others for a moment or so, and then
subsided into a regretful but gracious silence. For the next nine or ten
minutes Ronnie held possession of the crowded room, a tense slender
figure, with cold green eyes aflame in a sudden fire, and smooth
burnished head bent low over the keyboard that yielded a disciplined riot
of melody under his strong deft fingers. The world-weary Landgraf forgot
for the moment the regrettable trend of his subjects towards
Parliamentary Socialism, the excellent Grafin von Tolb forgot all that
the Canon had been saying to her for the last ten minutes, forgot the
depressing certainty that he would have a great deal more that he wanted
to say in the immediate future, over and above the thirty-five minutes or
so of discourse that she would contract to listen to next Sunday. And
Cicely listened with the wistful equivocal triumph of one whose goose has
turned out to be a swan and who realises with secret concern that she has
only planned the role of goosegirl for herself.

The last chords died away, the fire faded out of the jade-coloured eyes,
and Ronnie became once more a well-groomed youth in a drawing-room full
of well-dressed people. But around him rose an explosive clamour of
applause and congratulation, the sincere tribute of appreciation and the
equally hearty expression of imitative homage.

"It is a great gift, a great gift," chanted Canon Mousepace, "You must
put it to a great use. A talent is vouchsafed to us for a purpose; you
must fulfil the purpose. Talent such as yours is a responsibility; you
must meet that responsibility."

The dictionary of the English language was an inexhaustible quarry, from
which the Canon had hewn and fashioned for himself a great reputation.

"You must gom and blay to me at Schlachsenberg," said the kindly-faced
Landgraf, whom the world adored and thwarted in about equal proportions.
"At Christmas, yes, that will be a good time. We still keep the Christ-
Fest at Schlachsenberg, though the 'Sozi' keep telling our schoolchildren
that it is only a Christ myth. Never mind, I will have the
Vice-President of our Landtag to listen to you; he is 'Sozi' but we are
good friends outside the Parliament House; you shall blay to him, my
young friendt, and gonfince him that there is a Got in Heaven. You will
gom? Yes?"

"It was beautiful," said the Grafin simply; "it made me cry. Go back to
the piano again, please, at once."

Perhaps the near neighbourhood of