Her grotesque sense of humor carried her away. How immense it would be to tempt this man out of the stony path of duty and see what he would do. What a story for her little friends! What screams of mirth she could evoke in her recital of so amazing an event, especially as she could dress it all up as she alone knew so well how to do! And then to be able to add to it all the indignant broken English of Kirosch at finding himself deserted. He had promised to sing to her that night. What a frightfully funny story. For a moment or two, with the intoxication of music and of those wide-apart eyes still upon him, Fallaray stood closer to his wife than he had ever been. It seemed to him that she had grown softer and sweeter and he was surprised and full of wonder, until he remembered that she had come to see Kirosch, whom she called her protégé—and then he understood. Mrs. Malwood came out and luckily broke things up. “He’s singing,” she said. “Aren’t you coming in? Good heavens, Feo, what the deuce are you playing at? You’ve dragged me up and ruined everything, only to miss the very thing you seemed so keen to hear. What is the idea?” She recognized Fallaray and said, “Oh, it’s you.” And he bowed and got away—that kink in Feo’s nature was all across her face like a birthmark. And when Feo looked again, she saw in Fallaray’s eyes once more the old aloofness, the old dislike. And she laughed and threw back her head. “_Cherchez la femme_,” she said. “One of these days I’ll get you to tell me why you looked like that.” And she disappeared with Mrs. Malwood to smile down on Kirosch from her seat near the platform. And Fallaray remained out under the stars, his intoxication all gone. Nowhere could he see and nowhere did he wish to see those wide-apart eyes with their adoration. The tingle of that little hand had left him. And just as he turned to go back into the building a newspaper boy darted out to a side street with a shrill raucous cry, “Speshall. Mines Floodin’. Riots in Wales. Speshall.” III The tears that blinded her eyes had gone when Chalfont came back from the cloakroom. He saw on Lola’s face a smile that made him think of sunlight on a bank of primroses.