s as I drove from Bursley to Hanbridge in the cab, and as I got
out of the cab in the crowd, and gave up my ticket, and entered the
glittering auditorium of the Jubilee Hall. I was alone, at night, in the
public places, under the eye of the world. And I was guiltily alone.
Every fibre of my body throbbed with the daring and the danger and the
romance of the adventure. The horror of revealing the truth to Aunt
Constance, as I was bound to do--of telling her that I had lied, and that
I had left my maiden's modesty behind in my bedroom, gripped me at
intervals like some appalling and exquisite instrument of torture. And
yet, ere Diaz had touched the piano with his broad white hand, I was
content, I was rewarded, and I was justified.

The programme began with Chopin's first Ballade.

There was an imperative summons, briefly sustained, which developed into
an appeal and an invocation, ascending, falling, and still higher
ascending, till it faded and expired, and then, after a little pause, was
revived; then silence, and two chords, defining and clarifying the
vagueness of the appeal and the invocation. And then, almost before I was
aware of it, there stole forth from under the fingers of Diaz the song of
the soul of man, timid, questioning, plaintive, neither sad nor joyous,
but simply human, seeking what it might find on earth. The song changed
subtly from mood to mood, expressing that which nothing but itself could
express; and presently there was a low and gentle menace, thrice repeated
under the melody of the song, and the reply of the song was a proud cry,
a haughty contempt of these furtive warnings, and a sudden winged leap
into the empyrean towards the Eternal Spirit. And then the melody was
lost in a depth, and the song became turgid and wild and wilder,
hysteric, irresolute, frantically groping, until at last it found its
peace and its salvation. And the treasure was veiled in a mist of
arpeggios, but one by one these were torn away, and there was a hush, a
pause, and a preparation; and the soul of man broke into a new song of
what it had found on earth--the magic of the tenderness of love--an air
so caressing and so sweet, so calmly happy and so mournfully sane, so
bereft of illusions and so naive, that it seemed to reveal in a few
miraculous phrases the secret intentions of God. It was too beautiful; it
told me too much about myself; it vibrated my nerves to such an
unbearable spasm of pleasure that I might have