Some little time he played before any one danced; then the insensate callousness of people who “must be amused” triumphed over the music and the stupid gyrations of the modern dance which every one had been forced to learn in self-protection—for those who do not dance must watch, and the insult to the eyes is too great to be borne. Perhaps after all the music of Aglipogue’s violin did move them; perhaps it was only that they had dined too well; perhaps because the company was so small that twice men found themselves dancing with their own wives; for any, or all, or none of these reasons, they tired of dancing early and were ready for Angela’s much-advertised “show.” Terry had been dancing with Ruth, and she knew that there was something that he wanted to say to her. She guessed that it was something about Gloria, but she did not want to talk to Terry about Gloria. He could not understand and she regretted that she had tried to make him understand. She could not discuss Gloria with any one, not even Terry. She knew what she had to do and her whole mind was set on that. If she talked to Terry his lack of faith would weaken her purpose. She left him now, abruptly, ignoring the look of reproach in his eyes, and walked beside Professor Pendragon, who was moving slowly on his crutches, a little behind the others. She meant to stay close beside him through the rest of the night. In the room that had been the scene of the children’s party that afternoon a stage had been put up—a low platform covered with a black velvet carpet and divided in half by a black curtain on which the signs of the Zodiac were embroidered in gold thread. The Christmas tree was still in the room, but unlighted and shoved away into an obscure corner. To Ruth it looked pitiful, like an old man, Father Christmas perhaps, who sat back watching with sorrowful eyes the unchristmas-like amusements of modern humanity. There was a piano on the stage. For a woman who was herself “unmusical,” Angela had more pianos in her house than any one in the world, Ruth decided. In a semicircle, very close to the stage, chairs had been placed, and here the company seated themselves, with much more or less witty comment about what they might expect from behind the mysterious curtain. Behind them was another row of chairs, which, carrying out Mr. Peyton-Russell’s “lord of the manor” pose, the household servants had been invited to occupy. They came, with quiet curiosity, one or two of the maids stifling yawns that led Ruth to suspect they would much rather have gone to bed.