s Proctor stood central, radiating the rich afterglow of her
appreciation. Her gaze was a little critical of her friends' faces, as
if she were measuring the effect, on a provincial audience, of Majendie's
conversational technique. She swept down to a seat beside her hostess.

"My dear Fanny," she said, "why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you--"

"That he was that sort. I didn't know there was such a delightful man in
Scale. What have you all been dreaming of?"

Mrs. Eliott tried to look both amiable and intelligent. In the presence
of Mr. Majendie's robust reality it was indeed as if they had all been
dreaming. Her instinct told her that the spirit of pure comedy was
destruction to the dreams she dreamed. She tried to be genial to her
guest's accomplishment; but she felt that if Mr. Majendie's talents were
let loose in her drawing-room, it would cease to be the place of
intellectual culture. On the other hand she perceived that Miss Proctor's
idea was to empty that drawing-room by securing Mr. Majendie for her own.
Mrs. Eliott remained uncomfortably seated on her dilemma.

Sounds of laughter reached her from below. The men were unusually late in
returning to the drawing-room. They appeared a little flushed by the
hilarious festival, as if Majendie had had on them an effect of mild
intoxication. She could see that even Dr. Gardner was demoralised. He
wore, under his vagueness, the unmistakable air of surrender to an
unfamiliar excess. Mr. Eliott too had the happy look of a man who has fed
loftily after a long fast.

"Anne dear," said Majendie, as they walked back the few yards between
Thurston Square and Prior Street, "we shan't have to do that very often,
shall we?"

"Why not? You can't say we didn't have a delightful evening."

"Yes, but it was very exhausting, dear, for me."

"You? You didn't show much sign of exhaustion. I never heard you talk so
well."

"Did I talk well?"

"Yes. Almost too well."

"Too much, you mean. Well, I had to talk, when nobody else did. Besides,
I did it for a purpose."

But what his purpose was Majendie did not say.

Anne had been human enough to enjoy a performance so far beyond the range
of her anticipations. She was glad, above all, that Walter had made
himself acceptable in Thurston Square. But when she came to think of
what was, what must be known of him in Scale, she was appalled by his
incomprehensible ease of attitude. She reflected that this must have been
the first