of excitement rippled through the big rooms when at
last she mounted the platform. People who had hitherto been content to
remain, in the hall, regarding the music as a pleasant accompaniment to
the interchange of the day's news and gossip, now came flocking in
through the doorways, hoping to find seats, and mostly having to
content themselves with standing-room.

Almost as in a dream, Diana waited for the applause to subside, her
eyes roaming halt-unconsciously over the big assembly.

It was all so stalely familiar--the little rustle of excitement, the
preliminary clapping, the settling down to listen, and then the sea of
upturned faces spread out beneath her.

The memory of the first time that she had sung in public, at Adrienne's
house in Somervell Street, came back to her. It had been just such an
occasion as this. . . .

(Olga was playing the introductory bars of accompaniment to her song,
and, still as in a dream, she began to sing, the exquisite voice
thrilling out into the vast room, golden and perfect.)

. . . Adrienne had smiled at her encouragingly from across the room,
and Jerry Leigh had been standing at the far end near some big double
doors. There were double doors to this room, too, flung wide open.
(It was odd how clearly she could recall it all; her mind seemed to be
working quite independently of what was going on around her.) And Max
had been there. She remembered how she had believed him to be still
abroad, and then, how she had looked up and suddenly met his gaze
across those rows and rows of unfamiliar faces. He had come back.

Instinctively she glanced towards the far end of the room, where, on
that other night and in that other room, he had been standing, and
then . . . then . . . was it still only the dream, the memory of long
ago? . . . Or had God worked a miracle? . . . Over the heads of the
people, Max's eyes, grave and tender, but unspeakably sad, looked into
hers!

A hand seemed to grip her heart, squeezing it so that she could not
draw her breath. Everything grew blurred and dim about her, but
through the blur she could still see Max, standing with his head thrown
back against the panelling of the door, his arms folded across his
chest, and his eyes--those grave, questioning eyes--fixed on her face.

Presently the darkness cleared away and she found that she was still
singing--mechanically her voice had answered to the long training of
years. But the audience had heard