, turned to him with flushed cheeks and happy eyes, and exclaimed: "There! That's enough! It's not easy to play, is it?" He said, smiling down at her: "No, it's rather hard, especially at first.... But you weren't nervous then, were you?" "Not a bit," she answered, proudly. She added, with a note of warning: "Don't be surprised if I am when you come in to our house to dinner. I'm always nervous when father's there." Almost he added: "So am I." But the way in which she had mentioned future invitations to dinner at the Head's house gave him the instant feeling that henceforward the atmosphere on such occasions would he subtly different from ever before. The Head's drawing-room, with the baby grand piano and the curio-cabinets and the faded cabbage-like design of the carpet, would never look quite the same again; the Head's drawing-room would look, perhaps, less like a cross between a lady's boudoir and the board-room of a City company; even the Head's study might take on a kindlier, less sinister hue. He said, still with his eyes smiling upon her: "Who teaches you the piano?" "A Miss Peacham used to. I don't have a teacher now." "I don't know," he said, beginning to flush with the consciousness of his great daring, "if you would care to let me help you at all. I should be delighted to do so, you know, at any time. Since--" he laughed a little--"since you're no longer a scrap nervous of me, you might find me useful in giving you a few odd hints." He waited, anxious and perturbed, for her reply. After a sufficient pause she answered slowly, as if thinking it out: "That would be--rather--fine--I think."