Lady Holme saw again a faint look of surprise on the American’s white face, succeeded instantly by an expression of satisfaction. She realised that Miss Schley had some hidden disagreeable reason for her request. She even guessed what it was. But she only felt glad that, whatever happened, no one could accuse her of trying to efface any effect made by Miss Schley upon the audience. As she sang before the “imitations,” if any effect were to be effaced it must be her own. The voice of the French actor ceased, almost drowned in a ripple of laughter, a burst of quite warm applause. He reappeared looking calm and magisterial. The applause continued, and he had to go back and bow his thanks. The tenor, who had not been recalled, looked cross and made a movement of his double chin that suggested bridling. “Now, Miss Schley!” said the pianist. “You come now!” “Lady Holme has very kindly consented to go first,” she replied. Then she turned to the French actor and, in atrocious but very self-possessed French, began to congratulate him on his performance. “Oh, well--” the pianist hurried up to Lady Holme. “You have really--very well then--these are the songs! Which do you sing first? Very hot, isn’t it?” He wiped his long fingers with a silk pocket-handkerchief and took the music she offered to him. “The Princesses seem very pleased,” he added. “Marteau--charming composer, yes--very pleased indeed. Which one? ‘_C’est toi_’? Certainly, certainly.” He wiped his hands again and held out one to lead Lady Holme to the platform. But she ignored it gently and went on alone. He followed, carrying the music and perspiring. As they disappeared Miss Schley got up and moved to a chair close by the screen that hid the platform. She beckoned to Leo Ulford and he followed her. As Lady Holme stepped on to the low platform, edged with a bank of flowers, it seemed to her as if with one glance she saw everyone in the crowded room, and felt at least something swiftly of each one’s feeling.