he began to
play. The suggestion of intimacy in his attitude was not lost on
Quita, who saw it all, without glancing in their direction. Her lips
tightened; and she started slightly when Desmond spoke to her.

"Will you go round the musical boxes with me?" he asked, in an
undertone that bordered on tenderness. For he saw that something in
her suffered, whether it were pride or love.

"But yes--by all means," she answered, with a lift of her head which
suggested to Desmond a jerk on the curb-chain. In moving off together
they passed close to Garth. But Quita, who was abstractedly opening
and closing her fan, did not seem aware of his presence; and he stood
looking after them--nonplussed and inwardly blaspheming. He did not
hold the key to this new phase of the situation.

Mrs Mayhew--noting his detachment from the Palace group, and quite
needlessly alarmed lest politeness should impel him to return to
her--sought out a strategic seat near the piano; though in truth Honor
Desmond's masterly rendering of Chopin's heroic polonaise was, for her,
no more than a complicated tumult of sound without sense, and her wrapt
expression resulted from the fact that she was debating whether her
_durzi_ could possibly reproduce at sight the subtle simplicity of Mrs
Desmond's evening gown. For she had sons growing up at home--this
insignificant woman, whose plump proportions and bird-like eyes had
earned her the nickname of "the Button Quail"; and even a good
appointment did not annul the vagaries of the rupee, which was behaving
peculiarly ill just then. In the intervals of imaginary dressmaking,
she was enjoying shrewd speculations as to the nature and extent of the
budding "affair" between the two at the piano; for her small mind clung
tenaciously to the Noah's Ark view of life. Also it seemed that
Elsie's own "little affair" was assuming quite a promising aspect.
Personally, she disliked the man, but his talent was undeniable. She
supposed he must be making money by it; and he was quite clearly making
a right-of-way into her daughter's heart.

They had drifted apart from the rest without need of spoken suggestion;
and now, under cover of Honor's music, which produced a tendency to
gravitate towards the piano, the man grew bolder.

"There is moonlight out in the courtyard," he said, very low; and he
tried, without success, to look into her eyes. "_Que dites-vous_?
Shall we go?"

She did not answer at once. A new spir