a funny little man Mr.
Prince is, isn't he?" She spoke condescendingly.

"Anyhow," said George, who had been respecting Mr. Alfred Prince,
"anyhow, I'm glad you didn't go to the concert with him."

"Why?" she asked, with apparent simplicity. "I adore the Proms. Don't
you?"

"Let's go, then," he suggested. "We shan't be very late, and what else
is there for you to do?"

His audacity frightened him. There she stood with him in the porch,
silent, reflective. She would never go. For sundry practical and other
reasons she would refuse. She must refuse.

"I'll go," she said, as if announcing a well-meditated decision. He
could scarcely believe it. This could not be London that he was in.

They deposited the portfolio under the mat in the porch.

IV

When they got into the hall the band was sending forth a tremendous
volume of brilliant exhilarating sound. A vast melody seemed to ride on
waves of brass. The conductor was very excited, and his dark locks shook
with the violence of his gestures as he urged onward the fingers and
arms of the executants flying madly through the maze of the music to a
climax. There were flags; there was a bank of flowers; there was a
fountain; there were the huge crimson-domed lamps that poured down their
radiance; and there was the packed crowd of straw-hatted and
floral-hatted erect figures gazing with upturned, intent faces at the
immense orchestral machine. Then came a final crash, and for an instant
the thin, silvery tinkle of the fountain supervened in an enchanted
hush; and then terrific applause, with yells and thuds above and below
the hand-clapping, filled and inflamed the whole interior. The
conductor, recovering from a collapse, turned round and bowed low with
his hand on his shirt-front; his hair fell over his forehead; he
straightened himself and threw the hair back again, and so he kept on,
time after time casting those plumes to and fro. At last, sated with
homage, he thought of justice, and pointed to the band and smiled with
an unconvincing air of humility, as if saying: "I am naught. Here are
the true heroes." And on the end of his stick he lifted to their feet
eighty men, whose rising drew invigorated shouts. Enthusiasm reigned;
triumph was accomplished. Even when the applause had expired, enthusiasm
still reigned; and every person present had the illusion of a share in
the triumph. It was a great night at the Promenades.

George and Marguerite looked at each othe