al music, the music of defiance and revolt. It
flung abroad the prodigal's prodigality, his insolent and iniquitous
joy. That was what he, a bad man, made of an innocent thing.

Majendie's face lit up, responsive to the delight and challenge of the
opening chord. "He's all right," said he, "as long as he can play."

He listened, glancing now and then at Anne with a smile of pride in his
friend's performance. It was as if he were asking her to own that there
must be some good in a fellow who could play like that.

Anne was considering in what words she would intimate to him that Mr.
Gorst's music was never to be heard again in that house. Some instinct
told her that she was courting danger, but the approval of her conscience
urged her on. She waited till the Polonaise was over before she spoke.

"You say," said she, "he's all right as long as he can play like that. To
me, it's the most convincing proof that he's all wrong."

"How do you make that out?"

"I don't want to go into it," said Anne. "I don't approve of Mr. Gorst;
but I should think better of him if he had only better taste."

"You're the first person who ever accused Gorst of bad taste."

"Do you call it good taste to live as he does, as I know he does, and you
know he does, and yet to come here, and sit with Edie, and behave as if
he'd never done anything to be ashamed of? It would be infinitely better
taste if he kept away."

"Not at all. There are a great many very nice things about Gorst, and his
caring to come here is one of the nicest. He has been faithful to Edith
for ten years. That sort of thing isn't so common that one can afford to
despise it."

"Faithful to her? Poor darling, does she think he is?"

"She doesn't think. She knows."

"Preserve me from such faithfulness."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I do know. And you know that I know." In proof of her contention she
offered him the incident of the four-in-hand.

Majendie made a movement of impatience. "Oh, that's nothing," he said.
"He doesn't like her. He likes driving, and she likes a front seat at any
show (I can't see her taking a back one); and if she insisted on climbing
up beside him, he couldn't very well knock her off, you know. You don't
seem to realise how difficult it is to knock a woman off any seat she
takes a fancy to sit on. You simply can't do it."

Anne was silent. She felt weak and helpless before his imperturbable
levity.

He smoked placidly.