“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the judge in his deep bass, “it’s my duty and my pleasure to introduce the great pianist, Signor Caraffi.” Colonel Denbigh led the applause, and for a moment it was deafening. The pianist, thrusting one hand in the front of his white satin waistcoat, bowed low. Judge Jessup discreetly withdrew into the shadow of the palms where--at intervals--the audience glimpsed white skirts and pink skirts and blue skirts, and two or three amazing pairs of feet skirmishing behind the foliage and between the substantial green tubs. But even these things became less diverting when the hirsute gentleman began to play. “Oh, how wonderful!” breathed Mrs. Carter with relief. Colonel Denbigh nodded. “Looks like a hair-restorer advertisement,” he replied gently; “but he can play. I reckon it’s genius that makes his hair grow!” It certainly looked like genius, for he was really a great pianist. For a while he held the audience spellbound. Splendid music filled their ears and, in some cases at least, stirred their souls. Even the more frivolous listeners forgot to make fun of the huge, shaggy head as it bent and swayed and nodded while the pianist forgot himself and forgot the world in his conflict with the instrument--a conflict that always left him supremely master of heavenly harmonies. Back in the little room behind the platform, Virginia listened and forgot that she was worn out with superintending it all; forgot that she still had her anxieties, and would have them until the last number was successfully rendered, for Mrs. William Carter was next on the bill, and Mrs. Carter had not come. Not yet! Virginia was waiting for her, much against her will, for there were two or three operatic strangers waiting also, and that intolerable man Corwin, Caraffi’s manager. Virginia was aware of him, aware of his sleek good looks and his watchful eyes. Finding them fixed in her direction, she turned her shoulder toward him, and was thus the first to see the arrival of Fanchon and Leigh. They came in softly, Fanchon on tiptoe, listening to Caraffi, and Leigh laden with her wraps and her music-roll, his young, flushed face turned adoringly toward his sister-in-law.