would pay any attention to what she said.

"What is he doing?" people asked, when she spoke about his long hours of
work, about the precautions she had to take lest he should be disturbed.
She answered evasively. The truth was that she did not know what Claude
was doing. What he had done, or some of it, she did know. She had heard
his Te Deum, and some of his strange settings of words from the
scriptures. But her clever worldly instinct told her that this was not
the time when her set would be likely to appreciate things of that kind.
The whole trend of the taste she cared about was setting in the
direction of opera. And whenever she tried to find out from Claude what
he was composing in Kensington Square she was met with evasive answers.

One afternoon she came home from a party at the Drakes' house in Park
Lane determined to enlist Claude's aid at once in her enterprise,
without telling him what was in her heart. And first she must find out
definitely what sort of composition he was working on at the present
moment. In Park Lane nothing had been heard of but Sennier and Madame
Sennier. Margot had returned from America more enthusiastic, more
_engouee_ than ever.

She had been as straw to the flame of American enthusiasm. All her
individuality seemed to have been burnt out of her. She was at present
only a sort of receptacle for Sennier-mania. In dress, hair, manner, and
even gesture, she strove to reproduce Madame Sennier. For one of the
most curious features of Sennier's vogue was the worship accorded by
women as well as by men to his dominating wife. They talked and thought
almost as much about her as they did about him. And though his was the
might of genius, hers seemed to be the might of personality. The
perpetual chanting of the Frenchwoman's praises had "got upon"
Charmian's nerves. She felt this afternoon as if she could not bear it
much longer, unless some outlet was provided for her secret desires. And
she arrived at Kensington Square in a condition of suppressed nervous
excitement.

She paid the driver of the taxi-cab and rang the bell. She had forgotten
to take her key. Alice answered the door.

"Is Mr. Heath in?" asked Charmian.

"He's been playing golf, ma'am. But he's just come in," answered Alice,
a plump, soft-looking girl, with rather sulky blue eyes.

"Oh, of course! It's Saturday."

On Saturday Claude generally took a half-holiday, and went down to
Richmond to play golf with a friend of h