the number he
disapproved of, as reminiscent of the Handel theme, Hermann gathered
himself up again for the assertion of the original tune, with its bars
of scale octaves. The contagious jollity of it all seized the others,
and Sylvia, with full voice, and Aunt Barbara, in a strange hooting,
sang to it.

Then Hermann banged out the last chord, and jumped up from his seat,
rolling up the music.

"I go straight home," he said, "and have a peaceful hour with it.
Michael, old boy, how did you do it? You've been studying seriously for
a few months only, and so this must all have been in you before. And
you've come to the age you are without letting any of it out. I suppose
that's why it has come with a rush. You knew it all along, while you
were wasting your time over drilling your toy soldiers. Come on, Sylvia,
or I shall go without you. Good night, Lady Barbara. Half-past ten
to-morrow, Michael."

Protest was clearly useless; and, having seen the two off, Michael came
upstairs again to Aunt Barbara, who had no intention of going away just
yet.

"And so these are the people you have been living with," she said. "No
wonder you had not time to come and see me. Do they always go that sort
of pace--it is quicker than when I talk French."

Michael sank into a chair.

"Oh, yes, that's Hermann all over," he said. "But--but just think what
it means to me! He's going to play my tunes at his concert. Michael
Comber, Op. 1. O Lord! O Lord!"

"And you just met him in the train?" said Aunt Barbara.

"Yes; second class, Victoria Station, with Sylvia on the platform. I
didn't much notice Sylvia then."

This and the inference that naturally followed was as much as could be
expected, and Aunt Barbara did not appear to wait for anything more on
the subject of Sylvia. She had seen sufficient of the situation to
know where Michael was most certainly bound for. Yet the very fact of
Sylvia's outspoken friendliness with him made her wonder a little as to
what his reception would be. She would hardly have said so plainly that
she and her brother were devoted to him if she had been devoted to him
with that secret tenderness which, in its essentials, is reticent about
itself. Her half-hour's conversation with the girl had given her a
certain insight into her; still more had her attitude when she stood by
Michael as he played for her, and put her hand on his shoulder precisely
as she would have done if it had been another girl who was se