Dot brightened a little. 'Of course it is,' she said, 'I wish you hadn't seen it though; I was dying to surprise you, Larrie.' Then she went up closer to him. 'Aren't you going to kiss your own pocket Madame Melba?' She felt how flat the scene had fallen even as she spoke, and was fit to cry at the disappointment. Then she remembered Larrie's anger a few minutes back, 'But what made you so cross?' she said. 'How dare you do such a thing?' he said, his eyes beginning to blaze again, 'how dare you; this comes of letting that infernal fellow come to the house so much.' 'You mean Mr Wooster?' Dot was beginning to fear for her husband's sanity. 'It's his concert, you are singing at his instigation, you have kept it hidden from me.' His voice rose. 'Of course I have,' Dot said. Then she spoke very slowly, 'Do you really mean to say, Larrie, that all this is because I am going to sing on Friday?' 'Friday!' shouted Larrie, he had actually not seen the date, so absorbed had he been in the sight of his own name on that green paper, with Mrs prefixed. 'Because I'm going to sing on Friday?' repeated Dot. With a superhuman effort he controlled himself; he knew the impotence of anger. 'Tell me _everything_,' he said shortly, 'and stand there.' Dot was moving towards the sofa again. She came back to him to save time though the tone was provocative; she knew that he would have held her by sheer physical force if she refused while he was like this. Then she told him the very high opinion Mr Wooster had of her voice; how he felt confident she had but to be heard by competent critics to be assured of success, how he had arranged this concert to give her the opportunity and how she had been keeping the secret just to surprise him. He heard her to the end and acquitted her of concealing it for any unworthy motive. 'But I should not dream of allowing you to appear in public,' he said, 'so you can tell Wooster as soon as you like that he must fill your place.' He stood up as if the matter was settled, he even took off his hat and remarked that it was wet. But Dot had gone very white. 'You mean to say, Larrie, that you would try to stop me now?' she said. 'I mean to say I _shall_ stop you, there will be no trying about it,' he answered. His temper had not perfectly balanced itself again, and that together with the unpleasant dampness he was just beginning to feel, made his speech somewhat despotic. 'Your reasons?' Dot's voice was quiet, dangerously so. 'I do not care for my wife to sing in a public place like that, I don't approve of the way the thing has been managed, I don't like you having so much to do with that fellow, that is quite enough,' he moved to the door. 'Where's that old brown coat of mine, I hope you haven't given it away.'