went out.

Lady Holme felt rather sick for a moment. She knew she was going to sing
well, she wished to sing well--but not in order to punish Miss Schley
for having punished Fritz. Was everything she did to accomplish some
sordid result? Was even her singing--the one thing in which Robin Pierce
and some other divined a hidden truth that was beautiful--was even that
to play its contemptible part in the social drama in which she was so
inextricably entangled? Those gossamer threads were iron strands indeed.

Someone else was singing--her friend with the contralto voice.

She sat down alone in a corner. Presently the French actor began to
give one of his famous monologues. She heard his wonderfully varied
elocution, his voice--intelligence made audible and dashed with flying
lights of humour rising and falling subtly, yet always with a curious
sound of inevitable simplicity. She heard gentle titterings from the
concealed audience, then a definite laugh, then a peal of laughter quite
gloriously indiscreet. The people were waking up. And she felt as if
they were being prepared for her. But why had Fritz looked like that,
spoken like that? It seemed to spoil everything. To-day she felt too far
away from--too far beyond, that was the truth--Miss Schley to want to
enter into any rivalry with her. She wished very much that she had been
placed first on the programme. Then there could have been no question of
her cutting out the American.

As she was thinking this Miss Schley slowly crossed the room and came up
to her.

"Lady Holme," she said, "I come next."

"Do you?"

"I do. And then you follow after."

"Well?"

"Say, would you mind changing it? It don't do to have two recitations
one after the other. There ought to be something different in between."

Lady Holme looked at her quite eagerly, almost with gratitude.

"I'll sing next," she said quickly.

"Much obliged to you, I'm sure. You're perfectly sweet."

Lady Holme saw again a faint look of surprise on the American's white
face, succeeded instantly by an expression of satisfaction. She realised
that Miss Schley had some hidden disagreeable reason for her request.
She even guessed what it was. But she only felt glad that, whatever
happened, no one could accuse her of trying to efface any effect made by
Miss Schley upon the audience. As she sang before the "imitations,"
if any effect were to be effaced it must be her own. The voice of the
French actor ceased,