of eternity and nothingness. Mr. and Mrs. Spatt, seated as
far as was convenient from one another on a long sofa, their emaciated
bodies very upright and alert, gazed with intense expectation at Musa. Musa
stood in the middle of the room, tuning his violin with little twangs and
listening to the twangs as to a secret message.

Miss Nickall, being an invalid, had excusably gone to bed, and Jane Foley,
sharer of her bedroom, had followed. The happy relief on Jane's face as
she said good night to her hosts had testified to the severity of the
ordeal of hospitality through which she had so heroically passed. She
might have been going out of prison instead of going out of the most
intellectual drawing-room in Frinton.

Audrey, too, would have liked to retire, for automobiles and sensations had
exhausted her; but just at this point her unreason had begun to operate.
She would not leave Musa alone, because Miss Nickall was leaving him alone.
Yet she did not feel at all benevolent towards Musa. She was angry with him
for having quitted Paris. She was angry with him for having said to her, in
such a peculiar tone: "It's you I came to London to see." She was angry
with him for not having found an opportunity, during the picnic meal
provided for the two new-comers after the regular dinner, to explain why he
had come to London to see her. She was angry with him for that dark
hostility which he had at once displayed towards Mr. Ziegler, though she
herself hated the innocent Mr. Ziegler with the ferocity of a woman of the
Revolution. And further, she was glad, ridiculously glad, that Musa had
come to London to see her. Lastly she was aware of a most irrational
objection to the manner in which Miss Nickall and Musa said good night to
one another, and the obvious fact that Musa in less than an hour had
reached terms of familiarity with Jane Foley.

She thought:

"I haven't the faintest idea why he has given up his practising in Paris to
come to see me. But if it is what I feel sure it is, there will be
trouble.... Why do I stay in this ghastly drawing-room? I am dying to go to
sleep, and I simply detest everybody in the room. I detest Musa more than
all, because as usual he has been acting like a child.... Why can't you
smile at him, Audrey Moze? Why frown and pretend you're cross when you know
you aren't, Audrey Moze? ... I am cross, and he shall suffer. Was this a
time to leave his practising--and the concerts soon coming on? I pos