But half-way through the evening, after having been swept away by Tschaikowsky’s “Francesca da Rimini” and the Fantasy from “Romeo and Juliet” and stirred deeply by Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries,” Fallaray underwent a strange and disconcerting experience. Leaving his place between his mother and old Lady Ladbroke, he went to smoke a cigarette in the foyer of the hall during the intermission. The music had gone to his brain and driven out of it for the moment the anxieties that beset him. All the vibrations of that wonderful orchestra flew about him like a million birds and the sense of sex that he had got from Lola’s touch ran through his veins. He went through the swing-doors and out onto the steps of the building. It was one of those wonderful nights which come sometimes in April and touch the city with magic. It was like the advance guard of June bringing with it the warmth and the scents of that exquisite month. The sky was clear and almost Italian, and the moonlight lay like snow on the roofs. It cast long shadows across the street. Fallaray looked up at the stars and a new and curious thrill of youth ran through him and a sort of impatience at having missed something—he hardly knew what. Wherever he looked he seemed to see two wide-apart eyes filled with adoration and longing and a little red mouth half open. “De Brézé,” he said to himself. “De Brézé.” And the name seemed to hold romance and to carry his thoughts out of London, out of the present and back to the times of beflowered garments and powdered heads, of minuets and high red heels. And as he stood there, far away from the bewilderment and futility of Parliament, a car drove up to the hall and two women got out. They were Mrs. Malwood and Feo and they were dressed in country clothes—the curious country clothes affected by them both. Mrs. Malwood, who was laughing and excited, passed Fallaray without noticing him and entered the building. But Feo drew up short in front of him, amazed at his expression. “Good Lord, Arthur,” she said, “what are you doing here and what on earth are you thinking about?” Music and the stars and Lola were in his eyes as he looked at her. “I thought you were in the country,” he said. “I was. I shall be again in an hour or two. In the middle of dinner I suddenly remembered that a protégé of mine, Leo Kirosch, was to sing here to-night. So I dashed up. He’s in the second part of the program, so I shall be in time to hear him. It entirely rotted the party, but that couldn’t be helped.”