“I am sure, but are not the vibrations stronger between you if you are alone, if there is nothing to disturb your thoughts?...” Even Gabriel Stanton could be disingenuous when the occasion demanded. She hesitated. “Wouldn’t Mrs. Capel be offended? One owes something to one’s hostess. She has promised to play. You told me she played beautifully. I do think she is very sweet. But, Gabriel, have you thought of the flat? I shouldn’t like to give it up. The gravel soil and air from the heath, and everything. Isn’t she ... isn’t she....” “A size too big for it?” He finished her sentence for her. “Too grand, I meant.” “Yes, too grand. Of course she is too grand.” He turned to look at her. This time their eloquent eyes met. She indicated the piano stool to Peter Kennedy and came swiftly to the brother and sister. “Has he made you comfortable?” She adjusted the pillows, and stole a glance at Gabriel. Whenever she looked at him it seemed that his eyes were upon her. They were extraordinarily conscious of each other, acting a little because Anne and Peter were there. Peter Kennedy, over on the music stool, struck a chord or two, as if to lure her back. “One can always listen better when one is comfortable,” she said to Anne. Then went over to the fender stool, where Gabriel joined her, after a moment’s hesitation. “Isn’t it too hot for you?” she asked him innocently. “It might have been,” he answered, smiling, “only the fire is out.” “Is it?” she turned to look. “I had not noticed it. Hush! He is going to play the _Berceuse_. You haven’t heard him before, have you? He plays quite well.” So they sat there together whilst Peter Kennedy played, and every now and then Anne said from the sofa: “How delicious! Thank you ever so much. What was it? I thought I knew the piece.” Peter got up from the piano before Gabriel and Margaret had tired of sitting side by side on the fender stool, or Anne of ejaculating her little complimentary, grateful, or enquiring phrases. “I suppose you’ve had enough of it,” he said abruptly to Margaret. “No, I haven’t. You could have gone on for another hour.” “I daresay.” Gabriel thought his manner singularly abrupt, almost rude. This was only the second or third time he had met Margaret’s medical attendant, and he was not at all favourably impressed by him. As for Peter: “Damned dry stick,” he said to Margaret, when he had persuaded her to the redemption of her promise, and was leading her to the piano. “What a boor you really are, notwithstanding your playing,” she answered calmly, adjusting the candles, the height of the piano stool, looking out some music. “I really thought you were going to behave well tonight. And not a word about Christian Science,” she chaffed him gently, “after all the coaching.” She too tried a few chords.