"I have so longed for a quiet word with you," said Mrs Jehoram in a low tone. "To tell you how delightful I found your playing." "I am glad it pleased you," said the Angel. "Pleased is scarcely the word," said Mrs Jehoram. "I was moved--profoundly. These others did not understand.... I was glad you did not play with him." The Angel looked at the mechanism called Wilmerdings, and felt glad too. (The Angelic conception of duets is a kind of conversation upon violins.) But he said nothing. "I worship music," said Mrs Jehoram. "I know nothing about it technically, but there is something in it--a longing, a wish...." The Angel stared at her face. She met his eyes. "You understand," she said. "I see you understand." He was certainly a very nice boy, sentimentally precocious perhaps, and with deliciously liquid eyes. There was an interval of Chopin (Op. 40) played with immense precision. Mrs Jehoram had a sweet face still, in shadow, with the light falling round her golden hair, and a curious theory flashed across the Angel's mind. The perceptible powder only supported his view of something infinitely bright and lovable caught, tarnished, coarsened, coated over. "Do you," said the Angel in a low tone. "Are you ... separated from ... _your_ world?" "As you are?" whispered Mrs Jehoram. "This is so--cold," said the Angel. "So harsh!" He meant the whole world. "I feel it too," said Mrs Jehoram, referring to Siddermorton Home. "There are those who cannot live without sympathy," she said after a sympathetic pause. "And times when one feels alone in the world. Fighting a battle against it all. Laughing, flirting, hiding the pain of it...." "And hoping," said the Angel with a wonderful glance.--"Yes." Mrs Jehoram (who was an epicure of flirtations) felt the Angel was more than redeeming the promise of his appearance. (Indisputably he worshipped her.) "Do _you_ look for sympathy?" she said. "Or have you found it?" "I think," said the Angel, very softly, leaning forward, "I think I have found it." Interval of Chopin Op. 40. The very eldest Miss Papaver and Mrs Pirbright whispering. Lady Hammergallow (glasses up) looking down the saloon with an unfriendly expression at the Angel. Mrs Jehoram and the Angel exchanging deep and significant glances. "Her name," said the Angel (Mrs Jehoram made a movement) "is Delia. She is...." "Delia!" said Mrs Jehoram sharply, slowly realising a terrible misunderstanding. "A fanciful name.... Why!... No! Not that little housemaid at the Vicarage--?..." The Polonaise terminated with a flourish. The Angel was quite surprised at the change in Mrs Jehoram's expression. "_I never_ did!" said Mrs Jehoram recovering. "To make me your confidant in an intrigue with a servant. Really Mr Angel it's possible to be too original...." Then suddenly their colloquy was interrupted. XXXVI. This section is (so far as my memory goes) the shortest in the book.