CONCERT 
 PITCH 
 
 FRANK DANBY 
 
 
 p^'^w^ I^^PT^
 
 DONATED BY 
 
 MR. & MRS. BERNAL H. DVAS
 
 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 OP CALIF. LIBRAE?, LOS AHGELES
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
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 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 BY 
 
 
 FRANK DANBY 
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 AUTHOR OF "THE HEART OF A CHILD," 
 "PIGS IN CLOVER," ETC. 
 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1913
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1913, BT 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1913 
 
 Printed by J. J Little & Ives Co., New York
 
 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 WHEN Sir Hubert and Lady Wagner bought and 
 practically rebuilt Stone House, Piccadilly, their 
 position in Society was already established. After Lady 
 Sallust took them up, they had rented the family man- 
 sion of the Lyssons in St. James's Square for three 
 seasons. But, naturally, no furnished house, however 
 dignified, could roof their ambitions indefinitely. An 
 imposing place of their own was essential, with at least 
 two country estates, a yacht and racing stables. 
 
 They learned their requirements slowly. The days 
 seemed now very remote when Lcetitia thought Kens- 
 ington Palace Gardens was a distinguished address, but 
 it was really only eight years since she and her husband 
 had come home from South Africa with a million or so of 
 money, her two stepchildren, and their social way to make. 
 She relied then on her connection with the Briarleys and 
 her pleasing manners manners that had helped her to 
 earn a living in days even more remote, before she had 
 met the mining magnate. She still retained her, so to 
 speak, professional manner and the photographic smile 
 that went with it, but she had discarded the Briarleys. 
 She knew now that even the head of the family, Sir Jabez 
 Briarley himself, was of no moment or interest in the 
 world that held the Sallusts. She shook off the Briarleys 
 
 2129578
 
 2 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 as one shakes fleas from a blanket. It was ridiculous to 
 think of considering their feelings. Loetitia had, as she 
 always assured her friends, a great sense of duty. She 
 would not have been doing her duty to her husband, his 
 children, and the great position they had all attained if 
 she included any of her relations in the new visiting-list 
 of Stone House. 
 
 " You agree with me, don't you, dear Lady Sallust, 
 they would be incongruous, painfully incongruous, it 
 would be fair neither to us nor to them, they would be 
 uncomfortable. ..." 
 
 Of course, Lady Sallust agreed with her. Lady Sallust 
 knew nothing about the many kindnesses the Briarleys 
 had shown Loetitia in her poor and humble days. All 
 Lady Sallust knew was that the Wagners were diabolically 
 rich and the political party for which she stood was 
 in need of money. She agreed that Lady Wagner for 
 a baronetcy was the outward sign that the Wagner 
 wealth had flowed into some, at least, of the right channels 
 was quite right in discarding relations, friends, or 
 acquaintances who might impede her upward flight. 
 Lady Sallust did not even combat openly Lady Wagner's 
 hint that Sir Hubert's daughter, her own stepdaughter, 
 might aspire to a duke. Stone House had been acquired 
 from the Banffs, and Calingford, the heir, although in his 
 fortieth year, was still a bachelor. Afterwards Loetitia 
 said that it was upon Lady Sallust's advice she sent for 
 Manuella before her education was complete, in order 
 that the introduction to Calingford might be effected 
 quickly. There were rumours already that this interest- 
 ing nobleman had begun to see the error of his ways and 
 his musical comedy amourettes, and was on the look-out 
 for a suitable alliance. 
 
 It was eminently appropriate that the first season of 
 the Wagners at Stone House should be inaugurated by 
 the coming-out of a daughter, and a series of entertain- 
 ments with a grand wedding as a probable climax. For 
 so mean a soul Loetitia's aspirations were strangely lofty. 
 Lady Sallust never ceased to marvel at her, to relate
 
 CONCERT PITCH 3 
 
 stories about her; but she kept to the unwritten terms 
 of their strange alliance, and, with certain reservations, 
 helped her consistently to soar to the empyrean heights 
 of her dreams. 
 
 She explained the position frankly to her nephew, 
 Waldo, Earl of Lyssons, just home from East Africa, 
 newly come to the family honours and incongruous in 
 them. 
 
 " The Wagners represent everything that we want 
 least, and need most. The man is fairly possible ; there 
 are always people who will talk diet and drugs with him, 
 he is only really interested in his liver. The woman 
 is ... well, you saw for yourself. But one must do 
 something for one's country. We can't all break windows. 
 I know you are wondering why I sent you in to dinner 
 with her last night." 
 
 Lady Sallust had a way of saying two or three things 
 at the same time, and was sometimes difficult to follow. 
 
 " Loetitia Wagner wanted to get into Society, but she 
 went all the wrong way about it. Charity bazaars 
 and that sort of thing. I did not know when I 
 first met them how amazingly rich they were. After- 
 wards, when I made them take your house in St. James's 
 Square at an exorbitant rent, I felt it my duty to do 
 something for them in return. Oh ! my dear boy, believe 
 me. things have altered since you were last home. We 
 have been out of office for seven years ! Think of it, and 
 things going from bad to worse all the time. But first I 
 must tell you that Hubert Wagner contributed fifty 
 thousand pounds to the expenses of the last election. 
 He built and endowed a new wing for the County Hospi- 
 tal at North Leven, gave ten thousand pounds for a park, 
 and presented a drinking fountain. And then we had 
 only a majority of fifteen ! We are bound to receive 
 them, to make much of them. Do speak, Waldo; don't 
 sit there looking so tall and enigmatic and . . . and 
 disappointing. If the Wagners had not rented the house 
 in St. James's Square, you would owe six thousand 
 pounds more."
 
 4 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " What are these Wagners, then ? How did they 
 acquire their enormous wealth ? " 
 
 He spoke indifferently, playing- with the little dog 
 that rolled and leaped beside him like a kitten ; it was a 
 Pekingese, only second to himself in his aunt's affections. 
 
 " How does anybody know ? What does it matter ? 
 His father was a small tobacco-planter, I have been told, 
 in Cuba, Havana, or somewhere, and this man ran away 
 with a neighbouring planter's daughter. Fortunately he 
 was inspired to go to South Africa, and it was in the good 
 days when everybody made fortunes. Of course, they say 
 he began by illicit diamond buying." 
 
 " You don't mean to tell me the woman I took in to 
 dinner last night ever found anyone to run away with 
 her!" 
 
 Lady Sallust laughed. 
 
 " No ! I can't imagine anyone running away with 
 Lcetitia. She is his second wife. She was governess 
 to his children after their own mother died." 
 
 " A governess ! That accounts for it. I thought she 
 had an educational manner. She put me through quite 
 a stiff examination, and, I believe, ploughed me! I 
 haven't been to the Academy, nor to any of the theatres 
 she talked about. I did not dine with the Duke of 
 Glastonbury last week, and I forget where I spent Easter. 
 Why on earth did you make me take her in to dinner? 
 Did you think I wanted disciplining, that, back of beyond, 
 I had become a savage ? Heavens ! What a typical 
 stepmother ! She might have come out of a book. Are 
 they boys or girls ? Poor brats ! " 
 
 He was fond of his aunt. To make light love to her 
 was his way of showing it. And at fifty-seven a woman 
 likes being made love to, however lightly, for vanity dies 
 more slowly than sex. 
 
 "Why did you make me take her in to dinner?" he 
 repeated. Now he lifted Curio on to his knee, toying with 
 its ears, talking to it, as the little creature looked up at 
 him with bright, fascinated eyes. 
 
 "She was a bad aunt, wasn't she, Curio? A bad
 
 CONCERT PITCH 5 
 
 cruel aunt, and we very nearly didn't call upon her this 
 afternoon, although she ordered us to do so imperiously. 
 We don't like being neglected by our relations, and cross- 
 examined by tight-lipped females, do we, Curio?" 
 
 " My dear boy, do be serious. Leave off talking 
 rubbish; put Curio down, you are mesmerizing him. 
 He will begin to answer you in a moment ; look at his 
 eyes ! I really want to talk to you. Yes ; it is about 
 the Wagners. Why don't you guess? I cannot make 
 out how it is you are so unlike other young men of your 
 age . . . any other young man would have guessed by 
 now." 
 
 " I am thirty-four, auntie dear, not nearly so young as 
 you. I have lost all my illusions, whilst you still believe 
 in the Conservative party! You are ingenue, a positive 
 ingenue, compared to me." 
 
 " It is a pity you have been out of England so many 
 years, that you are so out of touch with affairs." 
 
 " Affairs of the heart ! What have you to tell me ? " 
 
 In mock dismay he deposited the dog carefully on her 
 lap, changing his seat to one beside her on the sofa. 
 
 " Tell me all about it. What have you done ? " 
 
 She laughed at him and patted his hand, and told him 
 not to be absurd; played the little interlude, and then 
 got to her theme again. He should have been her son. 
 When she might have had children she had been too much 
 occupied ; now she was sometimes sorry it had been so. 
 
 " Did you never think it possible that you would 
 inherit ? Did no one ever think of it for you ? " 
 
 Waldo, twentieth Earl of Lyssons, screwed his glass 
 into his eye, settled himself more comfortably among the 
 cushions in the corner of the sofa, and gave the question 
 his consideration. 
 
 " I believe my father did mention it once or twice when 
 I was home seven or eight years ago, and again in his 
 letters. He was always an optimist, and had never got 
 on well with my bachelor uncles. When Uncle Ian died, 
 and Wyndham, he wrote to me. It was then I got 
 lost . . ."
 
 6 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 He lost himself again in dreamland for a moment. For 
 years he had been wandering in waste spaces, in desert 
 and jungle; what women- folk he knew he had never 
 taken seriously. It was only outside confidences he 
 would give his aunt. 
 
 " When I went away first, there were eight lives be- 
 tween me and my grandfather," he said, when he came 
 back to the occasion. 
 
 " There were only three when you returned from 
 Nigeria." 
 
 " Three such good lives," he pleaded, " and possibilities 
 of more." 
 
 " But you ought to have thought ..." 
 
 " Of the discomforts of dead men's shoes, of how badly 
 they would fit me ? Dear aunt, you surely don't mean it." 
 His tone was still light. 
 
 " Eight lives in ten years, and estate duty to be paid 
 on every one of them ! That is the point the point I am 
 trying to make you see." 
 
 They were in that luxurious, flower-filled drawing-room 
 in Grosvenor Square. Although it was winter, the room 
 was full of roses, lilies-of-the-valley, mauve and yellow 
 orchids. From the walls great grandmothers, great- 
 aunts and far-off cousins, painted by Reynolds, Gains- 
 borough and Lawrence, looked down upon their confer- 
 ence. There was priceless china on the mantelpiece and 
 in corner cupboards. Lady Sallust had been a Treford. 
 There were vitrines full of Treford miniatures, some as 
 early as Hilliard and Isaac Oliver. Lady Sallust herself 
 suggested nothing of the quiet pictorial repose of an old 
 miniature, she was anxious-faced, well dressed and ultra- 
 modern in manner. But this was an affectation ; she 
 was really a survival or return to type, a great lady 
 who had to stoop to reach to-day, and did it strenu- 
 ously. 
 
 " You bring me back to whence I started." She laid 
 her hand, with its old-fashioned rings, upon his knee ; 
 the Trefords had always been celebrated for the beauty 
 of their hands. " You have not talked openly to me,
 
 CONCERT PITCH 7 
 
 but your uncle has. You are in great financial difficulties, 
 actually in debt. ..." 
 
 That it was true made it the more ridiculous; he was 
 up to the neck in debt, although never in his life had he 
 willingly contracted an obligation he was unable to fulfil. 
 
 " There is only one way out of it one possible way. 
 You must marry money ; you owe it to the family." He 
 moved uneasily, then he laughed. 
 
 " Go on," he said, " I leave myself entirely in your 
 hands your handsome hands." He raised the one on 
 his knee and kissed it. " I suppose you have decided 
 whose money I am to marry? Who is the lucky girl? 
 Or is she a widow ? " 
 
 " Sir Hubert Wagner's daughter," Lady Sallust an- 
 swered immediately, quickly, irrevocably. She had evi- 
 dently been over it all in her own mind, not once, but 
 many times. " Sir Hubert will give her a million of 
 money, a million of money ! " she repeated. " I have it 
 direct from Loetitia if the girl marries to please them, of 
 course. I thought of you directly I heard it. Their own 
 idea is Calingford ; they bought Stone House from the 
 Duke, you know, and the scheme came into their heads at 
 once. The Duke is almost an invalid ; it cannot be long 
 before Calingford succeeds. Loetitia already thinks of the 
 girl as the future Duchess ; I can see it in her eyes. They 
 are sending for her to come home immediately, although 
 I believe her education is not finished, and she is not yet 
 eighteen. Waldo ..." 
 
 It was evident that if Lcetitia had set her heart on a 
 ducal alliance, Lady Sallust was equally desirous that the 
 girl should become a Countess. 
 
 " Waldo, tell me I may speak to them about you, and 
 open negotiations. I have let her talk to me about 
 Calingford, but it would be easy, comparatively easy, to 
 make her see the difference in your quarterings. A 
 million of money, Waldo ! There is no one at all in our 
 set with anything like it. I don't want you to have to 
 go to America for a wife." She was really pleading with 
 him, and he was touched by her interest, by her affection.
 
 8 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Waldo, Lord Lyssons, with whom so much of this 
 story is concerned, had recently inherited one of the 
 oldest titles in the United Kingdom and the lands that 
 went with it. A series of accidents had placed him in 
 the position he found at present so unenviable. A younger 
 son of a younger son, the obscurest cadet of this ancient 
 house, he had been called to fulfil duties for which he had 
 no inclination, recalled to a civilization the formula of 
 which he had almost forgotten. Heirs-presumptive and 
 heirs-collateral had died incontinently. They had gone 
 down in the Amazon, been lost in the Waratah, broken 
 their necks in military steeplechases, made fatal experi- 
 ments with aeroplanes, contracted typhoid and encouraged 
 consumption. It seemed now that all he had inherited 
 was the claims of the Inland Revenue, a bewilderment of 
 Land Taxes and unsettled Death Duties. His forebears 
 had held a castle against Henry I. in 1118; it was doubt- 
 ful if their unworthy descendant would hold anything at 
 all against the piratical performances of a Radical Chan- 
 cellor of the Exchequer. He had heard of nothing but 
 claims, claims, claims. All these weeks since his return 
 he had lived in dusty lawyers' offices, learning his difficul- 
 ties. Now he sat in Lady Sallust's drawing-room in 
 Grosvenor Square, and was told them over again. 
 
 But the suggestion his aunt made him, and made so 
 solemnly, went further than anything the lawyers had 
 proposed. Lady Sallust challenged his personal freedom, 
 the prerogative of his manhood. He could not treat her 
 proposal seriously, for seriousness was not his conversa- 
 tional note. 
 
 " Is it quite fair on the girl, even if you do succeed in 
 persuading that stupendous stepmother of hers to lower 
 her pretensions ? You must think of that, my dear aunt. 
 A duchess is ... well, you know a duchess is always a 
 duchess." 
 
 " I believe you are laughing. It is no laughing matter. 
 Cuthbert says something must be done, and done quickly." 
 She could not have been more in earnest. Cuthbert, 
 who, by the way, was Lord Sallust, once a Cabinet Min-
 
 CONCERT PITCH 9 
 
 ister and always an important figure in English political 
 life, had impressed upon her the seriousness of the posi- 
 tion. " The Inland Revenue people have been very lenient, 
 he says, but you will have to settle with them sooner or 
 later." 
 
 She had not an idea how little impression she was 
 making upon this incomprehensible nephew of hers. 
 
 " Cuthbert says everything is mortgaged that can be 
 mortgaged," she urged. 
 
 " More " he answered with cheerful acquiescence, " ever 
 so much more. I never cease wondering how they did it." 
 
 " And you agree with me that there is only one way 
 out." 
 
 ' To become a Wagnerite." 
 
 ' She may be a very nice girl." 
 
 ' She may ! " 
 
 ' And I would help you with her." 
 
 ' Me ! Do I want help ? Has it gone as far as that ? " 
 
 ' Don't, Waldo ! don't jest. This is really a critical 
 moment. She is to be presented at the very first Court. 
 You know how desperately hard up the Banff s are ; they 
 won't lose any time." 
 
 " It is to be a race, then, between Calingford and me. 
 And the girl, the hare, isn't she to have any start ? " 
 
 " Don't be exasperating. It is what girls expect to 
 be run after." 
 
 " I know," he persisted ; " but she ought to have a fair 
 start. Now, here you are, you dear ladies, laying the 
 scent, putting our noses to it, showing us the trail, whoo- 
 hooping us away." He shook his head with mock 
 solemnity. " No ! I don't think it fair. Put me down as 
 having scratched." 
 
 " You are really perverse. It is a girl and not a hare ; 
 they hunt, if they are not hunted. You ought to know 
 that. Why shouldn't she fall in love with you ? You are 
 much nicer and better-looking than Calingford." 
 
 " Oh ! that is quite another question. You never 
 mentioned that." 
 
 There was a carved and gilded Chippendale mirror on
 
 io CONCERT PITCH 
 
 the wall between the pictures. He walked over to it and 
 regarded himself deliberately. 
 
 " You are sure you are not going beyond your brief, 
 that she will be given a run ? " 
 
 Lady Sallust had not a keen sense of humour. Waldo 
 was exasperating, but, of course, he must at least be as 
 well aware as she of the seriousness of his position. 
 Looking at him as he posed before the looking-glass a 
 little dramatically for her benefit, she thought, if the 
 choice were given to her, the girl would certainly prefer 
 him to Lord Calingford, even if she knew nothing of the 
 reputation of either of them. 
 
 The new Earl of Lyssons was very tall, if rather too 
 thin ; he had black hair that would not be smooth, and 
 an eyeglass which, since it never kept in its place, made 
 him appear restless and not very wise. He was for ever 
 taking it off and putting it on again ; it fitted badly, and, 
 as he tried to screw it in for greater safety, it made a 
 red mark, and his indeterminate features, soft and plastic, 
 went awry and out of drawing. He had a habit of saying 
 things without any apparent meaning. Lady Sallust 
 sometimes thought he was very clever and very deep, 
 and might be a great force; whilst at other times she 
 wavered, and doubted if he were completely sane, if he 
 were " all there." She admitted that, although she had 
 always been fond of him, she was unable to understand 
 him. 
 
 Now he stood before the glass and pretended to doubt 
 whether Manuella Wagner would look upon him favour- 
 ably ! What was the use of disregarding first principles ? 
 Wavering as to his complete sanity, Lady Sallust assured 
 him that very young girls were not, as a rule, hard to 
 please, they fell in love with the first man who paid 
 them any attention. 
 
 " And if you are backed up by her people, other men 
 kept at a distance ..." Then, hesitating at something 
 whimsical or laughing in his eyes, she went on even 
 more firmly to impress upon him the desperate nature 
 of his affairs, about which all their world was talking,
 
 CONCERT PITCH n 
 
 and this easy way of righting them. Finally, when 
 tea was brought in, and he was feeding Curio with sweet 
 cake, having ceased apparently to take any interest in 
 the conversation, she took it for granted that she had 
 secured his acquiescence and might take steps towards 
 accomplishing her design. 
 
 He did not really care what she thought or did. She 
 could not marry him against his will. He rallied her 
 that she occupied herself with such trivial things as party 
 politics and the preservation of his estates. He parried 
 her more definite questions, paying her compliments and 
 persuading her anew that no one could be more agree- 
 able than this nephew of hers when he was in the 
 mood. She thought no girl could resist him ; certainly 
 no young girl. Already she saw herself carelessly men- 
 tioning Waldo's quarterings, comparing them with the 
 Duke's more recent creation, convincing Lady Wagner 
 of the superiority of such an alliance. Of course she 
 would call it " an alliance " and not a marriage ; that 
 would suit Lcetitia. 
 
 " Isn't the whole idea rather French ? I feel like Rip 
 Van Winkle. I have come back to a world I don't 
 understand. Are things done like this nowadays ? When 
 we read ' A marriage has been arranged . . . ' does it 
 really mean it has been settled without the intervention 
 of the principals? " 
 
 " Loetitia is sure to be able to influence the girl when 
 I have influenced her," she said confidently. " You will 
 find we shall make everything easy for you. I only 
 wanted to know that you would fall in with my plan." 
 
 He laughed again, he really could not help it; she 
 took everything for granted so easily. 
 
 " You will admit, even from the little you saw of the 
 mother last night, that she is not the sort of woman a girl 
 would like to live with, or prefer to a good marriage and 
 a position of her own." 
 
 " I admit, dear aunt, I most freely admit, a girl might 
 dare anything rather than live with that charming lady 
 with whom you sent me in to dinner. But ..."
 
 12 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 There was, however, really no use in arguing; the 
 whole thing was too ridiculous. 
 
 He went away quite soon, leaving Lady Sallust still 
 under the erroneous impression that he had assented to 
 what she proposed. He even thanked her for taking so 
 much trouble. 
 
 " I won't commit myself until I have seen her ; you 
 must not commit me. I am a little slow. You carry me 
 away by your goodness. What a pity aunts are within 
 the prohibited degree. ..." 
 
 She had even to defend herself laughingly against him, 
 and to tell him again he was " absurd." 
 
 But when the door of the Grosvenor Square house had 
 closed behind him and he was in the street, he thought 
 it was not he, but she, who was absurd, and so was all 
 the civilization in which he found himself. He had as 
 little intention of marrying the daughter of Sir Hubert 
 and Lady Wagner as he had of trying to raise the Titanic, 
 perhaps less. Whichever way he might find out of his 
 difficulties, it would not be this one. He had hunted 
 big game, known the hardships of exploration and its 
 joys, looked for and found adventure. Blackwater fever 
 in Nigeria, and several forms of malaria in Nyassa and 
 Somaliland had been among his experiences ; he had 
 been tended by women of all nations. His constitu- 
 tion and his morality were nevertheless unimpaired; he 
 was really extraordinarily sane although at the moment 
 a little out of his bearings. For he was not without the 
 knowledge that it was a great name, with a great tradi- 
 tion, to which he had succeeded, not without a certain 
 pride in record and lineage. If he was not yet clear as 
 to how he was to tackle the difficulties of his position and 
 his amazing poverty, he never doubted his capacity. He 
 wanted no girl's hand to cut the Gordian knot for him, 
 he would find his own way out. 
 
 So he thought as he left Grosvenor Square that after- 
 noon, never dreaming that there were forces with which 
 he had forgotten to reckon, and complications that no 
 man could foresee. He sent a telegram to Lady Sallust
 
 CONCERT PITCH 13 
 
 a few days later. He told her it was unfortunately im- 
 possible for him " to make an inspection of the auriferous 
 property " she recommended, as he was leaving England. 
 He also wrote her a short note: 
 
 " MY DEAR AUNT, 
 
 " I have been thinking over all you said, all you 
 so wisely said. Alas! my affections are too deeply 
 engaged. Sweet seventeen is not for me, who find my 
 distraction in maturer charms. Pity me, love me a little 
 if you can, but don't, I implore you, don't try and set 
 me hunting hares. Lady Wagner's daughter is fore- 
 doomed to be a Duchess, I feel it. It is Calingford must 
 satisfy those inquisitorial cold eyes. I should run away 
 on the eve of my wedding. I am running away now, 
 you are driving me from London. I believe I am fright- 
 ened of the fate you suggest for me. 
 
 " Your enamoured nephew, 
 
 " WALDO." 
 
 Yet once or twice after he had written his letter he 
 caught himself wondering if any girl could be found to 
 accept Calingford any young girl. He was thinking 
 about Calingford whilst his aunt was talking. They 
 had been at Eton together. Unless Calingford had al- 
 tered very considerably, he pitied any woman who might 
 associate herself with him. He did not know Sir Hubert 
 Wagner's daughter, but he was even uncomfortable, and 
 had a strange quixotic irrational moment of remorse 
 at having refused to marry her himself when he 
 thought she might be thrown at Calingford's head and 
 heart and never know what a head it was, and what a 
 heart. 
 
 A very curious fellow this Lord Lyssons, hardly fit to 
 take his place amongst ordinary men and women.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 LORD LYSSONS, in order to give at least some 
 colour to his letter to his aunt, actually went to 
 Paris. He did not know that the first Court was six 
 weeks distant, and he had forgotten that the bride in- 
 tended for him was still at school. 
 
 Manuella Wagner had been a very troublesome child, 
 and all her stepmother's early experience in dealing with 
 refractory children proved of little use with her step- 
 daughter. There were constant collisions, and there is 
 no doubt the girl left a bad impression on Lady Wagner's 
 mind. She had been banished to foreign schools for some 
 seven or eight years now, and the impression had had time 
 to fade. The moment had arrived, too, when she was 
 needed to take her part in the family scheme of great- 
 ness. Lady Wagner often talked of her duty, and per- 
 haps did it according to her lights. She meant to do 
 her duty by Manuella, and hoped that the girl, now she 
 was grown up and able to think logically, would be easier 
 to manage. Lady Wagner thought, too, that now she 
 could deal with her better. Her amazing belief in herself 
 gained fresh strength with every emblazoned carriage or 
 motor that pulled up at Stone House. Manuella would 
 show gratitude for the settlement her father was pre- 
 pared to make on her and the kindness Loetitia was 
 prepared to show her by falling in with their plans, and 
 doing her share in establishing the permanence of the
 
 CONCERT PITCH 15 
 
 family position. Loetitia did not doubt that the most 
 refractory head would bend to strawberry leaves. A 
 certain amount of coaching and clothing- would, of course, 
 be necessary before the girl could be introduced. But 
 there were six weeks for preparation. 
 
 Lord Lyssons remained a month in Paris in order to 
 avoid argument with his aunt and the attentions of 
 Somerset House. As it happened, he returned upon the 
 same day as Manuella, and in the same train. In fact 
 he had avoided nothing, as the event proved, but a very 
 foggy February in London. 
 
 He had not forgotten Lady Sallust's importunity. 
 Several times he thought what an extraordinary idea 
 it had been, and wondered about the girl and Calingford, 
 and whether she had accepted him. He had been out of 
 England so many years that times and seasons meant 
 little to him. He never pictured Manuella still at the 
 finishing school, and Lcetitia putting off sending for her 
 till the last minute, nor dreamed that he was running 
 back, not only into, but with, the very danger from which 
 he had fled! 
 
 There had been no talk of any Wagner issue but the 
 proffered bride. Lord Lyssons was unconscious of the 
 very existence of the brother, Albert Edward Wagner. 
 But all the way from Paris to Calais he was amused by 
 the conversation between a boy and girl who occupied the 
 same carriage and talked with complete unrestraint, under 
 the impression evidently that the tall man in the corner 
 was some sort of a foreigner, who did not understand 
 their language. 
 
 Manuella was finishing her education at Fontainebleau 
 when Albert unexpectedly came to fetch her. Loetitia 
 considered neither the girl's feelings nor those of the 
 Principal of the school. She may have always intended 
 that the girl should come back before she was eighteen, 
 but she had given no such indication. Manuella looked 
 forward to at least six months more freedom. Com- 
 pared with Lcetitia's rule, her school life had been 
 freedom. Now here was Albert with the peremptory
 
 1 6 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 order. It could hardly be called a summons home, for 
 there was not enough warmth in Lady Wagner to kindle 
 a hearth or make an atmosphere of homeliness. She 
 was a stranger to her stepdaughter, but one around whom 
 no romance lingered. " Mother " was a word in Man- 
 uella's vocabulary that implied a cold eye, pinched thin 
 lips, and implacable tyranny. It snubbed and denied. 
 Lcetitia's " pleasing manner," Lady Wagner's " social 
 charm " were not exhibited in the nursery or schoolroom. 
 " Children must be seen and not heard " was a phrase 
 that embodied her, echoing in the child's ears from the 
 early South African days; repeated on the steamer, in 
 chilly foreign hotels, at the big house in Kensington 
 from which the child had gone to her years in foreign 
 schools. All she knew of care or tenderness was epito- 
 mized in it. Such newer associations as she had with her 
 stepmother were letters that forbade this or that ; " pi " 
 letters that preached and dogmatized, letters which had 
 been a duty to write, and were a yet more distasteful 
 duty to answer. 
 
 Lord Lyssons, listening in his corner of the railway 
 carriage, heard all about it, although he did not know 
 who were the young people talking. The boy was a 
 typical English undergraduate, knowing no word of the 
 language of the country in which he was traveling; he 
 shouted at the guards and grumbled at their stupidity 
 in not speaking English; a foolish youngster whose in- 
 sularity was his only excuse. 
 
 " Can't you tell that infernal fool that I want my 
 handbag in here. I've shouted at him till I'm hoarse." 
 
 The girl spoke good French, but she seemed almost 
 as cross as her brother. They took some time settling 
 themselves. The train was fairly started before all the 
 bags and handbags, hat-boxes and papers gathered about 
 them were properly stowed away. Then the intimate 
 talk began. The girl was ill-dressed for travelling, wear- 
 ing a red-striped flannel blouse with a turn-down collar, 
 a blue serge skirt, and a burnt-straw hat. But the 
 costume suited her, and there was no doubt of her beauty.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 17 
 
 It was of a foreign type, the general impression Lord 
 Lyssons got was of ivory skin, a thin carmine mouth, 
 mutinous and mobile, resentful dark eyes, thickly fringed, 
 and a petulant rich voice, with strange low, passionate 
 notes. Most of the time she talked she was in such a 
 palpable rage, so bad-tempered, that Waldo was amused. 
 She looked like a child in her short skirts, although the 
 blouse hinted that she was a well-developed one. 
 
 " I know she only sent for me because she knew I 
 wanted to stay where I was," she began, when her brother 
 had at last made himself comfortable and given her a 
 chance of speaking of anything but the peccadilloes of 
 the guard and porters. 
 
 " I'm not going to ask that Johnny in the corner if 
 he minds smoke. If he says anything to me I shall pre- 
 tend not to understand." 
 
 " Only it won't be pretence," she put in hastily. Then 
 she smiled, she had not meant to be nasty to Albert ; it 
 was not his fault that he was here. When she smiled 
 Waldo was confirmed in his impression that she was very 
 beautiful. But the smile was only momentary, her sense 
 of injury was uppermost. 
 
 " What does she want me home for ? I was getting 
 on with everybody. It was the j oiliest place I've ever 
 been in. I wanted to stay." 
 
 " You've been saying nothing else ever since I came 
 over. What's the good of arguing? You had to come; 
 there is no good fighting her. Haven't we tried it often 
 enough? She's got the Governor on a string." 
 
 They had tried, over and over again, in tempestuous 
 childhood, and always been worsted. Their father never 
 interfered on their behalf, and Loetitia had quite a col- 
 lection of spirit-breaking punishments always on hand. 
 She had succeeded with Albert, but Manuella persistently 
 defied her. That was why, when Albert went to Eton, 
 Manuella was banished to Germany. 
 
 " They did without me well enough when I was miser- 
 able in that squabbling Dusseldorf family, and in that 
 beastly convent in Brussels. I believe it's only because
 
 1 8 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 I wrote that I loved Fontainebleau she is taking me away 
 from it." 
 
 " I say, draw it a bit milder. Steppie has her points. 
 She has done a lot for us all." 
 
 " She has done nothing for me ! " The answer was 
 quite vicious. " Thank Heaven I have only seen her five 
 times in seven years, and then it was only because they 
 were somewhere near and would have felt ashamed not 
 to pay me a visit." 
 
 " I say, if you're coming home in that spirit there will 
 be ructions. Can't you manage to simmer down a bit? 
 Anyway, you are past bread-and-water days and being 
 locked up. I should make up my mind to play the ami- 
 able if I were you, it pays ever so much better." 
 
 " Oh, yes," she said contemptuously, " of course you 
 would." 
 
 Albert had always truckled. But then she remembered 
 she was very fond of Albert. He was all she had ever 
 had to care for, and, although he had played her false so 
 many times, disappointed her, and given in to authority, 
 she felt her heart warming to him. 
 
 " Are you going to be at home ? " 
 
 " Not when I can help it, but I'll give you a start. I 
 can generally get down for a few days if there's anything 
 going on." 
 
 " She will come in when we want to talk, and interfere 
 with everything, just like she used." 
 
 " You're as bad-tempered as ever, I do believe." 
 
 " I wasn't bad-tempered at Fontainebleau, nor at 
 Dresden. It's the thought of going back that puts me 
 into such a rage. You oughtn't to find fault with me. 
 You hated it all as much as I did. We were never 
 allowed to do anything we wanted." 
 
 " Everything is altered. I'm sure you'll get on better 
 with them now. They're big pots, you know. The 
 Governor is going to get a peerage. He stood for every 
 sort of place that never returns a Conservative before 
 he got in for North Leven. We've got to be in the 
 show; don't make a fuss, there's a good girl. We'll
 
 CONCERT PITCH 19 
 
 have some fun together, just you and I, like old times. 
 I've been beastly dull without you. I didn't tell you in 
 my letters. I hated Eton, never got on there, got into 
 no end of rows. I'm sick to death of Oxford, though 
 of course it's better than Eton. The Governor means 
 well, you know, if he wasn't so under her thumb. I get 
 quite a decent allowance. She likes me to bring men 
 home, or to Gairoch. I hate doing it, because she ques- 
 tions me about their fathers and mothers, and chips me 
 about my low tastes if they ain't swells. You've got to 
 be presented. I think there's an idea of marrying you 
 out of hand." 
 
 " I'd like to see them doing it." 
 
 " Well, I heard the Mater say something about it, and 
 that she hoped you had altered. I think you're on the 
 good-looking side now, whatever you were as a kid. But 
 of course you want decent clothes ; in that get-up you 
 look as if you ought to have a hurdy-gurdy ..." 
 
 She was impatient of his criticism and indifferent as to 
 her appearance, a crude young creature, all dark eyes and 
 resentment. There was something wild and untamed 
 about her that appealed to the listener in the corner. She 
 was being led back into captivity, evidently that was 
 what she felt. It was strange that her identity never 
 struck him. 
 
 " Oh ! don't bother about my looks. I don't want to 
 come out, or to be married, or any of these things." 
 
 "What do you want to do? You can't stay at school 
 for ever. I wonder you're not sick of it." 
 
 She hesitated to tell him what she wanted to do, 
 although hesitation seemed no part of her. It set Waldo 
 wondering; he listened for what she would say next. 
 He had a book, a yellow-covered novel by Willy, but he 
 was really only listening. Manuella's hesitation lasted 
 quite a long time. Albert had always been leaky, and 
 she was not quite sure of herself, nor of her power. She 
 could not bear criticism, and ridicule was unthinkable. 
 She knew what she wanted to do, but she did not know 
 if she were capable of doing it. In six months more
 
 20 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 she would have known, if the beastly summons had not 
 come. She was in utter rebellion. 
 
 There was no use telling Albert that she wanted to be 
 an operatic singer. Monsieur Lausan had said her voice 
 was unique, that it had only to gain power, and she had 
 only to acquire dramatic capacity, expression. . . . 
 What was the use of telling Albert? He might 
 laugh. 
 
 Albert did not press the question as to what she did 
 want, and why she resented so bitterly having to come 
 home and be presented and do all the things other girls 
 did. He had a great deal to say about himself, about his 
 popularity, and the jolly fellows he knew but was not 
 allowed to take home because their people didn't amount 
 to anything. He spoke of cousins who had been dropped, 
 and there were exclamations from the girl of dismay and 
 more defiance. 
 
 " I shall go and see Susie Briarley, whatever happens. 
 I don't care how grand we are supposed to be. I'm not 
 grand; I'm not going to be a snob. I liked all the 
 Briarleys." 
 
 She said this, and he told her she would have to look 
 out for herself; he wasn't going to run counter to his 
 stepmother, who really held the purse-strings and every- 
 thing else. He didn't mind what he did on the quiet, but 
 he hated a fuss. He did not press her as to what were 
 her own desires and ambitions, and only Waldo was in- 
 terested. Why did she not want to come out or to be 
 married? But of course she was too young to know 
 her own mind. Still, he wondered what wild idea she 
 harboured. 
 
 He saw her again on the boat. Albert showed early 
 signs of sea-sickness and disappeared into a cabin. 
 Manuella stayed on the deck, leaning over the taffrail, 
 watching the slow retreat of the shore, then, when it was 
 out of sight, the waves that broke against the side of the 
 boat. The sky was lowering and the waves high, crested 
 with foam. She watched them, and Lord Lyssons 
 watched her. The mutiny and the rebellion went out of
 
 CONCERT PITCH 21 
 
 her face now that she was alone. Waldo thought there 
 was something wistful in it. She took her hat off when 
 the wind tore at it, swinging it freely in her hand, whilst 
 her hair was blown this way and that. She was really 
 only a child ; either her skirts were short, or she had out- 
 grown them. The wind blew away the wistfulness and 
 melancholy, light came into her eyes and colour into her 
 cheeks, the mouth relaxing into the softest of smiling 
 curves. 
 
 As he was standing near her he spoke : 
 
 " You are enjoying the storm ? " he asked. 
 
 " Rather ! " 
 
 She did not resent being spoken to ; it was obvious 
 that it did not appear anything out of the way to her, 
 that he had no young-ladyish scruples to overcome. 
 " I wish it was rougher. I would love to see the waves 
 come over the deck. They look as if they are going 
 to, don't they ? How they break ! What a noise ! " 
 They could hardly hear themselves speaking. 
 
 " It doesn't make you ill ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! It makes me feel awfully well the salt 
 of it, the tang. When I lean over it comes up into my 
 face." 
 
 She leant over again as she spoke, and he could see 
 that the spray of the waves, as they broke against the 
 side of the boat, did really wet her cheeks. She rubbed 
 them to show him, and her ungloved hands were wet. 
 Her cheeks flushed with the pleasure and excitement of 
 the storm ; now they were as a rose, and the dark eyes 
 aglow under the thick tangled lashes. He cannot be said 
 to have entered into conversation with her, for, as her 
 stepmother said quite truly, Manuella never had the art 
 of conversation; but he went on shouting to her and 
 she to him. There was not a trace of embarrassment 
 about her, or missishness. 
 
 " I love water rivers, sea, falls. Do you know the 
 Falls in Rhodesia? People say they are better than 
 Niagara. I went there when I was ten years old. We 
 camped out. Such skies and sunrises, and then the
 
 22 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Falls ! I don't wonder Rhodes wanted to be near them, 
 do you ? " 
 
 He did not correct her topography. It was really a 
 storm, and now the sea-spray jewelled her dark hair, 
 and between the wind and sea they shouted at each other. 
 
 " You come from South Africa ? " he asked her, when 
 there was a lull. 
 
 " Ever so long ago. Since then I've never seen a real 
 sea. It was an awfully stormy time when we came over. 
 Mother and Albert were sick all the time, and I ran wild 
 about the deck. I loved every moment of it." 
 
 Then she was silent ; he even thought she sighed im- 
 patiently, as if the end of the running wild had been the 
 end of her happy time. When he could make himself 
 heard, he told her of the seas he had traversed equi- 
 noxes, great gales in Southern seas. He caught her inter- 
 est, and when he suggested they should get into shelter, 
 for now the rain was pouring down and the sea a little 
 abating, she made no demur but followed him to hear 
 more. He found two seats on the lower deck, and she 
 let him tuck a rug about her, surprised at the attention, 
 however, saying she didn't want it, but afterwards playing 
 Desdemona to his Othello, listening to the stories of 
 adventure he fitted for her ears. It was there Albert 
 found them, some minutes after they were in harbour. 
 Albert was very pale, and said he had had an awful time. 
 He looked curiously at her companion, but waited until 
 he had left them before making any comment. 
 
 " So, after all, the Johnny was English," he said then. 
 " We weren't very careful what we said before him. But 
 I don't suppose it matters ; I don't suppose he is in our 
 set. Touch of ' reach me down ' about his clothes, wasn't 
 there? I say, you'll have to give up that sort of thing, 
 sitting about talking to men you haven't been introduced 
 to. You're somebody now. I suppose I ought to have 
 trotted after you. But oh ! God ! I was bad ! What 
 did he talk to you about? If you meet him again any- 
 where you mustn't bow, you must pretend not to know 
 him."
 
 CONCERT PITCH 23 
 
 Manuella said they had talked about travelling, she 
 had found him awfully interesting, she should do what 
 she chose and bow to him whenever she met him. 
 
 " Talked about travelling, did he ? I thought he 
 looked like a bagman," Albert answered, and there let 
 the matter drop. Steppie would soon teach her, he 
 thought; lie need not jaw at her. 
 
 But in the bustle of finding their luggage, getting off 
 the ship, and that sharp little exchange of talk with 
 Albert, she forgot even to say good-bye to him. Lord 
 Lyssons had not obtruded himself nor offered any serv- 
 ices. He read her brother's disapproving and critical 
 eyes, and agreed he was right to disapprove. The girl 
 was too ingenuous, unsophisticated certainly too beau- 
 tiful to talk to every casual acquaintance. By his very 
 inclination to ask her name, his wish to see her again, 
 he knew Albert was in the right. He laughed about it 
 to himself when he was in the train, thinking of the 
 undergraduate's lofty expression. But he did not laugh 
 when he thought about the girl. He wondered to what 
 sort of home she was going so reluctantly, what fate 
 was in store for her. How she had listened to his stories, 
 how gloriously her eyes had lit up ! 
 
 He never guessed, never came within a hundred miles 
 of guessing, that this was the bride who had been offered 
 to him. By the time he met her again he had almost 
 forgotten her almost, not quite ! 
 
 Albert got better on the way to London and told 
 Manuella more about Stone House. But even then she 
 was hardly prepared for the magnificence in store for her. 
 A motor met them at the station ; in ten minutes it rolled 
 between the iron gates, and Albert said: 
 
 "Here we are! What do you think of this?" as if 
 she would be awed. A pompous butler swung open the 
 massive door, and there were two powdered footmen to 
 support him. Albert asked almost as pompously as the 
 butler replied : 
 
 " Where is Lady Wagner ? Is Lady Wagner or Sir 
 Hubert in?"
 
 24 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 A gentleman at the head of the lapis lazuli stairs, 
 who, Manuella afterwards understood, was the major 
 domo, came forward, and whilst informing them that 
 neither Sir Hubert nor Lady Wagner was at home at 
 the moment, undertook that " her ladyship should be 
 informed of their arrival when she returned." It was all 
 very chill and very formal, and already Manuella felt 
 Lady Wagner's personality in the background. If it 
 had only come six months later; then she would have 
 known where she stood, whether her voice would give her 
 independence, freedom ! Her heart panted for freedom ; 
 all of it that had not been crushed or cramped by Lceti- 
 tia's early training. Here, almost in the first moments of 
 her home-coming, in that great cold hall, with its pillars 
 and staircase, blue marble and shadow, freedom seemed 
 to have receded, her voice to be a feeble and stifled thing, 
 her high hopes but childish dreams. The shadow of the 
 great hall was all at once upon her spirit and upon her 
 voice. 
 
 Albert guessed something of what she was feeling. 
 
 " Come along. You'll see them both at dinner, don't 
 bother. I'll show you your rooms." 
 
 Her rooms were high up, but a lift took her to them. 
 They were large, luxurious ; the upholsterer had known 
 what was due to the only daughter of the house. There 
 was a bedroom hung with pink brocade, a sitting-room 
 with walls panelled with mauve silk, a large bathroom 
 with green marble walls. Albert played showman with 
 obvious pride. Certainly their magnificence had im- 
 pressed him. 
 
 " They've got you a maid," he said, " a French woman, 
 who was with the Duchess of Southfields. You'll soon 
 get used to it all," he added patronizingly, for he misread 
 her dismayed look. " I knew it would rather floor you 
 at first. We really are big bugs." 
 
 It was the French maid and not the magnificence, 
 that brought the dismayed look to Manuella's expressive 
 face. The woman stood there already, silent and respect- 
 ful, between herself and Albert, between herself and the
 
 CONCERT PITCH 25 
 
 angry tears that for no reason were so near her eyes. 
 Albert left them almost at once, saying she had better 
 " put herself to rights " before Lady Wagner saw her. 
 
 "I want a hot bath and an hour's rest before dinner. 
 That time on the boat knocked me over ; I'm all to pieces 
 still. You will be all right, won't you ? " 
 
 Albert was the one thing human to which she had to 
 cling, she had almost clung to him, implored him not 
 to leave her, made a scene, but the maid was there and 
 Albert in a hurry to be off. So she only answered in a 
 stifled voice : 
 
 " Don't bother about me ; of course I am all right." 
 There was some note in her voice made him hesitate and 
 come back into the room. 
 
 " Oh ! go on," she said impatiently. " I've got to 
 unpack. What are you staring at me for ? " 
 
 He gave her a hurried hug ; he was really fond of her, 
 although she was always so difficult. 
 
 " Don't get the hump. Keep bucked ! " 
 
 She returned the hug a little wildly, then pushed him 
 away. 
 
 " Go and get your bath and rest. You look awfully 
 pale still, what a duffer you are to be sea-sick ! Perhaps 
 I'll lie down too." 
 
 But she did not give herself any time to rest. In her 
 hurried, impulsive way she began at once to unpack. 
 She ignored the new French maid, who offered help, hot 
 water, comment, exclaimed at her limited school ward- 
 robe. She tried to make up her mind in that first hour 
 of her home-coming to do as Albert said, to submit 
 to circumstances, not to set herself against her step- 
 mother, to make the best of things; it was her spirit 
 and not herself that rebelled. 
 
 Already her resolution weakened when, dressed in her 
 best clothes by the concerned and exclamatory French 
 maid a white dress, with skirt too short and bodice 
 too tight she waited in the enormous drawing-room all 
 alone for the best part of an hour. Lady Wagner had 
 returned from her afternoon drive, and was now dressing
 
 26 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 for dinner, so she heard indifferently, or indignantly, in 
 her changing moods. 
 
 Loetitia's sense of duty brought her to the drawing- 
 room ten minutes before dinner was served to welcome 
 her stepdaughter. The chilly kiss and condescending kind- 
 ness, the implication in her little set speech that, although 
 there had been much to forgive in the past, she had hopes 
 the future would compensate for it, brought to Manuella 
 a flush of indignation. It was she who had to forgive, 
 she thought. But before she had time to harm herself 
 by hasty speech Albert came in and took the edge off the 
 situation. 
 
 Manuella was struck by the comparative friendliness 
 between Albert and his stepmother; it was as if he had 
 gone over to the enemy, and it made her feel her own 
 isolation more acutely, although really he was indirectly 
 asking kindness for her and Lcetitia, in a cold and dig- 
 nified way, was promising it. 
 
 " She is improved, isn't she ? The Mater thought you 
 were going to be short and stumpy. She is on the good- 
 looking side, Mater, isn't she ? Going to do us credit ? " 
 
 " I am sure Manuella has come home with that inten- 
 tion." 
 
 Manuella had come home with no intention at all ; she 
 had come in revolt, and because no choice had been given 
 her. 
 
 " She has grown so tall. When she has fined down a 
 bit, she'll have quite a figure." 
 
 " She must learn to hold herself better." 
 
 " You do stoop, you know, Mimi." 
 
 " And to do her hair more tidily." 
 
 " i expect the sea blew it about a good deal. We had 
 a most awful crossing." 
 
 He spoke of his experiences as if sure of her sym- 
 pathy. A grown-up deferential stepson was more to 
 Lcetitia's taste than had seemed possible in the past, when 
 he was under his sister's influence. She was as kind to 
 Albert as her nature permitted. Sir Hubert, too, when he 
 came in, listened with interest to Albert's accounts of his
 
 CONCERT PITCH 27 
 
 sea-sickness. It was evident that he, Albert, had his posi- 
 tion here. Manuella was the outsider ; she felt it already. 
 Her father's indifference hurt her, although he, too, 
 meant to be kind, and said pleasantly that she had grown 
 out of knowledge. They were half-way through dinner 
 before he spoke to her again. For, unfortunately, he was 
 given Perrier water instead of Evian, and it was as if a 
 crime had been committed in the house. 
 
 " I keep twenty-three servants, and can't have a glass 
 of water at my own table. ..." 
 
 There was some trouble later about a custard pudding. 
 Sir Hubert lived on a diet that seemed to be unsatisfying 
 and to irritate him very much. When he did remember 
 Manuella again, he said she had grown very like her 
 mother, who " was the most beautiful girl in Cuba, and 
 that is saying a great deal, I can tell you." 
 
 Loetitia was annoyed at his referring to the days before 
 he had gone to South Africa. She wished him to forget 
 that he once planted tobacco. He annoyed her again 
 when he went on speaking; she intended to be sure 
 that the girl would meet her in the right spirit before 
 she was made independent. 
 
 " You come to me in the morning, and I'll see about 
 giving you something for pocket-money. I hope you're 
 not as extravagant as your brother. ..." 
 
 But it was obvious he was satisfied with, if not proud 
 of, Albert's extravagance. Then he had capsules to take, 
 and some powders in a wineglass of water. He was 
 really a very miserable millionaire, who suffered from a 
 stomach that was as distended as his bank balance; he 
 could not break himself of the impulse to go on piling 
 into both, and it was this habit that obliterated all his 
 other qualities and characteristics. Already Manuella 
 knew she could expect nothing from him but pocket- 
 money, and that her stepmother ruled the household. 
 
 Sir Hubert said again that she had grown very like her 
 mother Spanish-looking, and would suit a mantilla. 
 Manuella was not even pleased by his praise. She was 
 born in South Africa of an English father and had grown
 
 28 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 fiercely patriotic in her foreign schools. There was really 
 nothing of the Spaniard about her but her glorious eyes, 
 and perhaps her development; she was anything but 
 languorous, and wore her absurd school-girl clothes like a 
 Parisienne. Loetitia owned herself distressed at Man- 
 uella's tendency to embonpoint, but Albert said reassur- 
 ingly that it was only " puppy fat." Manuella hated and 
 resented the way they were discussing her, but found 
 herself without courage or opportunity to tell them so. 
 And it was well she kept silent, or Lady Wagner, too, 
 might have become less reticent. As it was, she was criti- 
 cal, and not at all sure that the great scheme she had for 
 her stepdaughter would materialize. Loetitia found Man- 
 uella's freedom of movement unladylike, her short an- 
 swers gauche, her slanginess to Albert vulgar. Her wild 
 hair was certainly " deplorable," and so were her unmani- 
 cured hands. And, of course, Manuella felt the unspoken 
 disapproval; soon it was like a cold fog about her. 
 
 Lady Wagner herself was scrupulously tidy, not a hair 
 of her grey transformation was ever out of its place; 
 her speech was precise, she held herself upright. Man- 
 uella was tired from her journey. After dinner, in the 
 drawing-room again, alone with Loetitia, she sat in an 
 arm-chair loosely, feeling dispirited. Lord Lyssons had 
 seen her in the wind and rain, but when she was unhappy, 
 and certainly there was a burden upon her to-night, he 
 would have found it difficult to recognize her. Her col- 
 our turned to sallowness, the dark brows made her face 
 appear lowering, sullen. She tried to listen to Loetitia, 
 to answer her naturally when she said pleasantly that it 
 would be well to cultivate an amiable expression. But 
 her words grew fewer, each speech shorter. It was a 
 relief when she was free to go to bed. 
 
 The next few days were as bad, or worse, than the first 
 night's dinner. Manuella could never look back upon 
 them without pity for herself. She was past the age 
 when she would fling herself on to the ground and kick 
 and scream for her own way, as had been her reprehen- 
 sible habit in the nursery and schoolroom, making cor-
 
 CONCERT PITCH 29 
 
 poral punishment a necessity. But she could and did 
 resent everything that was being done for her. Accord- 
 ing to her stepmother she showed an absolute lack of 
 gratitude, or sense of her position. 
 
 She began by objecting to her maid. 
 
 " I hate her standing over me when I dress. I don't 
 want anybody to put my stockings on for me; I can 
 put them on for myself. Can't I send her away ? " 
 
 " You have to think of your position, of our position," 
 Loetitia answered coldly to such complaints. 
 
 " I don't see why I can't go out by myself, I am nearly 
 eighteen," was the beginning of another argument. 
 
 " That is precisely the reason. I should have thought 
 you would have had enough sense to perceive that you 
 must learn to behave as if you were a young lady of 
 birth, as if you had been born in the society to which I 
 have given you the entree." 
 
 By what process of reasoning Lcetitia had been brought 
 to consider herself so infinitely superior to her husband's 
 children is difficult to follow, but that she was firmly 
 convinced of it is not open to doubt. Manuella had her 
 fitful outbursts of anger, made her futile struggles. Lady 
 Wagner said it was wonderful how little she had im- 
 proved. Albert begged her to conform, not to fight every 
 project for her benefit. She must have a maid, every 
 girl had a maid. She ' couldn't run about the streets 
 by herself, it wasn't decent, it wasn't proper.' After 
 all, it was true that they had a position to keep up. She 
 felt Albert's defection bitterly; she heard Lcetitia's 
 phrases on his lips. She did not know that he pleaded 
 with Loetitia for her, in his own way, of course, but 
 quite loyally. 
 
 " I should let her down lightly, Mater. She'll come 
 round in time, she don't know what's good for her; she 
 may kick up her heels in the paddock, but she'll go all 
 right when we race her." 
 
 Albert was allowed to be slangy, even vulgar. It 
 seemed it was the thing at Eton and Oxford ; all his 
 young friends indulged in the same manner of speech.
 
 30 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 In a modified way she even took his advice. Manuella, 
 in those first weeks of her home-coming, had nothing to 
 complain of but kindness, crushing, continual kindness, 
 and irresistible cold logic. That was the worst of it. 
 It was true that all that was required of her was to con- 
 form to custom, to have her hair done properly and her 
 dresses lengthened, to fit on a great many new clothes, 
 and learn the etiquette of presentation. 
 
 There was little enough time to change what Loetitia 
 euphemistically termed " an overgrown school-girl " into 
 a young lady fitted to take her place in Society. Lcetitia 
 took her to dressmakers, corseticres, milliners, sparing 
 no expense. If the girl writhed or flushed or fidgeted, 
 shrugging impatient shoulders at the discussion of her 
 face, figure, or carriage, which went on openly before her, 
 Lcetitia betrayed a dignified unconsciousness of it. She 
 was conscious of doing her duty. 
 
 There was, of course, nothing but duty in it, more 
 could hardly have been expected. Their two tempera- 
 ments were at variance, and their respective positions 
 made common ground impossible. 
 
 The old adage about children being seen and not 
 heard seemed to Manuella still to lurk behind her step- 
 mother's politeness. After a half-hearted attempt to talk 
 about the charms of Fontainebleau, those tedious shop- 
 ping and fitting expeditions were made in comparative 
 silence, and the afternoon drives were little more lively. 
 
 Loetitia had a way of delicately snubbing advances, and 
 Manuella made none after the first week. Rebel as she 
 might, it was true she had no cause of complaint, noth- 
 ing was being omitted from her social equipment. She was 
 given riding-lessons in a close, tan-smelling school, pri- 
 vate dancing lessons, complexion-treatment and specifics 
 were offered her. Loetitia never lost an opportunity 
 of letting fall conventional phrases on life and conduct. 
 
 Lcetitia had expanded since she became Lady Wagner, 
 and now she had attained her full growth. She was 
 satisfied with everything she had, or did, or thought. 
 She often said that she wished Manuella were more like
 
 CONCERT PITCH 31 
 
 herself. She drew attention to her own smiles and little 
 graceful bows to the acquaintances they met in the Park 
 graduated bows. She was never impulsive, and dep- 
 recated that quality as being thoroughly middle class. 
 She said you could tell a lady by these little things, and 
 by the way she walked and moved. Lcetitia was un- 
 wearied in pointing out that when Manuella walked she 
 took too long steps ; she was neither languid nor stately, 
 she lacked distinction. Lcetitia warned her that she must 
 be always on her guard. 
 
 As all these things were told or hinted to her, kindly, 
 but very constantly, the girl became stifled by them. 
 She was always solitary, yet never alone. She seemed 
 to be living under a feather-bed, everything was soft, 
 decorous, silent; she really became a little crushed by 
 the great house and many servants, by Lcetitia's personal 
 and genuine conviction of infallibility, and by the im- 
 possibility of argument with her. There was nothing to 
 justify her sense of being wronged. Anything she asked 
 for was given to her, or, at least, not refused. 
 
 " You will not have time for singing lessons just yet, 
 later on, perhaps. I see no objection to your continuing 
 with your music at the end of the season, when you are 
 less occupied. My dear, if you could hold your back a 
 little straighten ..." 
 
 " My love, could you manage to subdue your voice 
 a little? A low voice in woman is such a great attrac- 
 tion. ..." 
 
 What was the use of muttering that she did not want 
 to be attractive? She knew she talked too loudly, was 
 conscious of an inclination to stoop. It was true that 
 there was no time for singing-lessons at the moment. 
 Her days were rilled with dressmakers and frivolous, un- 
 necessary things. Her stepmother was always by her 
 side, directing, instructing her in the duties of her posi- 
 tion. She was growing more uncertain about her voice, 
 and whether she would not be found ridiculous if she 
 repeated what Monsieur Lausan had said, it was " impos- 
 sible to let such a gift lie idle." Now when she raised it
 
 32 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 in the rare solitude of her own sitting-room it sounded 
 muffled, dull, as if the house were too large for it, or as 
 if it had contracted to fit some refinement of her step- 
 mother's taste. Her days were full, yet it seemed to her 
 she had nothing to do. She had been well taught, both 
 in Germany and France, but not in the art of looking her 
 best, which here seemed all that was required of her. 
 
 In Germany she had learned needlework, cooking, 
 even accounts, but not how to enter and leave a room, 
 to step into a carriage or motor, to curtsy to her Sov- 
 ereign, to dance modern dances. If they had left her 
 for a longer time at Fontainebleau she might have ac- 
 quired these further accomplishments. 
 
 If it appears that the girl fell too easily under Lcetitia's 
 sway, and showed herself weak in resistance, the excuse 
 is that her supineness was due to physical rather than 
 moral causes. 
 
 She was in the period of growth and her life in Conti- 
 nental schools had not fitted her for so sudden a transi- 
 tion. The transplantation affected her, and, although it 
 sounds a non sequitur, the food also! 
 
 The food at the German schools had been sufficient and 
 simple. It was less so at the Fontainebleau chateau. The 
 old French aristocrat who dominated it had penurious 
 habits, and, although she condescended to receive a 
 limited number of young ladies, she had no idea of spend- 
 ing on their upkeep the remuneration she accepted for 
 permitting them to enjoy the amenities of her fast- 
 decaying but still magnificent home. They subdued their 
 healthy young appetites, those pupils of Madame de 
 Fontenoy, to the meagre fare of the aristocratic estab- 
 lishment, ate rolls and coffee, and fasted until the 
 dejeuner of eggs, and one small plat of meat ; learnt to 
 be satisfied with soup maigre in the evenings, to keep 
 religiously all the Saints' days, and days of fasting. 
 
 The change from this to the regime of the Stone House 
 chef, was not without its effect on a constitution so youth- 
 ful, and a temperament so emotional as that of Manuella 
 Wagner. It clogged her activities. She became ener-
 
 CONCERT PITCH 33 
 
 vated, she felt sometimes as if she were caught in a trap. 
 When once she felt like that it was natural she should 
 cease to struggle. 
 
 Lcetitia had reason to congratulate herself on the re- 
 sult of her care, and her six weeks' incessant work. 
 Manuella, on the day of her presentation, was almost 
 standardized, fashioned to pattern. She had lost weight, 
 the " puppy fat " and the ebullience had gone. If fault 
 could still be found with her carriage it was nevertheless 
 obvious, to everyone but Lcetitia, that she had natural 
 grace and considerably more than usual good looks. And 
 it was difficult to question her manner ; she had the quiet 
 of her stifled spirit, the veneer that had been laid upon 
 her showed no immediate crack.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE presentation duly took place and all the Society 
 papers made mention of " the beautiful daughter of 
 Sir Hubert and Lady Wagner," among the debutantes, 
 which, of course, in its way, was extremely gratifying. 
 
 Lord Calingford dined at Stone House a day or two 
 later, and Manuella was sent in to dinner with him. At 
 her first ball it was observed that he paid her marked 
 attention. On the opening night of the opera he was seen 
 in the Wagners' box. Rumours were afloat before the 
 season was a week old. In a column devoted to Society 
 in one of the illustrated weeklies, under the heading 
 " Overheard by the little Bird," there were two lines 
 to the effect " that the engagement between the heir to a 
 Dukedom and one of the most beautiful of the debutantes 
 will be formally notified in the course of a few days." 
 
 Lady Sallust, who had not anticipated so much hurry, 
 came hot foot to Stone House with stories of Calingford's 
 record, Calingford's character. But, with the acquisition 
 of Stone House, Lcetitia's attitude had changed toward 
 Lady Sallust, to whom she no longer deferred abso- 
 lutely. 
 
 " We must make allowances, we cannot put old heads 
 on young shoulders," was her complacent reply to Lady 
 Sallust's relation of the enormities of which Harry Cal- 
 ingford had been guilty. 
 
 She said it with that air of complete originality that 
 
 34
 
 CONCERT PITCH 35 
 
 always characterized her cliches. " Like other young- 
 men who are exposed to temptation, he has sown his 
 wild oats. ..." 
 
 " Dragon's teeth," interpolated Lady Sallust. But her 
 allusion was a little beyond the ex-governess. 
 
 " In any case discussion is premature. We have not 
 yet heard from the Duke." It was obvious that Loetitia 
 was secretly elated, and in no humour for discussion 
 as to the character of the projected bridegroom. She 
 gave Lady Sallust no opportunity to mention Waldo's 
 name or bring forward his pretensions. 
 
 It is to be presumed that the Duke made the requisite 
 move, for the formal announcement was in the Morning 
 Post two days later. Albert swelled over it visibly, and 
 spoke of " My future brother-in-law, Calingford, you 
 know. He will be Duke of Banff. ..." Lady Wagner 
 now called Manuella " My love," and deferred to her 
 judgment on minor matters, such as her own toilet or 
 daily round of duties. 
 
 Manuella herself hardly knew how it came about that 
 she was engaged to be married to Lord Calingford. She 
 did not remember that he had ever asked her, although 
 he seemed to have been by her side ever since the first 
 Court. She seemed to be fighting her way through 
 shadows, moving in a pageant of dreams. Everybody 
 was now extraordinarily pleased with her. Her step- 
 mother found no more fault. Albert hugged her, and said 
 she was a " ripper " ; her father remembered her exist- 
 ence and gave her money and jewellery ; she was no 
 longer a stranger in the house. As for Calingford him- 
 self, the man she was going to marry, he was not in the 
 least intrusive, and during the first few days of her en- 
 gagement she never saw him alone. 
 
 She sat by his side at the dinner-party the Banffs gave 
 in her honour. It was quite a small family dinner-party. 
 The Sallusts were invited, but it was merely a coincidence 
 that Lord Sallust had to be in the House, and Lady 
 Sallust persuaded her nephew to take his place. Really 
 a coincidence, because Lady Sallust had abandoned her
 
 36 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 project. Banff was very old and shaky, and since the 
 girl had accepted Calingford, and Loetitia shut her ears 
 deliberately to everything that was said against him 
 there was nothing more to be done. She told Waldo all 
 about it again on their way to the Banffs' dinner-party. 
 He condoled with her, and said gravely that it was most 
 unfortunate. She had forgotten that he had not fallen 
 in with her plans, and there was no need to remind her 
 under the circumstances. 
 
 " You don't think they will send me in with her to- 
 night, my future mother-in-law that is not to be, do 
 you? I haven't got up any of those subjects she ex- 
 amined me upon. It will be a case of switching if they 
 do. I'm sure of it ; she will report me to some one. ..." 
 
 He was full of mock fears of Lcetitia, and asked no 
 questions about Harry Calingford's fiancee, who should, 
 according to his aunt, have been his. 
 
 Lord Lyssons no longer minded his aunt talking about 
 his marriage, for his plans were quite settled. He was 
 going back to Nigeria. The estates would become free 
 gradually; the lawyers had the matter well in hand. 
 It might take three, or even five years ; but, should any- 
 thing happen to him in the meantime, his young cousin 
 Gilbert would find that everything had been straightened 
 out. As for himself, he had become convinced that he 
 was not cut out to be a great English aristocrat. In 
 common with that girl he had met on the boat, and of 
 whom he sometimes caught himself thinking, freedom 
 was his great need. He saw it in front of him for the 
 next few years at least, and consequently he was in the 
 best of spirits. 
 
 Lady Sallust enjoyed her drive from Grosvenor Square 
 to the Inner Circle of Regent's Park. 
 
 " One always feels they live in the Zoo," she said, 
 plaintively, when she had given the footman the 
 address. 
 
 " What entertainment could be better than seeing the 
 animals feed? It is kind of you to bring me. I suppose 
 we shall see Harry Calingford champing his jaws, five-
 
 CONCERT PITCH 37 
 
 pound notes dropping from his mouth, with horrid growls 
 and noises, as he scrunches up that million." 
 
 He had very little real interest in the subject, was 
 only going to this dinner-party to oblige his aunt, and 
 amused himself with inconsequences to pass the time. 
 He knew he would be bored. 
 
 Considering he had so often thought of the girl he had 
 /met on the boat, it was strange that, during the first half 
 of the Banffs' dinner-party, he failed to recognize her. 
 But perhaps it was not so strange as it seemed. Manuella 
 by this time had been run, as it were, into a mould, and 
 become, outwardly at least, like all the other girls in 
 their first season who were dressed by Paquin, Jay, or 
 Hayward, coiffed by Lentheric, and hatted by Lewis. 
 One could not see the tree for the foliage. And Lord 
 Lyssons was looking at neither. He had been sent in to 
 dinner with the Duke's sister, who was eighty years 
 old; very scraggy, very deaf, and notoriously disagree- 
 able. She had, of course, been destined for Lord 
 Sallust. 
 
 " Lucky fellow, my uncle," Lyssons ventured to say 
 to her, half-way through dinner. 
 
 " I don't see it ; he has been out of office seven years," 
 she snapped. 
 
 " The privilege of serving his country . . . to-night," 
 he suggested. 
 
 " What is going on to-night ? More trucklings to that 
 wretched little Welsh solicitor." 
 
 She, too, was rabidly political, and Waldo was even 
 more bored than he anticipated. She spoke of the mar- 
 riage afterwards, and asked what he thought about it. 
 
 " Dreadful, I call it, quite dreadful ! Such people ! 
 I don't know what Banff is thinking of." 
 
 "Which is the bride?" Waldo asked, and, with his 
 glass in his eye, looked round the table indifferently. 
 
 " She is sitting beside him. They call her good-look- 
 ing, but I am sure I cannot see it. She is heavy and sul- 
 len or stupid. I know I cannot get a word out of her." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " He took his glass out ; the ejacula-
 
 38 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 tion was under his breath. " It can't be, but it is ! What 
 have they done to her ? " 
 
 Lady Araminta had but a dull companion after that; 
 he was too abstracted even to make fun of her. All her 
 malicious or spiteful speeches passed him unheeded. 
 When she asked him what he thought of the "mesal- 
 liance," he scarcely answered. 
 
 So that was the Wagners' daughter; the girl of the 
 boat ! How often he had caught himself thinking of her. 
 But never like this. She was going to marry Harry Cal- 
 ingford. How had it come about ? He recalled all he knew 
 of Calingford. It seemed to him a horrible sacrifice 
 that child and Calingford ! Truly it was throwing her to 
 the wolves. He looked at her again, wondering about her. 
 
 The dinner lasted an inordinate time; everything was 
 done in an old-fashioned way; the dinner-table looked as 
 if it had come out of the Ark. There were huge epergnes 
 loaded with fruit and flowers, early Victorian. But for 
 the intervening epergnes she might have recognized him. 
 There was neither light in her eyes nor flush upon her 
 cheek; she looked tired, sallow, not happy, certainly she 
 did not look happy. 
 
 " The last girl in the world I should have thought 
 would have married for a title." 
 
 He had already half a mind to seek her out afterwards 
 and ask her why she was doing it. That she-dragon of 
 a stepmother perhaps. 
 
 The interminable dinner came to an end. The ladies 
 left the room ; he tried again to catch her eyes and failed. 
 When he sat down, Harry Calingford had moved his seat 
 to the one beside him. 
 
 The two men had been at Eton together, although there 
 were five or six years between them. 
 
 Calingford was a short, thickset man, with a narrow 
 forehead, red nose and heavy moustache. He had a 
 certain contempt for Lyssons, who was a lower boy when 
 he left Eton in all the pride of Pop. Waldo was " only a 
 parson's son " then, and had been educated at home ; 
 two very good reasons for despising him. And there
 
 CONCERT PITCH 39 
 
 were others ; he was a " sap," and went in for prizes. 
 They had met very seldom in after-life, their ways lay so 
 far apart. Still, the school-days were a link, and Harry 
 was by way of being host. 
 
 " Seems a century since you and I were at school 
 together. You've been after big game, haven't you? 
 Come home to settle down? Same old round. I've got 
 jolly sick of it, you know I'm going to be married of 
 course you know it. Remember when Dunholme and 
 I wrote exeats for each other, and took a couple of days 
 in town, and the Governor came down unexpectedly? 
 We nearly got sacked over that job. By God ! we did. 
 I believe it was before your time. What a queer little 
 devil you were, and how we roasted you ! " 
 
 Waldo remembered vividly how he had hated him, 
 fag master and head of the house, tyrant and bully, 
 unmentionably worse. He found his old dislike return- 
 ing. Calingford became talkative over his wine; he be- 
 gan to drink before he left Eton, and it was a habit that 
 had grown on him. Waldo thought that he was just the 
 same. Characters never alter, they only develop. 
 
 He became uneasily conscious that the man revolted 
 him, that everything he said jarred, that in another 
 minute or two he would probably be extremely rude to 
 him. He pushed his chair back, thinking he had better 
 get away, upstairs, or out of the house. Harry Caling- 
 ford would not let him escape so easily ; he went on talk- 
 ing school days, college days, then back again to his 
 approaching marriage, about which he became extremely 
 communicative. 
 
 " Hard lines on Milly, isn't it ? We've been together 
 six years now; but what's a fellow to do? I'm glad I 
 never let her leave the stage. You saw her in the Girl 
 from the East, I suppose? Ripping song, hers in the 
 second act. They talk of these Russian dancers ; give me 
 an English girl, I say, for make and movement ! Look 
 at Milly's figure now. ..." 
 
 The Duke rose, and the other men followed his ex- 
 ample; it was time to join the ladies.
 
 40 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 The first thing Lord Lyssons did on returning to the 
 drawing-room was to find his aunt, and the first question 
 he asked her, without circumlocution or preliminary, was : 
 
 "And who is Milly?" 
 
 "Milly? Milly?" 
 
 Lady Sallust looked round the room inquiringly with 
 a puzzled expression. 
 
 "You are always so abrupt. Milly who? I don't see 
 any Milly." 
 
 " No ! I suppose she is not here to-night ? On con- 
 sideration, I should think it very unlikely she would be 
 invited, although I hear she is such a great friend of the 
 bridegroom's. ..." 
 
 " Of Harry Calingford's ! Of course ! Why didn't you 
 say what you meant. You never do, I'm sure I don't 
 know why ! You mean Milly Leroy, of the Gaiety. But 
 who has been talking about her ? " She dropped her voice. 
 
 " They say he has two children by her, and she is 
 seriously attached to him devoted, in fact. She has not 
 appeared since the engagement has been announced. 
 The Duke is to make a settlement. Of course, he won't 
 really give her up. I declare I am sorry for that girl." 
 
 "Milly?" 
 
 " Don't be absurd ; the Wagner girl. She would be 
 really quite handsome if only she had a little more 
 animation." 
 
 " And is she, too, devoted to Calingford ? " 
 
 " I don't believe she knows what she is doing. Did 
 you ever see a girl look more depressed; she watches 
 Lcetitia's eye. ..." 
 
 " Take me over and introduce me. I want to con- 
 gratulate her, Calingford and I were at Eton together." 
 
 The introduction was effected and he dropped into the 
 vacant seat beside Manuella. 
 
 " You don't remember me," was the first thing he said 
 to her. 
 
 " Yes, I do," she answered quickly. " I knew you at 
 once." Then she smiled, and it was the first sign of 
 animation she had shown ; he saw the child in her again,
 
 CONCERT PITCH 41 
 
 the smile was mischievous, amused. " I wish Albert were 
 here, he was so certain you were a bagman ; he was 
 awfully angry with me for talking to you." 
 
 " I think myself it was somewhat unladylike," he said 
 coolly. She glanced at him astonished. " Reprehensible. 
 In fact, you must have lost sight of your position." 
 She saw then that he was imitating her stepmother, and 
 laughed again. 
 
 Calingford sauntered up to them and said : 
 
 " You seem to be saying something very amusing ; 
 dashed if I've ever seen Miss Wagner laugh before." 
 She changed countenance when he came up to them, but 
 he did not stay. " I'll come back presently. I suppose I 
 must make myself agreeable to some of these people." 
 
 Lyssons rescrewed his eyeglass and regarded her again. 
 
 " A bagman ! That was a bad guess of Albert's ! I 
 suppose Albert is your brother. I thought you were 
 quite a little girl. Haven't you grown up very quickly? 
 I can't make it out at all. Don't look as if you want to get 
 up and follow Calingford, you will have time enough for 
 him ; you can surely give me five minutes." 
 
 The toss of the head, the flush, the quick unspoken de- 
 nial altered her completely. 
 
 " I have often wondered what became of you, or 
 whether the Great Eastern swallowed you up. I've any 
 number more of adventures to relate. Do you think Cal- 
 ingford will be jealous if I sit here?" 
 
 " I don't care if he is." 
 
 " It is only the strawberry leaves, then ? " he ex- 
 claimed, as if inadvertently. She turned startled eyes 
 upon him. He had little forgotten what wonderful eyes 
 they were; he looked full into them and said coolly: 
 
 " Don't be cross." 
 
 "Why did you say that?" 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must congratulate you, and that was 
 my way of doing it, a little unconventional, perhaps, 
 but I am unconventional ; my aunt tells me so constantly. 
 I suppose you are going to be married almost imme- 
 diately?"
 
 42 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Now you are frowning. I say, I believe Calingford 
 is going to have a devil of a time. You have a bad 
 temper, haven't you?" 
 
 She reddened; it was extraordinary how much of the 
 child there was still in her. What was more extraordinary 
 still was the strange pain it gave him to recognize it. The 
 pain ebbed to tenderness and hurt him. Poor child ! poor 
 hare ! Of course, she had not been allowed a run. His 
 aunt was a lunatic to think he might have taken Caling- 
 ford's place; but already he wished anyone but Caling- 
 ford had it. 
 
 " Everyone says I have a bad temper so I suppose 
 it's true." 
 
 "You don't bite!" 
 
 " No." 
 
 She smiled again. He thought her mouth the prettiest 
 thing about her, although that, too, had lost some of its 
 colour. 
 
 " I wonder at that. I should, in your case. I should 
 have bitten Lady Wagner, I am sure of it. I nearly did 
 it the last time we met." 
 
 He wanted to get that strained look out of her eyes and 
 the laughter back into them. As he sat there talking light 
 nonsense, he saw the alteration in her more plainly. And 
 yet it seemed to him it was only an external alteration, 
 that underneath it was the girl of the boat. He went on 
 talking to her until the time came for them both to go. 
 There was not a word of seriousness, hardly of sense, in 
 what he said, but it seemed to amuse her; she laughed 
 and responded. He spoke again of their unlicensed ac- 
 quaintance, and recalled Albert's supercilious looks. It 
 seemed a very long time ago, the last pleasant thing she 
 remembered. She had been only a child then ; she wished 
 she were a child still. She had forgotten her dreams 
 since she had become engaged, but she remembered 
 them again when Lord Lyssons told her how much she 
 had altered.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 43 
 
 "You are as different as possible; you are the pattern 
 young debutante of the London season." 
 
 But it was not the debutante he saw, the debutante in 
 the white satin dress, with the string of priceless pearls 
 and the hair with feathers; it was that which was im- 
 prisoned in them. When at her stepmother's notification 
 she rose to go, he said: 
 
 " We shall meet again, I suppose ? " 
 
 She answered impulsively, for Loetitia had not suc- 
 ceeded in checking her impulsiveness completely: 
 
 " Oh ! I hope so." 
 
 " What a damned shame ! What a damned, infernal 
 shame ! " he said, when he was in the carriage with his 
 aunt, returning to d'osvenor Square. 
 
 " What ? My dear boy ! what has happened ? " 
 
 He had forgotten he was not alone. 
 
 " The Insurance Bill," he answered promptly. " It is 
 impossible to defend the Contributory Clauses." 
 
 " Yoy may well say so. ... " 
 
 The herring was a complete success; the topic lasted 
 until he left her at her own door, again persuaded that he 
 was more serious-minded than appeared on the surface.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THEY met again, not once, but many times; they 
 seemed to be always meeting. There was nothing 
 strange in that, for they moved in the same world, 
 and very little manoeuvring was necessary to bring it 
 about. Manoeuvring is hardly the word, it really occurred 
 naturally. Manuella had more freedom now ; part of the 
 responsibility for her conduct was Lord Calingford's. 
 At least, that was the way Lcetitia looked upon it, and 
 felt she was no longer tied to her uncongenial task. 
 
 Lord Calingford was not an early riser. It was with 
 Lord Lyssons Manuella took her early morning ride in 
 the Row. She became on easy and familiar terms with 
 him while her fiance remained little more than a figure- 
 head. She had a way of regarding Calingford as one of 
 her stepmother's friends, and was stiff and unreal in his 
 company, formal, exhibiting all the new polish that 
 Lcetitia had imparted to her. With Lord Lyssons she let 
 herself go. He was too tall and thin to look well on 
 horseback. She christened the large beast he bestrode 
 " Rosinante," and always called him Don Quixote. The 
 light surface talk between them was of adventure and 
 horses, with easy badinage. 
 
 " You talk to me as if I were ten years old," she said 
 once petulantly. 
 
 " I know. I forget your years, I only talk to your 
 
 44
 
 CONCERT PITCH 45 
 
 intelligence." He liked teasing her and seeing her pout 
 or frown. 
 
 " I don't mind your being bad-tempered," he told her 
 once. " What I can't stand is seeing you look as if you 
 have become slowly petrified under your stepmother's 
 stony eye." 
 
 " When do I look like that ? " 
 
 She gave her horse a touch with the whip, galloped 
 up the tan, and did not wait for an answer. He galloped 
 after her, remaining silent until she pulled her horse in 
 again. When they were trotting side by side, as if there 
 had been no pause in question and answer, he said : 
 
 " When you are with your fiance." 
 
 Now their horses were walking, and he was watching 
 her. Her face was shadowed by the broad-brimmed 
 riding-hat, a little averted from him. He went on, be- 
 cause he wanted to make her face him. 
 
 " I suppose your feelings are too much for you," he 
 said contemplatively; "you are so awfully in love with 
 the fellow that you can't talk. I've heard of that kind of 
 thing." And then, for he saw the flush, and that he was 
 making her angry, he added thoughtfully : 
 
 " I don't know the symptoms very well. I have never 
 been in love myself." 
 
 " Neither have I," she flashed at him, as if he were 
 accusing her of something unworthy or ridiculous. 
 " Neither have I. Who said I had ? What has love to 
 do with it? You are always trying to annoy me." 
 
 " But you were just as annoyed when I alluded to the 
 attraction strawberry-leaves had for you," he continued 
 mildly. " Which reminds me, by the way, that I heard 
 this morning the Duke is ill influenza. Will that hasten 
 or retard your marriage ? " 
 ' I don't know." 
 
 ' Is it to be soon, or mustn't I ask that either? " 
 ' Not until the end of the season," she replied hastily. 
 ' You can bear the delay ? " 
 ' I wish you wouldn't ask foolish questions." 
 ' It is a bad habit of mine."
 
 46 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 At the big fancy-dress ball at the Farnboroughs', a few 
 days later, they again found themselves side by side. 
 Harry Calingford impersonated the first Duke of Banff, 
 a contemporary of the great Marlborough's ; Manuella's 
 powdered wig, patches and brocaded dress, had been 
 selected by Loetitia as " so extremely suitable." Waldo 
 dressed the part she assigned him, and would have been 
 Don Quixote to the life but for that incongruous eye- 
 glass. 
 
 " The Duchess, by gad ! " he greeted her ; " to the life, 
 a little premature, but to the life. Not Browning's Last 
 Duchess, but Banff's first. I suppose you fancy yourself. 
 Why are you looking cross ? Why tarries the Duke ? " 
 
 She did not look cross, she looked unhappy, and he 
 eaw it, and was a little unhappy with her, not seeing the 
 way to help her. Lady Sallust had told him things were 
 not going well with the engagement. Lord Calingford 
 was inattentive ; it was believed he wished to get out of it. 
 Milly was understood to be making scenes. 
 
 ' Aren't you enjoying yourself ? " 
 
 ' I hate feeling dressed up." 
 
 ' As the Duchess of Banff? " 
 
 ' Any way." 
 
 ' Why were you not in the Row this morning ? " She 
 did not answer him for a moment, and he repeated the 
 question. 
 
 " Got up too late, I suppose. Shockingly idle life you 
 lead ! " he said with mock seriousness. " I shall have 
 to talk to your stepmother." 
 
 A ghost of a smile lurked in the corner of her mouth. 
 
 " That is what I was doing." 
 
 "Talking to your stepmother?" 
 
 " We had a few words " She stopped short. 
 
 "What had you been doing? Not saying 'Yes, 
 please,' or ' No, thank you ' ? Leaving fat upon your 
 plate, forgetting your pinafore?" 
 
 The few words she had had with her stepmother had 
 been on his, Lord Lyssons', account. 
 
 " You must not allow him to make you conspicuous
 
 CONCERT PITCH 47 
 
 with his attentions ; I understand he joins you in your 
 morning ride. I dislike to find fault, but Lord Lyssons 
 is known to be very erratic, almost eccentric; he might 
 wish to compromise you. ..." 
 
 She had flamed up in his defence, and Loetitia had 
 ended the interview loftily. 
 
 " Very well. I am sure you know best. Young people 
 always know more than their elders. We will not discuss 
 the matter any further. I felt it my duty to warn you." 
 
 Loetitia avoided scenes with Manuella now. She 
 wished she could expedite the marriage, but Lord Caling- 
 ford had spoken of " the end of the season " ; and she 
 could not show more eagerness than he. 
 
 Manuella remembered the morning's encounter, and 
 her ghost of a smile changed to a decided frown. 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't always speak as if I were a 
 child; it's so stupid. I'm tired of it." 
 
 " Are you out of temper or out of spirits this even- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Both," she answered shortly, turning her head away 
 from him. They were interrupted, but he found her 
 again in the conservatory just before supper. Her fiance 
 was beside her, obviously he was doing his duty, but 
 yawning over it ; she looked unhappy, but Harry Caling- 
 ford only looked bored. He greeted Waldo cheerfully: 
 
 " Hullo, Waldo Don Quixote ! Good idea ; they 
 called you that at Oxford, didn't they? Here, take my 
 place ; won't you ? I'm not much of a dancing man." 
 
 When they were alone he said to her quite frankly, 
 gently in a manner different from the light and easy one 
 he generally took with her : 
 
 " You are out of spirits. Can't you tell me about it? 
 Is there anything I can do ? " 
 
 She answered moodily, but just as frankly : 
 
 " There is nothing anybody can do. I've made a fool 
 of myself, that's all." 
 
 " It is Calingford, then ? " 
 
 " I can't imagine why I ever said ' yes ' to him. Now 
 I have got to stick to it, I suppose."
 
 48 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " You don't like him ? " 
 
 " What is the good of talking about it ? I don't like 
 anything." 
 
 " Except talking to me ? " 
 
 " Except talking to you." 
 
 She smiled, but her smile was a short-lived thing. 
 " I hate everything myself most. You had better go 
 away. I don't want to talk." 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Talk to someone else, then." 
 
 " Don't stamp your foot. You know you are mentally 
 stamping your foot." 
 
 Tears were near the surface of her eyes, and he divined 
 them. 
 
 " Poor girlie ! " He said it very low, but she felt her 
 eyelids smarting. It was ridiculous to cry at a fancy 
 dress ball. 
 
 " I don't want to be pitied," she said abruptly, rudely. 
 
 He relapsed into silence, he did not know what he 
 could do for her. They had hurried and " jockeyed " 
 her into this engagement. She had given her word and 
 felt that she must keep it. She would have been better 
 off with him. As he thought of that contingency, he 
 had a queer little twinge or thrill in the region of his 
 heart. 
 
 " A beastly mess you've made of things ! " was what 
 he said. 
 
 " I know I have." 
 
 " There is no way out, I suppose ? " 
 
 "It isn't his fault; he hasn't done or said anything. 
 And I've promised." 
 
 He could see that she was turning and twisting in the 
 trap in which they had caught her, writhing! 
 
 " You want to be free ! Your little heart is panting 
 for freedom. I know ; I understand ; that is why we are 
 friends." 
 
 " Are we friends ? I did not know I had any friends. 
 My stepmother says I haven't, that I should not keep 
 them if I had."
 
 CONCERT PITCH 49 
 
 " Your stepmother is ... is unmentionable. Of 
 course, I am your friend Father Confessor, if you like. 
 I know what is the matter with you. You feel trapped, 
 imprisoned. I have the same feeling all the time I am 
 in London. I go away next month." Then he added 
 lightly, his heart heavy for her, but his speech light : 
 
 " It is a pity you can't come with me. ..." 
 
 " To Rhodesia ? Oh ! how I should love that ! " 
 
 In her swift change of mood her eyes lit up under her 
 curled lashes, and she turned to him, clasping her 
 hands : 
 
 " To go back to Rhodesia ! Yes ! that is what I should 
 like. Wouldn't it be wonderful?" 
 
 She was young and impulsive. Had she been a woman 
 he might have risked the speech that rose to his lips. 
 He had the sudden desire and quickened heart-beat. 
 " Come," he wanted to say. '' Why not come ? We'll 
 taste freedom together." 
 
 His arms were ready for her, his heart open. She 
 needed care, and he understood her, understood her 
 better than anyone else; he felt an immense impulse of 
 tenderness towards her, it was not for himself he wanted 
 her, it was for her to make her happy. He quite 
 believed that. But she was going to marry Harry 
 Calingford, and the Duke was dying. He had no right 
 to speak, he had nothing to offer her. He pulled himself 
 together. 
 
 " As it happens, I am going to Nigeria," he said coolly. 
 
 She had flushed and brightened in that impulsive 
 minute. Now she paled, and, because of the look she 
 gave him, he wanted to kiss her; it was the most irra- 
 tional wish he had ever had in his life, the most inde- 
 fensible. He did not know what was happening to him. 
 
 " In a rage again ? " he asked softly, after a few 
 minutes. " I'll go to Rhodesia, if you like. But it is 
 not so interesting." 
 
 " I always say the wrong thing." 
 
 " So do I. It is a way we have, I suppose ; another 
 bond between us. It does not matter when we talk to
 
 50 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 each other." She was grateful to him for saying that. 
 " We understand each other," he added. 
 
 " I suppose we do." 
 
 Did they? He thought not. He wanted to kiss her, 
 for instance, and it was impossible that she wanted to 
 kiss him. 
 
 " Pretty well ; not quite. You have not an idea what 
 I am thinking about at this moment, for instance." 
 
 " What are you thinking about ? " 
 
 " Your lips. ..." He did not say it, he said 
 instead : 
 
 " Don't you want me to tell you about Nigeria ? 
 flaunting your Rhodesia, indeed! Do the natives paint 
 their legs red in your country? Of course they don't; 
 they are just commonplace Nigs." He dashed into travel 
 talk. Strange figures strolled into the conservatory ; 
 they were no longer alone. 
 
 " Got out of that just in time," he said to himself, with 
 a sigh of relief, when she was claimed by a partner. He 
 did not understand himself in the least. He thought 
 when he got home that he was only sorry for her; he 
 did not know that already she was in his heart. 
 
 " I am twice her age ! " 
 
 So was Harry Calingford more than that. 
 
 " I shall have to clear out before I make a damned fool 
 of myself. She would rather talk to me than to him, 
 she wants gentle handling, with her quick temper and 
 pride. Of course she is proud. They've jockeyed her 
 into it, and now she'll keep her word at any cost." Then 
 he saw her eyes again glorious eyes, but puzzled. " I 
 puzzle her. She doesn't know what to make of me." 
 He smiled, but it was a wry and fleeting smile. He was 
 conscious of quickened heart-beat, sudden hunger, an 
 impossible thrill or longing. It did cross his mind that 
 he was falling in love with her, but he dismissed the 
 intrusive thought. He said to himself again that he 
 was twice her age, that she was not a woman at all ; he 
 was ashamed of the visions that pursued him. 
 
 That night the night of the fancy-dress ball
 
 CONCERT PITCH 51 
 
 Manuella, too, slept badly. Why had she promised to 
 marry Lord Calingf ord ? She could not think how it had 
 come about. She had no feeling at all for him ; he was 
 dull, heavy, uninteresting. She supposed she would have 
 to marry him now, but shrank dismayed from the prospect, 
 comforting herself, however, by remembering her wed- 
 ding-day was a long way off; there was always a possi- 
 bility that something might intervene. She was sure he 
 found her dull too ; he did not seem to care at all for her 
 company. She thrust him from her mind and allowed 
 Lord Lyssons to take his place. He was never dull ; 
 one never knew what he would say next, but one always 
 wanted to hear. It seemed to her that she was never 
 long enough with him ; something or somebody always 
 interrupted them. Supposing she had been going to 
 marry him instead of Lord Calingford ? The supposition 
 made her redden a little in the darkness, under the bed- 
 clothes. She was sure she would never have felt dull 
 with Lord Lyssons. 
 
 In the morning two things happened, bearing a relation 
 to each other. So many days nothing at all happened, 
 but on this day there were two co-related circumstances. 
 
 At eight o'clock in the morning a letter was brought to 
 Manuella. The handwriting was strange to her; she 
 had few correspondents but her school friends; theirs 
 were generally foreign letters, and this was English. It 
 might, of course, be an invitation ; it was not sufficiently 
 ornate for a circular, there was no crest nor monogram 
 on the envelope. Invitations and circulars generally went 
 to Lady Wagner, but this might be an exception. She 
 had no prevision of its contents when she opened it; 
 why should she have had ? 
 
 It was quite a long letter, and she read it through 
 twice, its contents being difficult to master, to understand. 
 She did not know such things happened except in books. 
 She felt humiliated ; that was her first feeling when she 
 had mastered the contents of Milly Leroy's letter. 
 Nothing unclean, shameful, ugly, had ever touched her 
 before. She was for destroying it, then for going with it
 
 52 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 to her father ; but she was ashamed. That was what she 
 felt most definitely shame. As if she would have taken 
 another woman's husband had she known ! She could 
 not hold the letter in her hand, it was horrible to her. 
 She did not get any further than that at once ; no thought 
 of her freedom came to her, or rejoicing. In some way, 
 some strange way, her delicacy and modesty were out- 
 raged. She was a little stunned, but through it she felt 
 that a great indignity had been put upon her. Inside she 
 was all trembling with rage and scorn and indignation. 
 
 She put off her morning ride ; her father or stepmother 
 must act for her, dissociate her quickly from this hideous 
 thing, and see that she had no further part in it. 
 
 Whilst she was suffering upstairs, sick with indignation 
 and humiliation, Loetitia, very complacent and with a 
 fresh stock of stale phrases, was inditing a letter of 
 sympathy to her future son-in-law. 
 
 " It is with the deepest sympathy I learn the sad news 
 of your dear father's passing away. Your butler has just 
 conveyed it to my major-domo through the telephone, 
 and I am gratified at the consideration that has been 
 shown us. I will break it to Manuella as gently as possi- 
 ble. Poor child ! I am sure she will share your grief. 
 He had been ailing a long time, but the end was sudden. 
 May I, my dear Harry, add that I am sure you will grace 
 the high position to which you have been called, with our 
 child by your side. ..." 
 
 She scratched that out. They were marrying the girl 
 to a Duke, not tentative, but actual, and all her labours 
 with the girl would be rewarded ; but there was no use 
 pretending she would be a fitting helpmate for him. 
 Manuella, although Lcetitia endeavoured now to ignore 
 it, was far from satisfactory. She had not sufficient 
 dignity, she lacked cultured conversation, social tact. 
 It was natural that Lcetitia should reflect what a very 
 much better Duchess she herself would have made. She 
 sighed, recopied the letter, and finished it appropriately. 
 
 Then she sent for Manuella. 
 
 The girl came quickly; she thought her stepmother
 
 CONCERT PITCH 53 
 
 had heard. Anger was now the predominant feeling, 
 increasing anger, against the writer of the letter and 
 Lord Calingford, against her own people for not having 
 known, against herself for having promised to marry 
 the horrid man. 
 
 " There it is." 
 
 She flung the letter on the table. Loetitia looked up, 
 astonished, from the one she had just sealed and was 
 about to dispatch. 
 
 " There. I don't want to touch it. I suppose you've 
 had the same. ..." 
 
 " Has Lord Calingford written to inform you of the 
 sad event ? " 
 
 She smiled Loetitia's famous smile. 
 
 " I forgot, I should have said, has his Grace written ? " 
 
 " She wrote," the girl answered sullenly. 
 
 " She ! The Duchess ! I am surprised." It certainly 
 seemed a lapse in etiquette. 
 
 "That woman. ..." 
 
 " What woman ? My dear child, I wish you could 
 acquire a more definite method of expressing yourself. 
 What is this?" 
 
 Something she read in the girl's face made her take 
 up the letter Manuella had flung down, and it imme- 
 diately arrested her attention. A pale, indignant colour 
 stained her cheeks, becoming accentuated in her thin 
 nose as she read the signature at the end. The facts 
 contained in it were not as new to Loetitia as they were 
 to Manuella. 
 
 " What a disgraceful letter ! An outrageous and dis- 
 graceful letter; probably not one word of truth in it; 
 the letter of a shameless woman." 
 
 Manuella was standing ; she was waiting for some con- 
 demnation of the man whose name was mentioned, 
 watching her stepmother as she read : 
 
 " / have two children by him. I went to live with him 
 before his eldest brother died; he was only the second 
 son; he promised he zvould marry me as soon as his
 
 54 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 father died swore it a hundred times. Now he is going 
 to throw me over altogether. I wish you could see my 
 little boy; he is the image of him. You may have chil- 
 dren, he says he must have an heir; but my Harry will 
 always be his eldest son. I've been crying my eyes out 
 over it for days before I made up my mind to write to 
 you. It's cruel, that's what it is, cruel; I've been as good 
 as a wife to him, never looked at another man before or 
 since. I've got a little girl too, not three years old. You 
 can come and see us, if you like see the home you are 
 breaking up. ..." 
 
 The rest of the letter was in the same strain. It alluded 
 to Harry Calingford's past, to many things of which 
 Manuella was in ignorance. 
 
 " I knew he wasn't a saint, if his brother had not died 
 they would never have forgiven him that Oxford affair 
 nor taken any more notice of him. I took him when he 
 was dozvn on his luck, made a man of him. They said he 
 was a hopeless drunkard, but he has drunk nothing to 
 speak of for the last six or seven years. I tell you, he is 
 my man; I've made him. I haven't been living on him. 
 I've earned enough for the two of us; I'd have danced 
 my toes off if he wanted money. I don't suppose you 
 know what it is to love a man like that; it isn't his title I 
 care about, it's him, the father of my children. ..." 
 
 " A disgraceful letter," Lcetitia said again, and after 
 a moment's thought she went on : 
 
 " My love, you were quite right to bring it to me. The 
 woman must be dealt with severely ; your father will 
 take it up, or the lawyers. To send such a letter to a 
 mere girl ! But these creatures are all alike, they have no 
 sense of shame. Let it lie there; don't touch it. Put 
 it out of your mind." She waved it away with her hand. 
 Manuella turned from pale to red. " I have other news 
 for you ! " 
 
 It really seemed as if she had put the letter out of 
 her mind ; it lay there like an unclean thing, but Lcetitia
 
 CONCERT PITCH 55 
 
 seemed to have forgotten it. " I think you had better 
 sit down; it has been a shock to you. This letter," she 
 held up the one she had written, " is to Harry, to your 
 fiance ; it is a letter of condolence. You may like to add 
 a line, or, better still, you will write to him yourself. 
 Harry, our poor Harry, has lost his father. Harry is 
 now the Duke of Banff. You look quite pale. Shall I 
 ring for a glass of wine for you ? I do not, as a general 
 rule, approve of intoxicants in the morning, but if you 
 think you would like it ... I have told him he must 
 not grieve, he will fulfill the high position to which he has 
 been called." 
 
 " What are you going to do about that letter ? " 
 
 The girl was going to be tiresome, Lcetitia scented it. 
 
 " You had better lie down a little," she said soothingly. 
 " We won't talk about this dreadful letter any more. 
 It is of Harry we must think, and the change in his 
 circumstances. Do you feel equal to writing him a 
 line, or shall I add a postscript? . . . Don't look so 
 distressed ... of course, it will make a great differ- 
 ence." 
 
 " I am not going on with my engagement." 
 
 " You are a little overwrought just now." Lcetitia 
 meant to be very gentle and very tactful with her. " You 
 must really not attach undue importance to an anonymous 
 letter, practically an anonymous letter ; for as far as I can 
 make out, the woman is entitled to no name, no name at 
 all. I understand she calls herself Leroy; probably she 
 is Smith, or Jones." 
 
 " You knew about it ? " 
 
 " My dear, will you not try and be calm ? You are 
 always so emotional. It is right you should know nothing 
 of such things. Young men will be young men, they 
 are exposed to great temptations. It is not a matter 
 we can discuss. If you will be guided by me, you will 
 think no more about it. You must not, of course, ever 
 allude to it to Harry. ..." 
 
 " To Lord Calingford ! " 
 
 " The Duke of Banff," she corrected gently.
 
 56 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " I should think I wouldn't. I shall never speak to 
 him again." 
 
 " My dear," she smiled leniently. " You have no idea 
 how absurd you are making yourself." 
 
 No amount of soothing or lenient smiles met the occa- 
 sion. Manuella stormed and cried, and behaved, so 
 Lcetitia averred, outrageously. 
 
 " I'll never speak to him again, he's a disgusting, de- 
 grading, beastly, horrid man ! " she cried violently, talk- 
 ing wildly through her gasping breath. 
 
 " You don't care, you don't care how I'm insulted, 
 and . . . and outraged. How dared he? how dared 
 he ask me to marry him? How dared you let me say 
 ' Yes ' ? "
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 NOTHING could move the girl from the attitude she 
 had taken up ; neither her father's arguments nor 
 Albert's had any effect upon her. To discuss the matter 
 at all was extremely difficult, and, as Loetitia said, 
 Manuella's obstinacy was inconceivable. The way she 
 persisted in declining to ignore this disreputable person's 
 appeal was thoroughly unladylike, and showed an innate 
 lack of refinement. Loetitia was naturally exasperated 
 as she saw herself losing the opportunity of being the 
 stepmother of a Duchess. She fought as long as she was 
 able and in every way that was possible. Manuella did 
 allow herself to be persuaded to do nothing until after the 
 funeral. Loetitia thought time would bring her to a 
 better state of mind. But, before sufficient time had 
 elapsed, the very day after the funeral, in fact, Lady 
 Wagner was astounded, humiliated, she said, by hearing 
 that the new Duke had written to Sir Hubert, with- 
 drawing his pretensions ! The news was in the papers 
 before she recovered from the shock. 
 
 The marriage arranged between His Grace the Duke 
 of Banff and Miss Wagner will not take place. 
 
 It stared her in the face from the fashionable column 
 of her Morning Post, curt, decisive, the overthrowal of 
 all her hopes. 
 
 57
 
 58 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 It may be imagined that Manuella's position in the 
 house became an unpleasant one. Her father again 
 ignored her, Albert went back to Oxford, and Lcetitia 
 lost no opportunity of expressing her opinion upon the 
 heinousness of her conduct. It transpired that Manuella 
 had sent Milly Leroy's letter to the new Duke of Banff, 
 accompanied by one of her own, candid and characteristic. 
 
 " / believe every word she says is true. I think it was 
 hateful and disgusting of you, and I will never see or 
 speak to you again." 
 
 Lord Lyssons heard about it from Harry himself, 
 strangely enough. The Duke had the honesty to say to 
 everybody who inquired of him that Miss Wagner had 
 thrown him over, not he her. 
 
 " I don't know but what I'm glad to be out of it," 
 was his comment. " It was like being in a damned 
 kindergarten." 
 
 It was understood that he would return to Milly, even 
 if he failed to regularize her position. Something in her 
 letter may have touched him. He always knew that 
 Milly cared nothing for his rank. 
 
 Lord Lyssons displayed so much interest in the matter 
 that his aunt, who was not a very observant person, 
 actually became aware of it. He was restless, inclined 
 to gossip, in and out of Grosvenor Square continually. 
 
 " I suppose she is having the devil of a time with that 
 stepmother of hers," he said to Lady Sallust on one of 
 these occasions. 
 
 " They say she is being kept on bread and water, 
 locked up in her room." 
 
 " Gone back to the eighteenth century ? " 
 
 " I saw Lcetitia yesterday. She is very touchy about 
 it. Of course, it is a dreadful disappointment to her." 
 
 " Why don't you ask the girl to come here for a bit. 
 Ease the situation, you know ; separate them." 
 
 " Ask her here to stay with me ? " 
 
 " It wouldn't be such an extreme step, would it ? "
 
 CONCERT PITCH 59 
 
 " It is quite unnecessary." 
 
 She sat very upright in her chair. It was impossible 
 to misunderstand what he was asking her. " If you are 
 really so much interested. ..." 
 
 " You are not going to repeat that unholy proposition 
 of yours ? " He was examining one of the miniatures, 
 avoiding her eyes. 
 
 "I am, indeed. Why should you go to Nigeria?" 
 
 " The climate suits me." 
 
 " Don't be absurd, it is a dreadful climate, every- 
 body says so. You would be a much better match for her 
 than Harry Calingford was, I told you so before." 
 
 He had made up his mind to nothing. Manuella was 
 no longer to be met in the Row ; Rosinante and he 
 searched for her in vain. 
 
 " Lady Wagner has taken quite a special dislike to 
 me." 
 
 " That will not matter at all. She certainly hates her 
 stepdaughter." 
 
 He brought forward other objections, of which not the 
 least was the disparity in their ages. 
 
 Lady Sallust combated all the scruples he set up ; there 
 was little doubt he set them up for her to demolish. 
 Yet he was really in half a dozen minds about coming 
 forward as a suitor for the girl's hand. He had a great 
 dread lest she should be forced to accept him as she had 
 been forced to take Calingford. 
 
 But Lady Sallust was urgent, and when she saw he 
 was moved by the relation of the girl's treatment at her 
 stepmother's hands, she used all the force of it for 
 argument. 
 
 " It is really not only of you I am thinking ; the girl 
 is evidently unhappy, and being kept practically in con- 
 finement, one does not see her anywhere. I hear she is 
 not even allowed in the Row." 
 
 That was true, and Waldo knew it. But he did not 
 know that he was the excuse. 
 
 " There is no use you running after Lord Lyssons," 
 Loetitia said cruelly. " No decent man would look at you
 
 60 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 under the circumstances of your broken engagement; 
 your meddling- in a gentleman's private affairs." 
 
 Lcetitia forgot she had formerly suggested that Lord 
 Lyssons was running after Manuella and endeavouring to 
 compromise her. She was sure now that the girl was 
 running after him. Manuella's pride and sensitiveness 
 were both hurt ; her stepmother said bitter and unfor- 
 gettable things to which she sometimes retorted hotly, 
 but which were never without their effect. Her spirits 
 failed under the treatment she was receiving, she became 
 glad to be allowed to remain in her own room, to escape 
 observation. 
 
 Lady Sallust was not authorized to approach Lady 
 Wagner on her nephew's behalf, but she nevertheless 
 took upon herself the responsibility of sounding her. 
 The failure of the ducal alliance had subdued Lcetitia, 
 too, to some extent, and she welcomed Lady Sallust's 
 visit with ingratiating warmth. Lady Sallust employed 
 circumlocution, she knew the way to gain Lcetitia's ear. 
 She spoke casually of Banff, and his undesirable habits 
 and conditions, and very warmly of Waldo. 
 
 " Banff is a mushroom to Waldo, as you know. The 
 one is the ninth duke, and the other the twenty-first earl 
 the earldom dates from 1446. Not that that would 
 count with you, but it does make a difference, doesn't 
 it? I understand the young people are already attracted 
 towards each other. Of course, it is early days, but I 
 suggest they should be given an opportunity to meet." 
 
 Lcetitia was attracted by the idea, although she disliked 
 what little she had seen of the suggested suitor. She 
 wished to get the girl off her hands ; she did not wish for 
 her happiness, but to rid herself of her. Lady Sallust 
 made it clear that Lord Lyssons would not come forward 
 as Harry Calingford had, through his relatives or lawyers. 
 
 " He is attracted by the girl ; he would like opportuni- 
 ties to meet her, to become better acquainted with her." 
 
 This way of doing things went against the grain with 
 Lcetitia. She was genuinely of the opinion that the 
 more anyone saw of her stepdaughter, the less likely he
 
 CONCERT PITCH 61 
 
 was to become attached to her. She yielded in the end, 
 however, because the girl was an increasing" vexation to 
 her, and such a marriage would leave her with no cause 
 of self-reproach. 
 
 She began to take Manuella out again, to entertain 
 and be entertained; the season was still very young. 
 Lady Sallust begged her to keep the matter secret between 
 them, to await events. But Lady Wagner only partially 
 fell in with her view. Certainly she gave Manuella to 
 understand that she was on probation with Lord Lyssons, 
 that he was sorry for her, and wished to see if it were 
 possible for him to replace the Duke. She managed to 
 poison that intercourse to which she agreed. There 
 was an ever-increasing awkwardness between them, the 
 cause of which Waldo was for ever wondering. He 
 feared they were putting pressure on her, although he 
 had made no proposal. 
 
 He was invited to lunch and to dinner at Stone House, 
 stiff and formal meals, in which he had little opportunity 
 for private talk. Only once he spoke to her of her en- 
 gagement; that was the day of the final tie of the Army 
 Polo Cup at Ranelagh, about a fortnight after he had 
 begun coming to the house. 
 
 He lunched at Stone House and drove down with them 
 afterwards in the motor. Lady Wagner made the third ; 
 she was conscientious as a chaperone, perhaps additionally 
 scrupulous because of that idea of hers that the less 
 anyone saw of Manuella the more likely she was to retain 
 his esteem. Waldo noticed Manuella was pale, and 
 thought she had grown thin, too thin ; she looked de- 
 pressed. He recalled the girl of the Channel crossing, 
 and found hardly a trace of resemblance. Loetitia would 
 have said she had " fined down," Waldo was vaguely 
 uneasy. She had " fined down " to breaking-point. He 
 disliked Lady Wagner even beyond her demerits. This 
 afternoon, as he sat opposite to them both, and his future 
 mother-in-law displayed her pleasing smile and talked 
 about Society, he wanted to strangle her. 
 
 It was a great day at Ranelagh. The King and Queen
 
 62 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 were coming 1 , and the streets were lined with people. A 
 long string of conveyances impeded the Wagner progress ; 
 they were nearly an hour getting into the gardens. All 
 the time Loetitia talked, but Manuella remained pale 
 and silent. Waldo wanted to know what ailed her, but 
 any attempt he made to question her was frustrated 
 by Lady Wagner's incessant pleasantry and social gifts. 
 She exercised them all for his benefit. She was beginning 
 to know the value of the alliance, one or two envious 
 mothers having made it evident. She was recovering 
 from her disappointment, and was less antagonistic in 
 her manner to Manuella. It was, of course, unfortunately 
 evident that she had no aptitude for conversation, and 
 lacked the social sense. Loetitia filled up all the gaps 
 that Manuella's silence left, and was extraordinarily 
 self-satisfied in her mauve dress, and her too-youthful 
 hat, and the way she felt she was improving the oc- 
 casion, and assisting in attracting and enchaining Lord 
 Lyssons. 
 
 She would have been surprised if she had heard his 
 whisper to the girl when at last they were walking to- 
 gether to the Polo ground. 
 
 " I say, can't we manage to lose her?" 
 
 They did manage it, but not until much later, after 
 they had walked about, sat and watched a dull match, 
 when they were at tea together, and his endurance came 
 suddenly to an end. Then Hamel, the flying man, made 
 a. diversion. Everyone rushed to the ground where his 
 descent would take place. Lady Wagner decorously kept 
 her seat at the tea-table, and wondered where they were 
 all going, what was happening. But Waldo, seizing 
 Manuella by the arm, hurried her away. 
 
 " They are going to see him come down. Come along, 
 I know the way. We must cross the grass." 
 
 " Didn't I do that well ? " he asked, when they were 
 out of sight and hearing. 
 
 But Manuella's answering smile and manner lacked 
 something of spontaneity. She might have been talking 
 in her sleep, so little animation did she show.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 63 
 
 " You haven't taken a dislike to me by any chance ? " 
 he asked lightly. He did not expect an affirmative an- 
 swer. His heart contracted suddenly when he saw her 
 hesitation contracted to pain. 
 
 " Have I done or said anything to annoy you ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, of course not," she spoke quickly. 
 
 " I'm sure I have. You are quite different to me from 
 what you used to be. We were going to be friends. . . ." 
 
 He spoke quickly, he was hurrying her out of the 
 crowd, in the opposite direction to the place of the air- 
 man's descent, but he was not too hurried to note the 
 vagueness of her response, her unwillingness. 
 
 " Ought we to be going away like this ? She has not 
 anyone with her, and does not like being left alone. I 
 don't think she has finished her tea. ..." 
 
 " I don't know what she has done with her tea. But I 
 know she has nearly finished me. Here we are. Never 
 mind Hamel, let us watch the croquet, the hoops are 
 quite in order." There were two chairs under a tree, 
 the ground was deserted. " You need not talk, and 
 for Heaven's sake don't be polite, or mark your periods, 
 or speak the Queen's English. Be slangy, be vulgar, be 
 anything but refined, or pleasing, or agreeable. Heavens ! 
 what a woman ! No wonder your father suffers from 
 indigestion ! " 
 
 He made her smile. It was then he asked her again 
 what had ailed her, or if she had taken a dislike to him. 
 He knew she was no longer at ease with him, and he 
 wanted to get back to the old footing. 
 
 " I wonder what has become of that red blouse I 
 saw you in first? You wouldn't fill it out as well as 
 you did then." He was eyeing her; she thought he 
 was finding fault. It was the fashion to find fault with 
 her. 
 
 " I've grown thinner." 
 
 She always flushed easily, and if this time she flushed 
 angrily he liked it better than her unnatural quiet. He 
 began to tease her purposely, as he used, to call her 
 " Alice in Shadowland," and complain that soon there
 
 64 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 would be nothing left but her smile. He said she was 
 like the Cheshire cat, only with her it would be her large 
 eyes' that remained. He talked lightly, but his heart 
 was tender from the pain of that sudden contraction when 
 she had hesitated in answering him. There was no reason 
 for it. Nothing had come between them. 
 
 " You are letting me do all the talking," he complained. 
 " I believe your stepmother is quite right. She told 
 me to-day in her pleasant way that she was afraid I 
 should find you a poor companion." 
 
 She flamed out at that: 
 
 " She hates the sight of me, and thinks everyone else 
 must ! " 
 
 " Well, you know I don't, not entirely ! " Then, in 
 slightly more serious tone, he added : 
 
 " Is that all that is the matter with you, your step- 
 mother and her phrases ? A fortnight or so ago I thought 
 it was Harry Calingford. Now I am a little at sea. It 
 isn't me, by any chance, is it? I can't bear you to be so 
 unhappy." 
 
 He had asked her for nothing, put forward no claim. 
 He did not mean to give them any pretence for putting 
 pressure upon her. 
 
 She resented his curiosity, and did not want him to pity 
 her. Lcetitia's phrase that she was " on probation " with 
 him festered in her. 
 
 " There is nothing the matter with me," she said 
 shortly. 
 
 " And you have not taken a dislike to me ? To my 
 eyeglass, for instance, or anything about my clothes? 
 Albert was telling me he thinks I ought to change my 
 tailor and go to his." 
 
 Then again, moved by some unknown fear or mis- 
 giving, but more fearful still of showing her his anxiety, 
 he asked : 
 
 " Anyone put you against me ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 It was Lord Lyssons' great misfortune that, when he 
 felt most he could speak least.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 65 
 
 " Not hankering after the Duke by any chance, are 
 you? You never told me how you got rid of him, by 
 the way. ..." 
 
 She could not bear to speak of it. Her stepmother 
 said she had behaved in an unladylike manner. She felt 
 wildly the possibility that Lord Lyssons thought so, too, 
 and more wildly that perhaps he had things like this 
 in his own life, women. He wanted perhaps to know if 
 she minded. It was hateful, hateful of him. He was 
 trying to find out if he liked her well enough to marry 
 her. She did not want to marry him or anybody. At 
 that moment she thought she did not even like him any 
 more. 
 
 But she changed her mind just as suddenly when he 
 put his hand over hers and spoke softly : 
 
 " Never mind, I was only teasing, I don't want to 
 know. I am sure you were more than right. Do you 
 think I ought to have told you, given you a hint? Is 
 that why you are angry with me? I wanted to do it, 
 but I couldn't. You might have thought I was speaking 
 in my own interests." 
 
 She looked at him quickly, and he saw in her surprised 
 eyes that she had never even suspected such a thing. 
 He answered the surprise in her eyes with something 
 very like complete candour. 
 
 " Well, it came to that, it very nearly came to that 
 that evening at the fancy-dress ball. I suppose you don't 
 happen to remember how beautiful you looked, and how 
 unhappy. Why don't you begin to look happy ? You are 
 free now." His hand tightened over hers and he went 
 on : " You know you are absolutely free, don't you ? It 
 is going to be just as you like; they have not told you 
 differently, have they? I am half a hundred years too 
 old for you. ..." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " she exclaimed impulsively, then flushed 
 and wished she had not said it. He kept his hand over 
 hers. 
 
 " You are sure I am not too old," he said gently. 
 
 She had no way of answering him, nor knowledge of
 
 66 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 what she might say. She did not care how old he was, 
 nor had she ever given his age a thought. 
 
 " It's only because you pity me." 
 
 What was only because he pitied her ? He had not said 
 anything. She hurried on : 
 
 " I want to be left alone, I don't want to be questioned 
 and talked over." She was almost incoherent. 
 
 " I'm not talking you over, I have never talked you 
 over. Be fair to me." 
 
 " My stepmother says " But she could not tell 
 
 him what her stepmother said ; she reddened and stopped 
 short, digging the ferrule of her parasol into the turf. 
 His hand still lay over hers, confusing her. 
 
 " I know it is only because you pity me," she said 
 futilely. 
 
 " Shall I have more reason to be sorry for you if I take 
 Harry Calingford's place, do you think ? " 
 
 " You don't really want me." 
 
 " I could do with you," he answered whimsically. 
 
 " I did think we were going to be friends ; you said we 
 were." 
 
 " I am not saying anything different, am I ? You 
 remind me of the woman in the police-court the other 
 day. ' Oh, no, sir, 'e don't often knock me about ; 'e's 
 more like a friend than a 'usband.' Come, think it over. 
 You are not going to be hurried." 
 
 " I don't want to be married out of pity." 
 
 " You won't be, I promise you that," he said quietly, 
 almost under his breath. 
 
 And then her troubled eyes sought his, and what she 
 read in them made her drop her own quickly. Neither 
 of them spoke for quite a long time; until he took his 
 hand from hers, and began to talk easily of what was 
 happening in front of them. The excitement of Hamel's 
 descent was over, and people came back over the grass 
 in twos and threes and little groups ; the croquet players, 
 mallets in hand, took their places again. 
 
 " Are you interested in croquet ? This ought to be a 
 good game, we had better stay and watch it. I'll lay
 
 CONCERT PITCH 67 
 
 six to one on the man with the Panama hat, there is a 
 deadly earnestness about him. Look at his chin ; he has 
 a tournament chin." 
 
 Before he got through what he had to say about the 
 croquet, Lady Wagner sailed in sight. 
 
 " Oh ! there you are. I have been looking everywhere 
 for you. The King and Queen are just going; we ought 
 to be moving too. You know we have the opera to-night, 
 and the reception at the Foreign Office." 
 
 Other people joined them, and there was talk of the 
 polo, the flying, the croquet. They did not speak again 
 to each other. He excused himself from driving back 
 with them, and Manuella was glad of it. She felt very 
 agitated, excited ; he seemed to have told her something 
 strange, new, wonderful, incredible, something that made 
 her pulses beat irregularly. She drove back in absolute 
 silence, feeling no resentment when Loetitia said icily : 
 
 " It is a pity you lack sprightliness, aplomb. I fear 
 Lord Lyssons considers you but a poor companion, and 
 prefers to seek more agreeable, more lively, society. I do 
 my best, but you give me no assistance no assistance at 
 all, when I try to draw you into the conversation."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 IF during the days that followed Manuella was in a 
 tumult of feelings, and understood none of them, 
 Loetitia's vigilant chaperonage may have been partly 
 responsible. Waldo thought he had told her what he 
 had to say, and that she would make up her mind in 
 due time ; he had promised she should not be pressed 
 or hurried. For himself he was content to wait, more 
 than content. He cancelled his passage to Nigeria, and 
 took rooms in the " Albany." He was living in them 
 when the great entertainment took place at Stone House. 
 
 Even in those days of elaborate entertainments, lavish 
 expenditure on flowers and food, on music and the 
 engagement of great artists, the reception given at Stone 
 House was spoken of as promising to be unique. It was 
 the Wagners' first season in Stone House, and Loeritia 
 meant to make it memorable. Although she had hoped 
 for a ducal alliance for her stepdaughter, she was be- 
 coming satisfied with the one in sight. 
 
 Stone House, thrown open for the first time on this 
 occasion, and resplendent, was found to have had all 
 the embellishment lavished upon it that the imagination 
 of the most glorified upholsterer, with Sir Hubert's bank- 
 ing account to enliven it, could contrive. The hall was of 
 blue marble, enriched with golden mouldings. From 
 fluted columns of this same marble, drawn from a quarry 
 in South America, exploited for the purpose, and new 
 
 68
 
 CONCERT PITCH 69 
 
 to the cognoscenti, the great staircase rose, leading to 
 billiard-room, banqueting-hall and picture-gallery. 
 
 The banqueting-hall was of cedar wood and silver, the 
 design of the ceiling copied from one of the rooms in the 
 Doge's Palace in Venice. Cunning employment of electric 
 light turned the silver to rose grey, and silver and rose 
 deepened in the tone of the carpet, specially woven for the 
 hall. Lady Wagner would, of course, have preferred 
 gold to silver in the enrichment of the ceiling, but yielded 
 to expert advice. 
 
 On this great night thirty people, among whom was 
 Lord Lyssons, sat down to dinner under the cedar and 
 silver ceiling. A prince of the blood sat by Lcetitia's side. 
 He was only Prince Basil Francis of Helstig-Scholstein, 
 but to Loetitia it was sufficient that he was Royalty. He 
 was known to be musical, and the concert after the 
 dinner had been arranged for his edification. The knowl- 
 edge of how much money it was to cost, that every 
 performer was a star, sustained Loetitia through the 
 dinner. 
 
 Prince Basil Francis of Helstig-Scholstein was very 
 poor, and unusually stupid, even for a prince. He did not 
 know why he was here, but, then, he very seldom knew 
 why he was anywhere. Nevertheless, he said the right 
 things to his hostess; he had said them so often before 
 that they came quite easily to him. It was unfortunate 
 that it was June, and there were no luxuries out of sea- 
 son. A year ago, in March, in their hired house in St. 
 James's Square, when the American Ambassador dined 
 with them, there had been, to eclipse the freak dinners of 
 fable or America, an immense effort made to induce a 
 couple of tame plovers to lay prematurely, and apparently 
 the Wagner money had proved too great a temptation. 
 
 But to-night there was no eccentricity, wiser counsels 
 having prevailed. Of course, the asparagus was of the 
 giant variety, the strawberries British Queens, and the 
 wines of unexceptionable vintage. The Prince's appetite 
 was likewise remarkable, kolossal, in the language of 
 his fatherland. He even asked, and Loetitia looked upon
 
 70 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 it as a command, that one dish canard with a mousse of 
 foie gras should be handed again. Loetitia was highly 
 gratified, if secretly surprised. She had a vague idea 
 that a small appetite was a sign of good birth. 
 
 After dinner she stood at the head of the splendid 
 staircase, in grey satin and grey wig, diamond tiara, im- 
 mense pearls, and dignity, to receive the guests that were 
 coming for the concert and supper. There was no crush 
 there could not be a crush in Stone House but every- 
 one who was anyone came. The Duke and Duchess of 
 Balderstone, the old Dowager, the Fallowfields ; the 
 Honourable Gilbert Talbooth, with long hair and the rep- 
 utation of a poet; Lord Chetwode, with neither hair nor 
 reputation ; Lords and Ladies ; the Inchestres, the Thesils ; 
 debutantes and dowagers, old stagers and young. Some 
 were amused at finding themselves here, and said so, 
 almost under the eyes of their hostess. As a matter of 
 fact, one was here because the other was ; they were only 
 sheep, Lady Sallust being the bell-wether. The engage- 
 ment between Lord Lyssons and the only daughter of the 
 house was not yet announced, but it was in the air. 
 Manuella was by her stepmother's side at the top of the 
 stairs. 
 
 The picture-gallery was even more superb than the 
 banqueting-hall ; the very walls were gold, and golden, 
 too, the domed ceiling ; only the pictures broke the Midas 
 charm. They were reputed old masters, and prodigious 
 prices had been paid for them. Here the blue of the 
 Virgin's gown caught the eye, and there the gold of the 
 Child's halo outshone the gold of walls and ceiling. But, 
 for the most part, it was the frames that stood out 
 conspicuously upon the walls. 
 
 To-night there was a platform, with footlights, and a 
 grand piano at the end of the gallery. Powdered foot- 
 men handed satin programmes. An arm-chair, gilded and 
 cushioned, was provided for the Prince, and a similar 
 one beside him for Lady Wagner. All the chairs were 
 gilded, but these were the only two with arms. Waldo, 
 coming up late from the dinner-table, had some difficulty
 
 CONCERT PITCH 71 
 
 in finding Manuella among the crowd. He whispered to 
 her in a ribald manner that a bed or sofa would be better 
 than a chair for Prince Basil Francis. 
 
 " He is somnolent with satiety and champagne. I bet 
 you half a dozen pairs of gloves he is asleep before the 
 Trio." 
 
 It was by the Prince's wish that the Tschaikowsky 
 " Trio " was to be played. Lyssons had laughed when 
 he heard this, for the intimation of His Highness's wishes 
 came from the impresario who arranged the concert. 
 
 The " Trio " was the most incongruous item on that 
 satin programme, which in itself was even more amazing 
 than the distinguished names implied; not a number 
 cost less than three figures, and it was rumoured that 
 the " Trio " ran into four ! Certainly Steinhault was 
 playing, and he had never before been heard in a private 
 house in England. 
 
 It was to be performed after supper. This had been 
 arranged with the view of keeping the Prince in Stone 
 House as long as possible. People would be coming and 
 going all the time, and Loetitia wished that everyone 
 should see him there. Here is the programme. Its 
 significance will be seen later. 
 
 PART I 
 
 1. Pianoforte Solo Barcarolle Chopin. 
 
 PAUL STEINHAULT. 
 
 2. Song " Un bel di vedremo " Puccini. 
 
 (Madame Butterfly) 
 MADAME LIEBIUS. 
 
 3. Dance MADAME PALESTRINA. 
 
 (By the courtesy of the Manager of the Palace Theatre.) 
 
 4. Recitation from "LaGlu" Jean Richepin. 
 
 MADAME YVONNE COLBERT. 
 
 PART II 
 
 I. Sea Pictures (a) " Where Corals lie " Elgar. 
 
 (b) "The Raven" 
 
 MADAME CLARA CUE.
 
 72 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 2. Trio " Trio in A Minor " Tschaikowsky. 
 
 MM. JACQUES ZEISLER, PAUL STEINHAULT 
 and ISIDOR VESCI. 
 
 3. Song "Si, mi chiamano Mimi " (La Boheme) Puccini. 
 
 MADAME LIEBIUS. 
 
 4. Violin Solo Introduction and Rondo 
 
 Capriccioso Saint-Saens 
 
 HERR ZEISLER. 
 
 Palestrina was the greatest of all Russian dancers. 
 Yvonne Colbert had come from Paris for this one en- 
 gagement only at a phenomenal fee. The two great 
 cantatrices, Madame Liebius and Madame Clara Cue, 
 had never previously sung together at a concert. Zeisler 
 and Vesci, incomparable violinist and renowned violon- 
 cellist, stood alone each in his class. 
 
 Paul Steinhault ! Paul Steinhault is the pianist be- 
 fore whom, according to the very latest audacity in 
 musical criticism, Paderewski is a mere amateur, and 
 Rubenstein was but a tinkler on the keys. The whole of 
 musical London was agog to hear him, but he had always 
 refused to appear in a country that had allowed a Davison 
 to malign a Wagner. It is possible he thought the South 
 African millionaire was a relative of the Divine Master, 
 and that so he was assisting at a great festa of reparation. 
 It is also possible that he could not withstand the fee. 
 
 The Prince settled himself in the gilded and cushioned 
 chair, and Lady Wagner took her place beside him. 
 Seats were found for lesser people ; there was a rustle of 
 programmes and silken dresses, with buzzing of talk and 
 exclamation. This was to be like no other concert. 
 
 The impresario was, however, the first performer to 
 appear. He came on to the platform and made a little 
 speech : 
 
 " Your Highness, Ladies and Gentlemen. ..." 
 
 It appeared that Steinhault had not yet arrived. Herr 
 Zeisler would therefore give the first item. 
 
 In another minute Zeisler, thickset and plebian in 
 appearance, but smiling and assured, stood before them.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 73 
 
 How lovingly he adjusted the strings, caressing them 
 almost. Under his fat, stumpy fingers the music danced 
 and sang, cried and laughed lightly. What a genius the 
 man was ! The Prince said so, and led the applause. 
 
 Lord Lyssons was not musical, and to-night he could 
 think of nothing but Manuella. In truth, she looked 
 beautiful ; on her slender girlish neck the lovely-shaped 
 head, with its coronal of dark hair, rose gracefully. She 
 had little colour, and even her lips seemed pale; but 
 without colour her contours seemed more exquisite, the 
 small cleft chin, the thin bow mouth, the delicate nose. 
 The lashes lay shadowy on her ivory cheeks, underneath 
 them her eyes were darkly brilliant. 
 
 " You can't want to listen ; come away and talk." 
 
 " Can't want to listen ! Why, it's Zeisler ! " 
 
 Manuella loved music; once a thousand years ago 
 it seemed now she had wanted to be a great singer. At 
 Fontainebleau her singing master said she had a wonder- 
 ful voice. It was, however, not only because she was 
 musical, and wanted to hear, not merely Zeisler, but 
 Madame Liebius and Clara Cue, that she stayed where 
 she was. 
 
 An extraordinary shyness of Lord Lyssons had come 
 upon her now ; she was for ever conscious of him, of his 
 presence in a room, his presence in her thoughts; but 
 she evaded the knowledge that was knocking at her 
 heart. 
 
 Supper was served at small tables between the two 
 parts of the concert. Now everybody was eating lobster 
 in aspic, quail or truffled chickens, drinking champagne 
 or hock ; there was a rattle of glasses and plates, with the 
 hum and buzz of talking. It was perhaps only Waldo 
 who noted a man approach and whisper something in 
 Sir Hubert's ear. Manuella was at her father's table 
 with the wizened ambassador who stood next to the 
 Prince in distinction. And where Manuella sat or stood, 
 there were Lord Lyssons' eyes. 
 
 Sir Hubert, for once forsaking regime, was eating and 
 drinking like an ordinary human being, talking, too, and
 
 74 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 at ease. But that which was whispered in his ear evi- 
 dently annoyed him ; he frowned and showed impatience. 
 Then he spoke to Manuella, who left her chair and the 
 room, evidently at his request. Waldo followed her; he 
 had not yet sat down to supper. 
 
 " Anything the matter ? " he asked. 
 
 " Steinhault has not come, there is no one for the 
 piano, and they don't know what to do about the Trio. 
 You know it was by Prince Basil's special request. I 
 am to go up to the artists' room, to try and arrange 
 something. ..." 
 
 " By the time the Prince has finished supper I don't 
 believe he will know one tune from another. Come 
 and talk to me instead ; I haven't had a word with you 
 for ages." 
 
 " Don't call the Trio a ' tune.' " She tried to speak 
 flippantly, but her nervousness was apparent, and her 
 desire to escape from him. 
 
 " I'll call it what you like." 
 
 " Let me go, I must do what father wants." 
 
 " I am not to have a word, then ? " 
 
 " After supper ; after I've seen what is to be done ; 
 after " 
 
 " I'll take it out of you one day, see if I don't. I'll 
 talk to you for twenty-four hours without stopping 
 thirty-six if you are not good." 
 
 He wanted to keep his arm about her waist, and look 
 into her eyes when he threatened her, to see them 
 brighten, darken, fall before his own. But there were 
 perspiring butlers and hurrying footmen about, and he 
 released her, and returned to the supper-room. His 
 heart was light; he did not think he would have 
 long to wait now. They were so near to an understand- 
 ing. At any moment now there might leap between them 
 the word, the glance, illuminating them to each other. 
 Her very shyness with him was indicative of what 
 was happening, that she was awaking. Love was a 
 flame, and he might kindle it at any moment. But
 
 CONCERT PITCH 75 
 
 she was so young, he could hardly bear that she should 
 burn. 
 
 " Champagne, my lord? " He found himself sitting in 
 her vacant place beside Sir Hubert. 
 
 " In a tumbler, and a large piece of ice. Glad to see 
 for once that you are indulging," he said to his future 
 father-in-law. 
 
 Sir Hubert surveyed his truffled chicken gloomily. 
 " I expect I shall have to pay for it in the morning," 
 he said. " My only possible chance was if my mind had 
 been undisturbed whilst I ate and drank. Now comes 
 this news. I'm sure I don't know why Steinhault hasn't 
 come. I gave him his own terms. I shall be ill to- 
 morrow, very ill." 
 
 " Perhaps not. And, if so, it will be in a good cause," 
 Waldo answered cheerfully. " I should go the whole hog 
 if I were you, since you have started lobster, quail, 
 peaches, and a bottle or two to top up with. You may 
 as well be hung for a Perigord pie as a lamb cutlet, as the 
 old proverb says. As for the programme or any altera- 
 tion, what's the odds? Nobody listens to music after 
 supper." 
 
 " The Prince wanted to hear Steinhault and Zeisler 
 together," Sir Hubert reiterated irritably. " Manuella 
 will have to see that a motor is sent for him." 
 
 He was, however, very much inclined to take Lord 
 Lyssons' advice, since it was certain he would be ill 
 anyway. 
 
 " I have heard that music has sometimes a very extra- 
 ordinary effect on the digestion ; they have been making 
 experiments you've heard about them, I suppose ? " 
 
 Waldo supped to an obbligato of medical details.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 ON the threshold of the artists' room, leading from 
 the great picture-gallery, Manuella paused. It 
 must be remembered that the greater part of her youth 
 had been passed in Germany, where music has its home, 
 is understood, revered, invites and receives homage. 
 For a short time, never to be forgotten, she had been en- 
 couraged to hope that she, too, might one day be an 
 artist. Tremulous days had been hers, for the country 
 that music opened to her, with the language that music 
 speaks, had ever been enchanted land. Since childhood's 
 days she had heard the voices of fauns and fairies on 
 dappled sward; through swaying trees and sunlight 
 Orpheus had played to her intent ears. Sometimes there 
 had been thunder and lightning in that enchanted land, 
 and then it was the gods who spoke. All this was for her 
 dreams alone, and never, never had she voiced it until 
 one day, not six months ago, at Fontainebleau she had 
 sung to Monsieur Lausan, who taught only the first class, 
 and who had declared that her voice was wonderful, and 
 she must be an artist ! Two months of Monsieur Lausan's 
 teaching, of high hopes and glorious excitement, and then 
 the summons home, the imperative peremptory summons. 
 It seemed so long ago ... so impossible she could 
 have ever hoped to be a singer. 
 
 It all rushed back to her, those exalted days and 
 dreams, as she stood at the door of the artists' room, 
 
 76
 
 CONCERT PITCH 77 
 
 almost afraid to enter. Zeisler and Liebius and Vesci 
 were there. Something from the past, some reverence 
 or memory, made the intake of her breath quick, and 
 she hesitated on the threshold. 
 
 She saw Zeisler first Zeisler, whom she had heard 
 in Germany, and idealized, with whom she and all her 
 schoolfellows had said they were in love. He had been a 
 doctor and then a soldier, they were told, but always a 
 genius. She would have liked to make a reverence to 
 him ; she hardly dared to look him in the face. That 
 little fiddle he carried, how she had heard it speak and 
 sing ! There was no one like Zeisler. Again she was in 
 that big hall in Dresden ; the girls in their white dresses, 
 tier upon tier of silent people, then his figure on the plat- 
 form, the awkward figure ; the violin tuning and scraping, 
 and then . . . then . . . such music as she had never 
 heard, only dreamed. ... It was really an obeisance 
 she made to Zeisler, and not a formal bow. They 
 saw it, those artists, and their hearts went out to 
 her. 
 
 At first it seemed as if all who were in the room were 
 talking at once, and she could not make out what was 
 being said. Zeisler was the calmest ; he was not satisfied 
 with one of his strings, and tried it with his finger-nail, 
 and then again, testing the strings all the time the others 
 talked. But Isidor Vesci was vociferous and excitable, 
 and Flockmann, who had engaged the artists for the 
 concert, and represented the firm that had engaged 
 them, was full of explanations and apologies, and could 
 have made matters clear to her if Vesci had not screamed 
 him down. 
 
 Zeisler said quickly, as if to himself or his bow : 
 
 " But like this they will never make her understand." 
 
 And although the explanations, half in Italian, and 
 
 all in chorus, rose and rose again, it was a few minutes 
 
 before she knew what had happened ; that Steinhault, 
 
 the great Steinhault, had not only not come, he had 
 
 neither wired, nor written, nor telephoned ! Nothing 
 
 had been heard of him since he had accepted the engage-
 
 78 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 ment and Flockmann had arranged for Zeisler and Vesci 
 to play with him. 
 
 Vesci was gesticulative and violent. He would not 
 have played at all at such a concert, to such an audience, 
 if it had not been for Steinhault. With Steinhault at 
 the piano he would play the Tschaikowsky Trio here, 
 anywhere, and even forego his right to be heard in a solo. 
 He ignored the fact that he was to have two hundred 
 guineas for his complaisance. He said dreadful things 
 about her father's guests, who had moved in their seats, 
 who had even rustled their dresses, when Zeisler was 
 playing the Rondo. He was convinced that Steinhault 
 had seen the programme, the indefensible programme, and 
 had not come because he resented being set down to open 
 it; he, the great Steinhault, to commence a millionaire's 
 private concert ! So he abused Flockmann. 
 
 It seemed to Manuella as if everyone in the artists' 
 room was talking at the same moment, and that most 
 of them were saying the same thing; only Zeisler went 
 on adjusting his strings, humming a little under his 
 breath. And a vulgar American woman, whom she heard 
 afterwards was Madame Vesci, was saying louder and 
 more often than all the rest, that the Trio could not be 
 given without Steinhault, that Vesci would not play with 
 anyone else. Flockmann suggested this man or the other 
 being sent for great pianists, all of them, he said, as 
 he shrieked their names at Vesci, ran his hands through 
 his dishevelled hair, and was distractedly watching the 
 door, always hoping that at the very last minute Stein- 
 hault would arrive. 
 
 Near the door there was a grand piano. Seated on 
 the music-stool was a young man who touched the keys 
 softly all the time, as Zeisler touched his strings, saying 
 nothing. He had accompanied Madame Liebius in her 
 song. Manuella remembered his head. That was all she 
 had seen of him, although she was musician enough to 
 recognize how fine an accompanist Madame Liebius had 
 secured, how gently his fingers caressed the keys, how 
 the piano supported her, rising and falling with the voice,
 
 CONCERT PITCH 79 
 
 just as an accompaniment should rise and fall, deepen- 
 ing values, adding richness, never obtrusive, always 
 subordinate. 
 
 She had noticed vaguely that it was a fine and massive 
 head, crowned with hair the colour of ripened corn. 
 Now, but equally vaguely, she was surprised to see how 
 young he was, little more than a boy. His small ears lay 
 flat, his shoulders were a little bowed, his eyes were on 
 the keys. 
 
 She wished all the others were not talking at once. 
 Flockmann and Vesci, ignoring her, were still shouting 
 at each other. Only Zeisler played with his fiddle, and 
 the young man at the piano touched a note now and again 
 in accidental harmony. When the confusion was at its 
 height, and she felt her intelligence and capacity drown- 
 ing in the noise, he ceased fingering the piano, and swung 
 himself round on the stool. She became conscious he 
 was speaking to her, softly, under cover of the noise. 
 
 " I saw you in the audience, did I not ? When I was 
 playing ' Un bel di vedremo ' ? You love music, I saw. 
 After that I played it for you." 
 
 " For me ! " 
 
 " But, of course. Now I want to play the Tschaikowsky 
 Trio for you. Will you tell them to cease wrangling, 
 cease talking, and I will play ! If you would tell them 
 that. ..." 
 
 For the moment she was uncertain how to answer 
 him ; she hesitated, not knowing him, nor the etiquette 
 of the occasion. 
 
 " But certainly I can play it," he said earnestly, mis- 
 reading her hesitation. 
 
 As he looked at her she saw that his eyes were blue, 
 and in the middle of each of them was a strange light; 
 afterwards she knew it was the light of genius. Even 
 now she saw that it was not self-confidence that lit them, 
 for that is a small and feeble thing ; they were compelling 
 eyes, double-irised, strange. 
 
 " I can play it for them, no one better ; only Steinhault 
 can play it as well as I."
 
 8o CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " But who . . . what . . . what shall I tell them ? " 
 
 She moved nearer the piano, by now the dispute be- 
 tween the two men was hotter and more vociferous and 
 no one heeded her, although they knew she was here to 
 assuage it. 
 
 " Tell them that Harston Migotti will play the Trio 
 with them." 
 
 " Will they know . . . will they be satisfied ? " 
 
 " They will not know, perhaps. Only Madame Liebius 
 here knows. But they will be satisfied, completely satis- 
 fied. I promise it you. Do not be afraid, tell them." 
 
 " Now ? " 
 
 " Yes. Now ! It does not matter what they say ; 
 afterwards they will be glad." 
 
 It was a strange, a difficult position for her. How 
 could she say it, or insist? And yet he impressed her 
 with his power, with his conviction. He was little more 
 than a boy, two or three-and-twenty at the most. His 
 face was as smooth as a girl's, classic in its fine features 
 and sculptured lines. Her hesitation was not shared by 
 him. 
 
 " Go on. Say it to them," he urged, smiling at her. 
 " Do not be afraid." 
 
 " Herr Zeisler, Signer Vesci." 
 
 She held up her hand to ask for silence, but she was 
 pleading, not commanding, as perhaps she had the right. 
 Because she had curtsied low to Zeisler, not at all because 
 she was her father's daughter, first Vesci, and then the 
 others, gave her the opportunity she asked. 
 
 " I want you to allow . . . will you allow this gentle- 
 man to play the pianoforte part in the Trio in Herr 
 Steinhault's place? It is Signer Harston Migotti. . . ." 
 
 There fell a little doubtful hush over them, and it was 
 almost a moment before Vesci repeated the name, and 
 Flockmann after him. 
 
 " Migotti ? " 
 
 " Migotti ? " 
 
 He did not rise from the stool, but swung lightly on it, 
 facing them.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 81 
 
 " Not ' Signer.' I am an Englishman," he corrected. 
 She had made the opportunity, and now he spoke for 
 himself. " Since Steinhault, who was my master, is not 
 here, I will play the Trio, if you care that I shall." 
 He spoke confidently; and although he said he was an 
 Englishman there was something foreign in the inflexion 
 of his voice. 
 
 It was a difficult, and in some ways, an embarrassing 
 position for the girl. Zeisler looked at her inquiringly, 
 then he turned to the boy at the piano. Vesci continued 
 to talk furiously, and Flockmann seemed too astonished 
 for speech. 
 
 " I have never heard of you," he said, after a pause. 
 
 Migotti shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " No ? " he said laconically ; and for no apparent 
 reason he smiled again at Manuella, as if she, too, must 
 be amused at that. 
 
 " Where have you played ? You have never been 
 heard. ..." 
 
 " Nevertheless, I can play the Trio." 
 
 He rose now, and one saw that the promise of the head 
 was not quite carried out by the figure. Like Zeisler's, 
 it was a little clumsy, loose, not well-knit, his clothes 
 were ill-fitting. 
 
 " Would I say it if it were not true ? In ten minutes 
 you would know. I will play it, but only if Herr Zeisler 
 and Signer Vesci are content, and Mademoiselle wishes 
 it." He was certainly not pleading. " It is for you I 
 will play it," he said again to Manuella. 
 
 Now it seemed that Zeisler was listening to him. And 
 Zeisler, moved one knows not by what impulse, the girl's 
 doubting eyes, the boy with his Beethoven head, convic- 
 tion, indifference, or merely in contradiction of Vesci's 
 wife, who continued to scream that only a Steinhault, 
 a Paderewski, or a Bauer could play with Vesci said, 
 quite laconically, as he took out a new string : 
 
 " Let him play ; I will play with him." 
 
 Vesci's face was a study. Flockmann threw up his 
 hands. Migotti sat down again on the piano-stool, and
 
 82 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Zeisler, after another glance at him, continued to tune his 
 violin. 
 
 When Manuella left the artists' room she became again 
 uncertain of the wisdom of what she had done. 
 
 To Lord Lyssons, to whom she voiced her doubts, it 
 appeared of little consequence either way. She told 
 him how good-looking the boy was, and that he had a 
 true musician's head. He rallied her about him, and said 
 there was no doubt his good looks, or that " light in his 
 eyes " which she described, had made a great impression 
 upon her. 
 
 " I'm only worried because of Zeisler, it would be 
 so awful if he were put out. Perhaps I ought to have left 
 it to Flockmann." 
 
 " I meant to go downstairs and have a smoke, but I 
 shall stay here instead, and support you if there is a 
 fiasco. Did you say Adonis or Julius Caesar, Beethoven 
 or Svengali? Tell me some more about your find." 
 
 He rallied her lightly at first, but found within himself 
 the capacity for jealousy; urging her to come away, not 
 to bother any more about the concert. 
 
 " He has one of the most beautiful faces I have ever 
 seen." 
 
 He could not get her away from the subject, nor from 
 the hall. 
 
 " I must hear him ; he asked me to stand where he 
 could see me, he said he would play it to me." 
 
 Although music bored or irritated him, Waldo stayed. 
 If it was not a vague and reasonless jealousy it was 
 difficult to say why he resented her interest in the 
 Trio. 
 
 Prince Basil Francis had eaten to repletion, and was 
 somnolent, as Waldo had predicted, but did not suggest 
 leaving, as Lady Wagner had feared. 
 
 " Isn't Zeisler going to play again ? I must hear 
 Zeisler," he said. 
 
 And Lady Wagner could not congratulate herself suf- 
 ficiently on having secured just that particular musician. 
 The Prince said there was no one like him; he often
 
 CONCERT PITCH 83 
 
 heard him in Darmstadt. Lady Wagner, holding oh to 
 her decorum with both hands, bemused at the success of 
 her party, and in the prim intoxication with her position, 
 could not remember what instrument Zeisler played, or if 
 he perhaps danced, or sang in a " new ditty " every 
 evening. That was a most improper suggestion that 
 some one had made about an artiste, a " nudity " every 
 evening! In her nervousness she had almost repeated 
 the jest to the Prince, but recollected herself in time. 
 Her satin programme told her Zeisler was the name of 
 the violinist. Of course, they would never have engaged 
 two dancers for an evening. 
 
 Lady Wagner, back in her upholstered chair by the 
 side of the Prince, waited to see what was going to 
 happen on the stage. She heard there had been a dis- 
 appointment about the Trio, and hoped that in its place 
 someone would sing an English song, such as " She wore 
 a Wreath of Roses," or "The Better Land." Her 
 extra glass of champagne, or the society of the Prince, 
 had mounted to her head. Her nose was a little pink 
 under the diamond tiara, and she felt sentimental. 
 
 Prince Basil Francis thought she was a bore. He said 
 if she wished to be with her other guests, perhaps Miss 
 Wagner would take her place; she was not to feel tied. 
 He had an eye for a pretty girl, and sometimes wished 
 modern German ideas admitted the provision of a harem 
 for the younger sons of the royal house. Nevertheless, 
 he had done very well without such provision. He was a 
 little sleepy from his good supper, following so closely on 
 his good dinner. But Zeisler was always worth hearing. 
 
 " Let them begin. Why do they not begin ? " he asked, 
 and added, hardly concealing a yawn, that " it was get- 
 ting late." 
 
 Everybody knew Zeisler and Vesci. Steinhault, apart 
 from his reputation, was personally a stranger to Eng- 
 land. No one suspected there was a substitute at the 
 piano, although many thought he looked young, so much 
 younger than seemed possible. Manuella, when the tun- 
 ing and the adjustment of the piano-stool came to an end,
 
 84 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 found herself near to the platform. She stood, as she 
 had promised, where the young pianist could see her. 
 She was extraordinarily eager that he should succeed. 
 Waldo was struck by her expression. 
 
 He thought he had never seen her look so, he could 
 not find the exact word, but " exalted " was the nearest 
 he could supply. Her eyes were as lamps that had 
 been newly-lit. Into her pallor had crept a flush the 
 flush he had seen come sweetly into her cheeks when he 
 kissed her. Her lips were a little parted. Expectancy. 
 He had found the word he wanted, and saw it typified 
 in her. She stood quite still and expectant. He wished 
 he could have her painted, just like that, but waiting for 
 him and not for the music. 
 
 Flockmann appeared first on the platform to arrange 
 the chairs. His intention had been to turn over the 
 leaves for Steinhault; of course, he would not do that 
 for this boy, this Migotti, whoever he might be, about 
 whom he was doubtful, if not contemptuous. Zeisler, 
 carrying his Stradivarius, came in after the 'cello had 
 been placed. Vesci, insignificant, apelike in his ugliness, 
 took his seat, and drew the big instrument nearer to him. 
 The boy, with no trace of nervousness, followed the 
 others, forgot to bow to the company, took his seat at 
 the piano and began to run his fingers along the keys 
 so naturally, so lightly, that Manuella's anxiety and fears 
 were suddenly stilled. He was going to give them 
 music " the magic of music." 
 
 Music and love were inseparable in that wild heart 
 which her stepmother said was so ill-regulated ; she stood 
 within the precincts of an enchanted land; already the 
 scented wind from it was blowing to her. All that even- 
 ing she had been conscious of a strange excitement; 
 Waldo's breath on her cheek gave her the same thrill as 
 sunlit trees, dancing elves and fairies in dreamland. And 
 now, in a moment, as they began to play, her heart was 
 more tumultuous ; the sough of the wind in the trees came 
 to her, she saw sunlight and shadow glorifying the sward, 
 and all the greys and greens were melody.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 85 
 
 She drew nearer to the platform, leaning against the 
 great palm at the end of the bank of flowers. It was not 
 of Harston Migotti she was thinking, the boy at the 
 piano, who, when the first movement was finished, forgot 
 to acknowledge the plaudits. Lord Lyssons misread her 
 expression ; she was listening, it was true, but she was 
 unconscious of the performers ; not unconscious of Wal- 
 do's eyes, although she avoided them. She had promised 
 to talk with him after supper ; this music was the prelude 
 to their talk. 
 
 Zeisler and Vesci bowed in acknowledgment of the 
 applause, but the boy kept his place unmoved. He 
 had only looked up with that transfiguring light upon 
 his face, and smiled into her eyes. Lord Lyssons saw it, 
 to Manuella it was quite impersonal. There was no 
 question in Migotti's eyes, only assurance, and a smile 
 was about his lips. It is true they were like Beethoven's 
 well-cut, a little thick, firm in his hairless young face. 
 Zeisler looked at him and nodded his head, saying a 
 word under his breath. 
 
 Now the second movement began, the rich variations 
 of the second movement. In the first the violin had sung 
 and danced, and the 'cello had been the wind in the trees ; 
 the piano was only then an undercurrent, as moving 
 waters lapping, water falling, moving waters that might 
 swell to flood. But in the second part, in those wonderful 
 variations, the piano led the 'cello, and the violin was 
 only a beam that danced upon the waters . . . the air 
 changed and changed, but always it was the deep notes 
 of the piano that swelled triumphantly, and dominated 
 each movement. Now their eyes met, not hers and 
 Waldo's, but the eyes of the boy who played, and the girl 
 who listened. And after that it was upon her heart he 
 played. She did not know what had happened, nor what 
 barriers were being thrown down. Only that all the 
 barriers were down, and there was nothing between her 
 and music. There were mysteries, and he at the piano 
 knew them. They were falling like water from his 
 fingers, and the melody he was pouring into her heart
 
 86 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 was greater than she could bear, and yet she knew she 
 could never again bear to be without it. It was ecstasy, 
 it was passion torn to tatters, it was beyond her strength, 
 it was beyond human endurance. And then, when she 
 had gone so pale that Waldo, watching, thought she 
 would faint, the movement changed again, into melan- 
 choly; melancholy into majesty. The end, the end of 
 everything was coming; the end of everything had come; 
 his ringers crashed upon the keys. 
 
 There was a moment's hush before the applause fol- 
 lowed. The great picture-gallery was half empty now; 
 only those who really cared for music had stayed to hear 
 the Trio. Prince Basil Francis, notwithstanding Lcetitia's 
 deference to him, was a very minor royalty, and not one 
 for whom it was necessary to wait. They had gone out 
 one by one, in pairs and groups, without taking leave of 
 their hostess. Those who remained had been spellbound, 
 not as Manuella was perhaps, but as connoisseurs, 
 critics. 
 
 Prince Basil Francis forgot both his rank and his 
 supper; he applauded with hands and feet and stentorian 
 thick voice. Never had he heard the Trio played like 
 that before. Never would it be played to him again as 
 it was played that night. 
 
 " Kolossd! kolossal!" he cried. " Bravi ! Bravi ! " 
 He rose from his gilded chair; he called to Zeisler 
 above the intervening bank of flowers and spoke to him 
 in German. Zeisler put both his feet together, gave that 
 stiff little bow of his, and answered in the same language. 
 Then, great man, great genius that he was, he went back 
 a few steps, to the boy at the piano, putting a hand upon 
 his shoulder, urging him. He was unwilling, but Zeisler 
 insisted upon leading him forward. 
 
 " Your Highness, it is he, it is he who played the Trio." 
 Zeisler said it, and Migotti shook his head. The Prince 
 spoke in German; Zeisler again patted Migotti's shoulder, 
 then kissed him kissed him before them all ! But the 
 young pianist seemed indifferent to their praise, smiling 
 only at Manuella, a little triumphantly. Lord Lyssons 
 saw it. It was as if he would have said : " It was for
 
 CONCERT PITCH 87 
 
 you I played." Waldo surmised the words upon his lips. 
 
 " They won't stay for anything else," Waldo said to 
 her. " The Prince is on the move already. Come up- 
 stairs." He put his hand on her arm. " I have not had 
 that word with you." 
 
 "Not now." 
 
 She shrank from him, because now, although she had 
 no words for it, or formula, she knew that she loved 
 him ; that boy had taught it her with his wonderful 
 playing. 
 
 " You don't want to hear any more, do you ? " Lord 
 Lyssons asked her. 
 
 " No." 
 
 Her head felt light and rather strange, her heart over- 
 full, and fearful. But she was happy, amazingly happy, 
 and softened softened to saying it. Only there was no 
 opportunity. Perhaps she could have made one, or he, 
 if he had understood. There were departing guests, and 
 in that large house it would surely have been possible to 
 find solitude. He should have kissed her then, taken 
 her in his arms, entered into his kingdom. It was 
 Harston Migotti's playing that threw it open to him, but 
 it was his for all that, only his. 
 
 " I didn't know you were such a musical enthusiast. 
 Was it the music, or the young man with the flowing 
 locks ? " he asked her, as they stood at the top of the 
 stairs, and the people swept past them toward the cloak- 
 room or their carriages. 
 
 " I I love it." Her voice was low, lips a little 
 tremulous, heart wildly fluttering. Lcetitia caught sight 
 of them, and intimated that the Prince wished to take 
 his leave of Manuella. She curtsied low to him, and then 
 it seemed the room and the people were swaying about 
 her. 
 
 " My love, the Duchess." 
 
 " Miss Wagner is overtired, I think." Waldo saw 
 she had grown very pale, was overcharged with emotion ; 
 it was he who obtained her release from her social duties. 
 
 " Run away up to bed, you won't be missed now. 
 I'll see you in the morning."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IT was from that night all the misunderstandings dated, 
 although they came about gradually and without 
 natural sequence. 
 
 Lord Lyssons made his formal proposal the next day; 
 it was difficult to say what urged him to do it at that 
 particular moment. Perhaps he thought he could woo 
 her better as her fiance than as merely an aspirant to her 
 hand; perhaps he wanted to free himself and her from 
 Lcetitia ; perhaps, although it seemed incredible, he really 
 thought she was attracted by the young musician, and 
 so wished to make himself secure. In any case, he had 
 an interview with Sir Hubert Wagner, was accepted, and 
 the lawyers set to work. 
 
 Instead of being more, they were less, together; they 
 were hardly ever alone. Trousseau intervened and dress- 
 makers; it was worse than before the presentation. 
 Every hour seemed to be occupied. Manuella was for 
 ever dressing and undressing, being tried on, interviewed, 
 seeing fresh people, corsetieres, women with boxes of lace 
 and embroidered underwear, perspiring furriers in white 
 smocks, tailors with pins in their mouths and chalk in 
 their pockets. There was no talk, no leisure; the days 
 came and were gone, leaving on their ebb-tide rich things 
 which neither of them wanted. Wedding invitations had 
 been sent out, and gorgeous presents arrived daily. 
 Glowing descriptions of her trousseau were in all the
 
 CONCERT PITCH 89 
 
 papers ; the Daily Mail and the Daily Mirror and the 
 weekly press vied with each other in their accounts of 
 the famous Lyssons' sapphires that were being reset, of 
 the priceless Russian sable coat Sir Hubert was giving 
 his daughter, of the parure of diamonds from Cartier that 
 was her stepmother's gift. The public interest was sup- 
 posed to be divided between the particulars of all this 
 magnificence, and stories and portraits of the starving 
 children of the coal miners, who were again on strike. 
 Equal journalistic space was given to both. 
 
 Outwardly Manuella was uncertain in temper, shy 
 when with her lover, or flippant. Within, she was dis- 
 traught, fearful, trembling. She was living in dreamland, 
 or cloudland, with rare moments of exquisite happiness 
 and reactions. She could not believe in what had come 
 to her ; she shrank from the dazzling splendour of love. 
 Waldo, too, was living on surfaces, whimsical, witty, or 
 merely frivolous. He loved her enough to wish she 
 should not know how great was his love, at least, not 
 yet. His own nights were sleepless, or filled with snatches 
 of short, unrestful sleep. He was on fire with her, but 
 he did not wish that she should burn. Not yet. In six 
 weeks, four weeks, three weeks, she would be his, to teach 
 and assuage, to love all he would. He was sorry for her 
 because he was going to teach her love, exquisitely tender 
 in his thoughts, a true and passionate lover. 
 
 Manuella, living through those overfull days and rest- 
 less nights, looked pale, thin, ill. They put it down to the 
 hot weather, the strain of her first season, the excitement 
 of the coming wedding. 
 
 " She will be all right after the fourteenth," Lady 
 Wagner told everyone reassuringly, with that madden- 
 ingly pleasing smile of hers. " These are very exciting 
 times. The Prince has sent an inkstand. ..." 
 
 She was full of the presents, and the company who 
 would assemble at St. George's, amazingly glad of the 
 prospect of getting the girl off her hands and in so 
 satisfactory a manner. 
 
 Three weeks before the wedding came the Buckingham
 
 90 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Palace garden-party. Naturally Lady Wagner would not 
 miss such a function, and Manuella would of course 
 accompany her. Lord Lyssons suggested at lunch-time 
 that it might prove fatiguing, but Lcetitia overruled his 
 objections. The frock of broderie anglaise, the large leg- 
 horn hat with the pink ostrich feathers, were eminently 
 suitable for the occasion, and Manuella left the lunch 
 table to don them. 
 
 Lady Wagner was already arrayed in lavender silk. 
 Sir Hubert, for once evading the city, was coming home 
 to accompany them. At four o'clock punctually he 
 appeared in the great hall in all the glory of his grey 
 frock-coat and white waistcoat, grey trousers and white 
 spats. In the background his valet held the shining hat 
 and gold-mounted stick. The motor puffed at the open 
 door. 
 
 At the very last moment Manuella's French maid came 
 running down to say that when Miss Wagner was fully 
 dressed, not five minutes ago, in fact, she had been taken 
 ill fainted ! She was already better, but it was im- 
 possible she should accompany them. She had bidden 
 her say it was nothing. By the evening she would be 
 well again, but for this afternoon she begged they would 
 excuse her. 
 
 Sir Hubert was for summoning a doctor. He sug- 
 gested that either he or Lady Wagner should go upstairs 
 to see the girl. He was sure she must have eaten some- 
 thing that had disagreed with her. He went over the 
 lunch menu, and questioned the maid as to her symptoms 
 in a way Lady Wagner considered somewhat gross. He 
 strongly recommended bi-carbonate of soda. Lady Wag- 
 ner glanced at the Buhl clock, hesitated, then decided to 
 restrain her step-maternal anxiety until the evening. It 
 was certain the Queen would miss them if they were not 
 at the garden-party; and one could not disappoint Roy- 
 alty. Lady Wagner was quite genuine in her belief that 
 they would be missed. 
 
 " Tell Miss Wagner that I will see her immediately we 
 return. In the meantime the quieter she keeps the better.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 91 
 
 Darken the room, do not disturb her until five. Then 
 you might take her a cup of tea and the bi-carbonate of 
 soda Sir Hubert suggests." 
 
 Loetitia was nothing if not precise. She gave her 
 instructions, exhibiting sufficient solicitude. The mauve 
 costume, accompanied by the frock-coat and white waist- 
 coat, drove off, and Claire repaired to the servants'-hall, 
 or the housekeeper's-room, to refresh herself after the 
 fright her young mistress had given her. 
 
 " I thought she had died in my arms. She was white 
 like a sheet, and so cold. ..." 
 
 In the servants'-hall they gossiped about the marriage, 
 and it was agreed that the Earl was too old for his bride, 
 and not sufficiently attentive. 
 
 Manuella's room was not darkened, and the cup of tea 
 was never brought to her. The household relaxed when 
 the door closed behind master and mistress. 
 
 As there was no one with the girl, and she was given 
 no remedies, she recovered quickly from her faint. She 
 took off her hat, letting down her hair to relieve the 
 weight upon her head, rolling it up again presently in a 
 simpler fashion. It became her better this way, but she 
 did not think of that. She did not think at all, she was 
 incapable of thought. She sat for a little while at the 
 open window of her bedroom, and then went downstairs. 
 She was shaky and pale after her attack of faintness, and 
 there was a singing in her ears. The singing in her ears 
 presently resolved itself into melody, a haunting strain, 
 something of which she must rid herself, to which she 
 must give expression. 
 
 There was no piano in her own sitting-room, and she 
 wandered down to the music room. Of course the mel- 
 ody that was haunting her was from the second move- 
 ment of the Trio. How wonderfully the young pianist 
 had dominated it an interesting boy. Quite idly she 
 wondered what had become of him, and where he was 
 playing. If it had not been for him she would not have 
 known what was the feeling she had for Lord Lyssons. 
 Music and love were one with her; her love had had no
 
 92 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 expression, it was imprisoned and stifled within her. 
 making her pulses and her breath irregular. She wanted 
 to tell Waldo, but she had never told him ; he had never 
 asked her if she cared for him. It seemed impossible 
 that in three weeks they would be married ! The blood 
 rushed into her face when she remembered it. Then she 
 began to play. She would have sung, there was song in 
 her heart, but her uneven pulses shook her voice. 
 
 It was an untrained underfootman who played Provi- 
 dence or Improvidence, the part for which he was cast 
 in the drama of her story. The part would never have 
 fallen to him but for the laxity that fell upon the estab- 
 lishment in the absence of master and mistress. 
 
 " If you please, miss. ..." 
 
 The butler may have been at his bookmaker's, the first 
 footman pursuing Claire in the servants'-hall, the second 
 footman waiting on the major-domo. This Deus ex 
 machina was new to high service, a mere tyro translated 
 from buttons. That he had seen Miss Wagner descend 
 the stairs, and therefore knew she was at home was not 
 legitimate knowledge, and he ought to have concealed 
 it. To answer the door-bell at all was encroaching on 
 another's duty. That when a bell rings it must be 
 answered, he may have learned in Kensington or Bays- 
 water. Having answered it, he ought to have known Lady 
 Wagner was out, and Miss Wagner not receiving. His 
 address was out of scale with the household to which he 
 had the honour of being affiliated. 
 
 " If you please, miss, it's one of the gentlemen who 
 was here the other night. He asked if you was at home, 
 and I said you had just gone into the music-room." 
 
 Her surprised eyes told him he had bungled in some 
 way; he fled before the consciousness of mistake, washing 
 his hands of the incident, covering it up by flight, trust- 
 ing only that it might not come to Mr. Jenkins' knowl- 
 edge Mr. Jenkins being the butler, and not above boxing 
 his ears. He meant no harm ; he sinned in ignorance. 
 
 He had led the way, and Harston Migotti followed 
 him, naturally.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 93 
 
 " But I interrupt you . . . you are playing." He 
 halted at the door. 
 
 Of course she stopped playing and rose. She was 
 surprised to see him, but she remembered him quite well ; 
 she had even been thinking of him, and of his wonderful 
 playing, and told him so in that reprehensively impulsive 
 way of hers. 
 
 She was deficient in the social sense ; her stepmother 
 was quite right. When he said that he had not known 
 if he ought to call, but he wanted so much to see her 
 again, to thank her, she neither rebuked him for his pre- 
 sumptuousness, nor dismissed him quickly with an easily 
 invented excuse. She began at once to talk music to 
 him, since she knew he was a true musician. She spoke 
 enthusiastically of Zeisler and Madame Liebius, and was 
 interested to hear that the great contralto was related to 
 him. He was easy to talk to, simple and candid. She 
 was glad to be free from her thoughts and emotions for a 
 while. " I am not a pianist," he said, when she questioned 
 him, " although I was with Steinhault. I am a composer." 
 
 She had never met a composer, and wanted to know 
 how his music came to him. It did not seem vanity 
 when he answered that it came the same way as to all the 
 great masters. He spoke of a symphony that he had 
 written when he was fourteen, and compared himself 
 with Mozart. 
 
 " But in many ways, in most ways, I am like your 
 namesake, like the great Richard Wagner. I am writing 
 now an opera, and the libretto also." 
 
 With very little persuasion he played her a move- 
 ment from the Introduction, then he repeated the leit 
 motif. It was really beautiful and striking, original and 
 even haunting, and, of course, she told him so. 
 
 " I want to hear more of it. When can I hear more 
 of it?" 
 
 He was flattered, pleased. Already, on the night of 
 the concert, he had thought her the most beautiful girl 
 he had ever seen. This afternoon with the languor from 
 her faint, her hair loose, listening to his music, she was
 
 94 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 no less so. He called himself an Englishman, but he had 
 had an Italian mother, who, as he told Manuella later on, 
 had " lost everything for love." 
 
 He permitted himself to fall in love now, although he 
 knew Miss Wagner was fiancee, and not for him in any 
 case. He played her the great song from the second act 
 of his opera a passionate invocation. 
 
 " I wish I could sing it," she exclaimed, and told him 
 that once she had wished to be an opera singer. 
 
 " But why not ? I am sure you can sing my music." 
 He encouraged her, struck the notes singly, and then left 
 off to tell her how it had come to him, and that it was a 
 great English opera he was writing; the subject was 
 Boadicea and the Roman conquest of Britain. No, it 
 was not like Norma, nor that other opera called Boadicea, 
 it was an expression of rare and national character in 
 wild forest land unreclaimed. It was easy to see that his 
 belief in his creation was supreme. 
 
 She found his conversation fascinating; it led her into 
 another world, one more congenial to her than this pro- 
 saic one. It was the world in which she had dwelt in her 
 childhood's dreams. 
 
 Harston Migotti had been a " wonder child " like 
 Mozart an infant prodigy. His years with Steinhault 
 had perhaps subdued him a little; but, now in England, 
 and writing his first opera, his genius and egotism were 
 magnetic. He carried the girl right out of herself. He 
 was a boy on the threshold of a wonderful life. He him- 
 self told her of the wonders, dwelling on them, holding 
 her imagination captive. 
 
 For the moment she almost forgot what it was that 
 would make her own life equally wonderful. It had 
 never been spoken. She thought whilst he was speaking 
 that, in contrast to his, her life would be dull, flat, spent 
 at dinners and garden-parties, in fine clothes, artificially 
 smiling, perhaps, like her stepmother. Not in writing 
 great music, or playing and singing it. What a life this 
 inspired boy had before him ! She held her breath whilst 
 he talked.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 95 
 
 Manuella, in her muslin embroidered frock that had 
 been donned for the royal garden-party, her pallor, her 
 dark eyes with their long, thick lashes, her mouth like 
 a bow, her cleft chin, listening, listening to him as he 
 painted that great future of his, impelled him to greater 
 effort. It was quite involuntarily, and really because 
 he had that great belief in himself that set him apart from 
 other men or boys, that he exclaimed : 
 
 " But what a pity you will marry ! " 
 
 When her pallor warmed she was even lovelier. He 
 meant what a pity it was that she should marry Lord 
 Lyssons. She was fit to be his own bride ; every moment 
 his feeling for her intensified; he knew already that he 
 was falling deeply in love with her. But she understood 
 him to mean that it was a pity she should marry instead 
 of becoming a singer, and she answered soberly. 
 
 " I don't suppose my voice is really any good. I have 
 hardly sung since I left school." 
 
 She rang for tea presently. Why not, since it was tea 
 time, and he was here ? 
 
 The butler must have been still at his bookmaker's, 
 but the first footman was equal to his responsibilities. 
 He supposed, if he supposed anything at all, that the 
 music for her wedding was being arranged. He played 
 the accordion himself in his leisure hours, and therefore 
 knew the importance of music. He was able to report 
 to Claire that her young lady looked better, she had quite 
 a colour in her cheeks ; " rare and handsome she looked : 
 like mistress like maid." He was quite an eloquent first 
 footman. 
 
 Harston Migotti drank his tea like an ordinary young 
 man, talking all the time, eating as much cake as there 
 was in the basket, and finishing all the bread and butter. 
 
 There was really little to excite Loetitia's horrified 
 exclamation when she came in from the garden-party, 
 and heard that her stepdaughter had recovered from her 
 faint, and was in the music-room " having tea with one of 
 the gentlemen who played at the concert." Many things 
 had combined to irritate her that afternoon, and this was
 
 96 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 the culminating one. Her future son-in-law had sug- 
 gested that she had not taken sufficient care of Manuella, 
 allowing her to be ill without medical care. 
 
 Here in the music-room she found her, she who was 
 supposed to be ill, unable to obey the Royal command, 
 sitting with a musician a professional musician, with 
 long hair, in familiar intercourse, drinking tea. It was 
 with difficulty Loetitia kept her self-command. She al- 
 ways prided herself that her temper was not like Man- 
 uella's, that she was calm and dignified under any cir- 
 cumstances, even such as these. 
 
 " I have not the pleasure of knowing this gentleman, 
 have I ? " she began icily, after expressing her astonish- 
 ment at finding Manuella recovered, not in her bed- 
 room. 
 
 She stared at Harston, put up her glasses and surveyed 
 him. 
 
 " I don't think I know this gentleman." 
 
 Manuella was in arms before she was attacked, it was 
 always the way with her. 
 
 " He played in the Trio." 
 
 Lady Wagner continued to stare. 
 
 " Indeed, that is very interesting. And has anything 
 happened? Is there any reason for this intrusion? I 
 really do not understand, perhaps you can explain why, 
 when we thought you were in your room Lord Lyssons 
 was most distressed about your condition, he is sending 
 his own physician to see you, for he was not to be satis- 
 fied with Sir William Bellairs I find you here, with 
 this person ..." 
 
 She paused as if words failed her. Migotti had risen 
 and was now waiting for the introduction. He, of 
 course, had no idea she meant to insult him. He said 
 again, as he had said the other night, simply, and as if 
 it were sufficient : 
 
 " I am Harston Migotti." 
 
 " Migotti ! " She repeated the name as if it were 
 something unclean, with a bad odour, to be held at a 
 distance. " Migotti ! Is it anything to do with the
 
 CONCERT PITCH 97 
 
 account? Sir Hubert would prefer, I am sure, to settle 
 through Messrs. Flockmann." 
 
 " Mr. Migotti wanted to see me again, that's why he 
 came. It has nothing to do with the account." Man- 
 uella's face flamed, her quick temper rising. Lady Wag- 
 ner put up her lorgnette, looked at her, at him, then let 
 it fall again. She " did not know what things were 
 coming to," she said. 
 
 " He only played to oblige us, he is not a pianist ; he is 
 a composer, a musician." 
 
 " An itinerant musician ! " 
 
 Why ' itinerant ' she could not explain, but the juxta- 
 position of the words pleased her, and she repeated them. 
 
 " An initerant musician ! I am surprised, really sur- 
 prised. I don't know what Lord Lyssons would say." 
 
 " Why should he say anything ? " 
 
 What Lady Wagner implied was that in receiving 
 Harston Migotti, talking to him, giving him tea, she had 
 b'een guilty of something surreptitious, unlady-like, repre- 
 hensible. Manuella resented it, flamed out in his defence, 
 although, as Lady Wagner said afterwards, he had never 
 been attacked. 
 
 Manuella said vehemently that he was a great artist; 
 that she was proud he wanted to see her again, proud of 
 having tea with him. Lcetitia replied in the gentlest 
 way possible we have her word for this that she 
 " thought the servants'-hall would have been more suit- 
 able," and without giving the suggestion the slightest 
 consideration, in the most uncalled-for way, Manuella 
 exclaimed with reddening face that she would not allow 
 him to be insulted. She seemed so agitated, so much 
 more so than the occasion warranted, that Lcetitia admit- 
 ted she became suspicious. 
 
 Migotti hardly understood what was being said; he 
 was not quick to apprehend anything but praise or 
 appreciation. Although he averred he was an English- 
 man, the language had difficulties for him. He mis- 
 apprehended the position. It was as a guest and an 
 equal that Lcetitia objected to his presence. He thought
 
 98 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 this hoch geborene Dante already understood that he had 
 fallen in love with her daughter, that she was quicker 
 than he in realizing that the feeling might be mutual. 
 
 " I will go. You must not be angry with her, madam, 
 she did not know ! I have not spoken of it. I will go." 
 
 He bowed over the girl's hand; he even kissed it. 
 
 " I will come again soon." 
 
 He was gone before Lcetitia had recovered from the 
 shock of hearing him say it. Manuella was not even 
 conscious of the salute, she was so full of indignation 
 against her stepmother.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 LADY WAGNER had, of course, legitimate grounds 
 for being annoyed. She and Sir Hubert had 
 walked in the grounds of Marlborough House almost 
 unnoticed, unnoticed, that is, by the Royalties whom 
 they had feared to disappoint. It was also most vexatious 
 to find so many of their old acquaintances in the grounds 
 and in the tents, people whom they would not welcome 
 in Stone House. Lady Wagner thought the Royal Fam- 
 ily wanting in discrimination, but consoled herself with 
 the reflection that they were influenced by a Liberal 
 Government, and that it was the Lord Chamberlain who 
 was responsible for sending out the invitations. Lord 
 Lyssons, who was on the watch for them, sympathized 
 with her vexation, and confirmed her explanation. He 
 said gravely that there was no doubt the indiscriminate 
 hospitality that was being dispensed was directly due 
 to Lloyd George's dictatorship. 
 
 But having fooled Lcetitia to the top of her bent, and 
 waited to hear why Manuella was not there, he showed 
 himself more anxious than the occasion warranted. At 
 least, so Lcetitia told him with ponderous playfulness. 
 He declined altogether to accept Sir Hubert's diagnosis 
 of indigestion. Hitherto he had hardly been a person, 
 only an alliance, and Lady Wagner had only disliked him 
 vaguely; but this afternoon she thought him wanting 
 not only in taste but in tact. 
 
 99
 
 ioo CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " She has been looking seedy for a long time. She 
 ought to have seen a doctor. We mustn't wait any 
 longer." 
 
 " My dear Waldo," Lcetitia spoke quite gently, al- 
 though she was annoyed. " Don't you think that / am 
 the best judge of whether or not Manuella requires medi- 
 cal attention ? We mothers are very observant." It was 
 the bland and soothing answer that should have turned 
 away wrath. 
 
 " Quite true. But Manuella's mother has been dead 
 for so many years that one cannot blame her for inatten- 
 tion. You, now, you have so many engagements ; you 
 are so occupied, worthily occupied, it is impossible you 
 should have noticed that Manuella has grown very thin, 
 that her colour comes and goes easily. ..." With an 
 effort he made his voice indifferent. " Think of her as 
 she was when she first came home." Then he took it 
 more lightly. " I am only marrying half the girl to 
 whom I proposed. I am being palpably defrauded." 
 
 " I should not have been at all pleased to see Manuella 
 grow stout. Her father would not have approved ; it is 
 a tendency with Spanish women. You know Manuella's 
 mother was a Spaniard. Slenderness is so much more 
 refined, and it is the vogue." 
 
 " I don't fancy standing up at the altar with a skele- 
 ton." 
 
 The sense of humour had been left out of Lcetitia's 
 fashioning. 
 
 " My dear boy, you exaggerate things," she expostu- 
 lated. " Of course, your anxiety does you credit." She 
 became arch and gave a little pat to his arm. " It is 
 always an agitating period in a girl's life ; you must make 
 allowances for Manuella. She is very young. We must 
 not encourage her to think herself delicate. After the 
 fourteenth. ..." 
 
 " As she did not wait till after the fourteenth to 
 have a fainting fit, perhaps it is a pity to wait until then 
 for her to see a doctor." 
 
 Lady Wagner wanted to walk on ; she saw a Duchess,
 
 CONCERT PITCH 101 
 
 and she disliked argument. But Sir Hubert lingered, 
 and said irresolutely: 
 
 " I think, my dear, perhaps Waldo is right. Sir Wil- 
 liam, now. ..." 
 
 " No ! No ! Not that old windbag ! I beg pardon, 
 sir, I forgot you believed in him, that he attended you. 
 But for Manuella, someone younger, less, shall we say, 
 less eminent, would be better." 
 
 Lady Wagner went as far as she thought advisable in 
 opposition, even further. She had, of course, noticed that 
 Manuella looked ill since her engagement with the Duke 
 had been broken off. But, of course, that had been en- 
 tirely her own fault. Lady Wagner was tired of the girl, 
 of the consequence her affairs were assuming. She 
 wanted to get the wedding over and Manuella out of the 
 way as quickly as possible. She would find it so much 
 more agreeable to speak of " our daughter, the Countess 
 of Lyssons," than of her as an inmate of Stone House, 
 monopolizing attention. It was " just like the girl to 
 faint so inconveniently, to like a fuss being made about 
 her." 
 
 Loetitia was angry, but neither her anger nor her 
 obstinacy was proof against Waldo's insistence. When 
 he saw them to the motor the last thing he said was : 
 
 " Then I'll go now and arrange for Shorter to see her." 
 
 " I suppose you must have your own way. ..." 
 
 This smile was not " pleasing " ; Lcetitia showed all 
 her teeth, it was more like a snarl. 
 
 This was a bad prelude to the return home, finding the 
 girl " closeted with a strange musician." Loetitia had 
 fully intended drawing Manuella's attention to Lord 
 Lyssons' evident dissatisfaction with her appearance and 
 manner. She thought it possible that she could put the 
 matter before her in such a way that Manuella would 
 herself refuse to see a doctor, and assert that she was 
 quite well. Lady \Vagner was averse to the idea of
 
 102 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 medical interference, also of being coerced or contra- 
 dicted. She foresaw that even more attention would be 
 devoted to the girl ; it was possible a suggestion might 
 be made of postponing the marriage. There is little 
 doubt she would have succeeded in her scheme, but 
 unfortunately, to use again Loetitia's words : 
 
 " Because I was astonished at rinding her entertaining 
 this young man, on intimate terms with him he was 
 even kissing her hands she put herself in an ungovern- 
 able temper. ..." 
 
 The result was another fainting fit, in the midst of 
 which Waldo walked in, unannounced, and received the 
 foregoing explanation. 
 
 He hardly listened to it at the time ; if he was conscious 
 of a dull ache he put it down to Manuella's white rigidity, 
 and his uneasiness about her health. He gathered there 
 had been a scene, because Manuella had not stopped at 
 home alone, but had received a young man. He knew 
 well enough what young man it was she had received, 
 although he put away the thought of it for another time. 
 Now he was only anxious to get assistance for her. 
 
 She recovered consciousness within a few minutes, and 
 was understood to say she was all right again, was able 
 to go upstairs alone, and wanted no help. Lord Lyssons 
 put a steadying arm about her, and Lcetitia improved 
 the occasion as the lift mounted. 
 
 " If you had only been guided by me and remained in 
 your own room. But, of course, if you had an appoint- 
 ment with Mr. Migotti " Manuella did not contra- 
 dict this, and Waldo noticed the omission. 
 
 When she got to her own room she begged them to 
 leave her alone. " I am really all right," she said. 
 
 " I'll get Shorter to come at once," Waldo told Loetitia. 
 " I am sure that is the best thing to do." 
 
 " You must not be alarmed. She works herself up 
 into this condition, her temper is so unfortunate. ..." 
 He was out of the house before she finished her sentence. 
 
 Lcetitia saw there was no use in opposing him. It 
 would be easy to explain to the doctor when he came that
 
 CONCERT PITCH 103 
 
 Manuella had always been hysterical and difficult to 
 manage, that no fuss should be made about her no 
 unnecessary fuss. 
 
 Her task might have been easy with any other physi- 
 cian than Tom Shorter. She would have persuaded him 
 to diagnose the " excitement of the coming wedding," 
 prescribe bromide, and tide them over the next three 
 weeks. Then Manuella would be Lord Lyssons' responsi- 
 bility, and no longer hers. 
 
 Lady Wagner went into the smaller drawing-room 
 when she heard the doctor had arrived, in all the panoply 
 of her motherhood, still in her mauve garden-party cos- 
 tume, prepared to command the situation. 
 
 Dr. Shorter was a little man, but he was a little man 
 with a big head, and an even bigger personality. Lady 
 Wagner bowed to him condescendingly as Waldo named 
 them to each other, and began at once : 
 
 " I hope you will say you have been sent for under 
 false pretences, Dr. Shorter." Her smile was artificial, 
 and her voice, to a trained observer, showed resentment. 
 " But our bridegroom here " now she was recovering 
 herself and displaying pleasantry " could not accept 
 my assurances, would not believe in a mother's instinct." 
 
 " Where is the patient ? I'm afraid I've not much 
 time to spare." Dr. Shorter was not in the least im- 
 pressed by the house or Lady Wagner, and he was too 
 impatient to listen to her periods. 
 
 Lady Wagner was not used to being interrupted when 
 she spoke. 
 
 " I think before you see her I must tell you something 
 of the circumstances. ..." 
 
 " Is the girl here ? " 
 
 " She is upstairs, lying down, fully conscious, quite re- 
 covered from a slight faintness. I am sure it was unnec- 
 essary to trouble you, but Lord Lyssons was so urgent. 
 If I tell you the symptoms, and you write a prescription 
 for, shall we say, a little bromide? I am sure, doctor, 
 you agree with me that bromide is the drug for these 
 hysterical cases. ..."
 
 io 4 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 He had already summed her up. Not knowing the 
 relationship, he hoped for Waldo's sake that mother and 
 daughter were of different calibre. He and Waldo were 
 old friends. He hated having been called here from his 
 work, and wished the woman would leave off talking 
 and let him see the girl, since it was for that he had 
 come. For himself, he wanted to get through with his 
 visit, and go on to one much more interesting; an out- 
 patient of his hospital, to whom he had given an appoint- 
 ment at his own house, a man with an obscure and 
 really interesting complaint, whose case he had been in- 
 vestigating for days. 
 
 But Lady Wagner was not to be hurried. 
 
 " It is, as I have already told his lordship, a little 
 hysteria, or nervous debility, from which she is suffering. 
 I am sure you will agree it is not at all strange under the 
 circumstances. In my younger days we should have 
 given valerian, but now I think bromide is the more 
 fashionable ? " She turned archly to Lord Lyssons : 
 
 " You see, I am not wholly ignorant of medicine." 
 
 "His lordship! Oh, Waldo! Well! Can I go up 
 to her?" 
 
 " I see you are quite impatient." 
 
 She gave one of her pleasing smiles, and Dr. Shorter 
 wondered quite suddenly, and inconsequently, how she 
 would look without her flesh. If her teeth were her own 
 hers might be quite a presentable skull. He lost the next 
 sentence or two, but heard : 
 
 " She must be quite well, you know, for the four- 
 teenth." LxEtitia was quite playful about that, and he 
 thought her even a greater fool than she was. " I am 
 sure you can do it if you try. You look so clever." 
 
 He seemed an extraordinary person, with no sense of 
 social values. Yet he had spoken of Lord Lyssons as 
 " Waldo." There was no end to the inconsistencies of 
 the Upper Ten. It was the only one of their traits she 
 had not been able to imitate. She herself was thoroughly 
 consistent. 
 
 " You don't mind if I don't come up with you ? "
 
 CONCERT PITCH 105 
 
 " Oh, no, thank you ; I would much rather see her 
 alone." 
 
 A maid showed him upstairs to his patient. 
 
 Dr. Shorter, although he was insignificant from Lady 
 Wagner's point of view, was really a remarkable person. 
 He was a scientist, but also a humanitarian, a strange 
 combination of gifts, and one responsible for the unique 
 position he held. He had considerably more work than 
 he could do at a time when most men of his age he 
 was not yet forty are still engaged in wondering how 
 and when, advertisement being forbidden them, they are 
 to get patients to their consulting-rooms. But every 
 patient that came to Dr. Shorter became an advertise- 
 ment for him. 
 
 He was one of those men of whom there are rarely 
 more than one in each generation, to whom his profes- 
 sion is at once a passion and a privilege. He lived to 
 heal the sick. 
 
 When he entered her bedroom he saw that the girl, 
 almost a child, who made a startled effort to rise, was 
 sick. Of this he had no doubt. He forgot the man with 
 the interesting kidney who was waiting for him, and all 
 his appointments. So this was Waldo's fiancee the 
 daughter of that dreadful woman downstairs ! 
 
 With her thick hair in two plaits, the open nightgown 
 showing her immaturity, she looked even less than her 
 age. She needed help and he had no doubt he could 
 give it to her. That he misapprehended the circum- 
 stances was not wonderful. He knew about the Inland 
 Revenue and Waldo's financial embarrassments. 
 
 Manuella had not heard she was to see a doctor; she 
 sprang up in bed and would have remonstrated. She 
 had a fearful headache, and only wished to be left alone. 
 Dr. Shorter soon reassured her, bidding her lie still. 
 Then he sat down by her side. 
 
 She said quickly she didn't want to lie down ; she 
 wasn't ill. 
 
 "Of course you are not. Who said you were? You 
 are quite well, and you are quite happy too ? "
 
 io6 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 She made no answer. 
 
 He had his hand on her pulse. 
 
 " Of course you are ; so you ought to be. All young 
 things ought to be happy, although they ought not to cry 
 about it. You are not crying? I wonder how I made 
 such a mistake ! " 
 
 Whilst he was talking he felt her pulse, sounded her 
 lungs, listened to her heart, made her lie back again, 
 asking her one or two more questions. 
 
 Then, almost before she knew, under his skilful and 
 sympathetic questioning, she was telling him of her con- 
 stant sense of strangeness and unreality, the feeling of 
 unsubstantiality in the figures about her, the uneasy 
 nights, the days without appetite, the days when appetite 
 would hardly be satisfied. 
 
 It would have been easy to label it hysteria, but it was 
 not Dr. Shorter's way to take these easy paths. Physi- 
 cians of the newest school would have taken a drop of 
 the girl's blood, made a culture, and returned with a 
 definite diagnosis of anaemia. And they would have been 
 technically right. Dr. Shorter, acknowledging the hys- 
 terical symptoms, and admitting the anaemia, looked be- 
 yond both for the cause of either. He talked to her, 
 leading her to talk to him, staying with her for nearly an 
 hour. At the end of that time he knew more about her 
 physical condition than any number of analyses would 
 have given him. He wrote no prescription, gave her 
 neither instructions nor advice. She was to be married 
 in less than three weeks' time! The woman downstairs 
 had hurried her into it. She was altogether too young, 
 to say nothing of her being obviously anaemic, with an 
 irregular pulse. 
 
 " You are not eighteen yet ? " he asked her. 
 
 " No, not until October." 
 
 " And are you so much in love with Waldo that you 
 could not wait ? " 
 
 It was true the colour came and went fitfully, unevenly. 
 Now she gave him a hurried look, and the flush swept 
 from brow to chin.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 107 
 
 "Did he say so?" she asked, then turned her head 
 away and hid it in the pillow. 
 
 She was too young, little more than a child. This 
 was her principal ailment, and there was only one way 
 to cure it. 
 
 He saw quickly, with that wide, clear vision of his, 
 that this was not a commonplace flower of a girl, who 
 could be uprooted with impunity at such a critical mo- 
 ment in her growth. There was something rare and 
 exotic in the fragrance of her youth. But it would 
 wither, there could be no blossom from it under the treat- 
 ment she was receiving. He did not divine into how rich 
 and congenial a soil the transplantation would have been. 
 He knew Waldo only as a hunter of big game, a humor- 
 ist, not as a tender and considerate lover. 
 
 Dr. Shorter did not see Lady Wagner again. She had 
 dressed and gone out to dinner. He left a note for her 
 an absurd and inconsiderate note, as Lady Wagner ex- 
 claimed when she read it : 
 
 " MADAM, 
 
 " I find your daughter anaemic and in bad con- 
 dition generally. The marriage should be postponed 
 at least three, perhaps six months, possibly a year. She 
 must keep early hours, eat plain food, be in the open 
 air six to eight hours a day, sleep in it if possible. She 
 does not require any drugs. As soon as her strength 
 permits she should have regular and ordered exercise. 
 I am reporting also to Lord Lyssons. 
 
 " Sincerely, 
 
 " TOM SHORTER." 
 
 Lady Wagner was justly indignant with this letter; 
 it was a bomb-shell cast into all her preparations, her 
 summer arrangements. She only received it when she 
 came home late that ,night, and it made her so angry 
 that she had to take bromide herself to induce sleep. 
 
 At first, when she woke the next morning, she thought 
 she would take no notice of the letter at all, but go
 
 io8 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 straight on as if nothing had happened. After she had 
 drunk her chocolate, however, she remembered the report 
 had gone to Lord Lyssons. She sent a note round to 
 Lady Sallust before she got up : 
 
 " I am in dreadful trouble. Do, dear Lady Sallust, 
 come round and talk things over with me. Or I would 
 come to you. ..." 
 
 The lawyers had been hard at work all these weeks; 
 everything was in train, if not actually complete. 
 
 Lady Sallust, who was at Stone House within the hour, 
 was almost as annoyed as Lcetitia, when she heard what 
 had occurred, and backed her up in her decision to ignore 
 the letter and the recommendation it contained. " Miss 
 Wagner was quite well this morning," her maid reported ; 
 she was " already up." It would be quite easy to get a 
 different opinion from Sir Hubert's doctor, Sir William 
 Bellairs, who made his enormous income, and had ob- 
 tained his knighthood, for prescribing to fashionable 
 patients the change of air, or scene, or companion they 
 desired. The two ladies decided this would be the best 
 course to take. To send at once for Sir William, and 
 have his authority for saying that there was no reason to 
 postpone the ceremony, no reason at all. 
 
 Before Lady Sallust left the house an urgent messenger 
 was dispatched. Sir William broke through his rule of 
 never going out in the morning and came back in the 
 motor they sent for him. 
 
 Sir William Bellairs, who was mild and spectacled and 
 elderly, said, when Manuella came down to him, to Lady 
 Wagner's boudoir: 
 
 " So this is the bride-elect? And she is not very well, 
 you say? We must see what is to be done. Dear, dear, 
 she is very thin ! Undo your bodice, my dear child ! " 
 
 He, too, sounded her lungs. That is to say, he rested 
 his stethoscope on her back, whilst he exchanged ameni- 
 ties with Lcetitia. Afterwards he put a question or two 
 to her, and said: 
 
 " Just so ! As I thought, as I anticipated." 
 
 Loetitia said sweetly:
 
 CONCERT PITCH 109 
 
 " Then you agree with me, Sir William ? " 
 
 And Sir William answered: 
 
 " Quite so ; quite so ; exactly. Now I think we will 
 send this young lady upstairs again and have our little 
 talk." 
 
 Manuella went upstairs again; her head still ached, 
 and over and over again she wondered if Lord Lyssons 
 knew she thought of him day and night, wondered about 
 him . . . and marriage, counted the weeks and days. 
 
 But she had not wanted the marriage hastened. She 
 was one burning blush when she thought he had attrib- 
 uted all this hurry to her. Of course, he did not care for 
 her. In that angry scene downstairs, and once before, 
 Loetitia had let fall an unguarded word. It was because 
 her father was giving her a fortune that he wished to 
 marry her. It was terrible, dreadful, unbearable. She 
 did not want to marry him if he did not care for her. 
 She cried all that morning, and by the afternoon her 
 headache was worse. 
 
 Meanwhile Lady Wagner " hastened to write " a 
 charming little letter to Lord Lyssons : 
 
 " I am so glad to be able to tell you that Sir William 
 Bellairs has been here this morning and finds very little 
 indeed wrong with Manuella. We are going to absolve 
 her from all her social duties between now and the four- 
 teenth which, I am sure, you will be delighted to hear 
 remains the great day. But I think, perhaps, you will 
 have to exert your authority. She must really keep quiet, 
 there must be no more scenes, nor exciting interviews 
 with musicians. The dear child is so impulsive, emo- 
 tional. The man must have imposed upon her good 
 nature. ..." 
 
 She wound up in good maternal style, with a moral 
 aphorism and a personal application, a slight expostula- 
 tion, and an affectionate finale. She had always prided 
 herself on her letters, and this one was a masterpiece. 
 It left no room for argument. The wedding would be on 
 the fourteenth.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 TT was characteristic of Loetitia to connect Manuella's 
 fainting fits with the visit of Harston Migotti, and to 
 let Lord Lyssons know it. It is not true that great love 
 casteth out fear, or, if it be true, it is only half a truth. 
 Unfulfilled love breeds fear. All the time Waldo had 
 been fearful that he was too old for her, that she did not 
 care for him, and was being rushed into it, as she had 
 been rushed into her engagement with Calingford; that 
 she might meet someone she liked better. He was af- 
 fected by what Loetitia hinted, and distressed by what 
 Tom Shorter reported to him. He could not see Man- 
 uella, who was keeping to her room ; he was in half a 
 dozen minds about writing to her. Notwithstanding that 
 reassuring letter from Lady Wagner, he really did not 
 know what was best to be done for Manuella. He never 
 thought about himself at all. 
 
 This was what his friend Tom Shorter had said to him : 
 " You can't marry the child in three weeks, she is 
 unnerved at the prospect, and no wonder! And the 
 sooner you let her know you have no such intention the 
 better for you both. I don't know whether she cares for 
 you. You must be nearly twice her age to begin with. 
 I had a long talk with her, and still I don't know. I 
 only know that she has been living beyond her means, 
 beyond her physical and moral means. Her reserves have 
 been used up by her growth, and she has come to the end 
 
 no
 
 CONCERT PITCH in 
 
 of her overdraft. She is as near bankruptcy as a girl 
 can be. Marriage is madness for her. She ought to 
 be running about in a pinafore with a hoop and 
 stick." 
 
 He then went into physiological details, which made 
 Lord Lyssons very hot and anxious to get away from 
 him as quickly as possible. He understood he was not to 
 see his fiancee for a few days, that she would remain in 
 bed. He wanted to pass away the time, to get the taste 
 of this conversation out of his mouth. That was why 
 he went to another old friend, a clergyman, who was 
 ignorant of physiology but learned about brasses. Waldo 
 thought brasses might suit his mood, which was not a 
 happy one. 
 
 When he came back he had left off hating Tom Shorter, 
 but he was still uncertain as to rushing the girl into 
 marrying him. He had forgotten the lawyers, her for- 
 tune, and its convenience to him; he was only thinking 
 of the difference in their ages, and that she might meet 
 a younger man, a better looking one. Not the musician, 
 of course. But when he thought of him he had a twinge, 
 very like jealousy, of which he was ashamed. 
 
 On his return from visiting the Rev. Richard Blaki- 
 stone, he did not go straight home to his rooms in the 
 " Albany," but dropped in to a house in St. James's 
 Place, where an American journalist, who had insinuated 
 himself so cleverly into London Society, that now he 
 appeared to belong to it, dispensed cocktails and dis- 
 seminated up-to-date gossip between six and eight 
 o'clock. Waldo had an irrational desire to know what 
 people were saying about him, or about the Wagners, 
 or whether they were saying anything. The rooms in 
 St. James's Place were a recognized rendezvous open 
 house where no ceremony need be observed everybody 
 went there. It was said that Parsons had an unequalled 
 knowledge of the compounding of cocktails. Waldo 
 knew very little of Jerry Parsons, and nothing but this 
 in his favour. But he was in the humour for a cocktail, 
 and he hoped to gather what people were saying; he
 
 ii2 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 was too nervous to go home. There might be a letter 
 from her to him there, contradicting or corroborating 
 Lretitia. Would she marry him in three weeks? He 
 did not know, nor if he should persuade her to it. 
 
 He had a " Dry Martini " cunningly mixed and shaken, 
 and certainly agreeable to the palate. He heard a great 
 deal of gossip, was chaffed a little about ceasing to be a 
 Benedict, and warned of restrictions in store for him. 
 Many of his friends were present. It is possible, because 
 his mood was curious, and his plans uncertain, and his 
 glass constantly replenished, that he drank more than 
 he knew. 
 
 Anyway, when Jerry Parsons, in his American accent, 
 said: 
 
 " I saw your fiancee this morning, by the way, in 
 Kensington Gardens. I don't know the man who was 
 with her long-haired fellow, probably a poet. No, it 
 was not your cousin Gilbert, this was a much better- 
 looking fellow," Waldo replied with sufficient lightness, 
 and left without marked abruptness. 
 
 The valet, who was waiting in Lord Lyssons' bedroom, 
 with the dress-clothes spread on the bed, various cans of 
 hot water, and a bath in readiness, was unable to keep 
 his evening appointment. 
 
 Lord Lyssons came in, walked up and down the sit- 
 ting-room for ten minutes, and went out again without 
 dressing, or saying anything. He was a most unsatis- 
 factory gentleman to wait upon, and " very irregular in 
 his 'abits ! " 
 
 The motor was at the door of Stone House, the two 
 acetylene lamps shining and casting deep shadows. For 
 some inexplicable reason, although he had hurried to get 
 there, Lord Lyssons did not at once ring the bell, but 
 waited in the shadow. Now the door opened, and he 
 could see inside the electrically-lit hall. The maid helped 
 Lady Wagner into her lace and ermine opera cape; the 
 man gave Sir Hubert his satin-lined coat, pulled it down 
 at the back, adjusted it nicely. The butler was in wait- 
 ing, flanked by two footmen.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 At the gates, as the motor went through, a woman 
 of the town stood, like a dishevelled Peri, envying Loe- 
 titia's diamond tiara and the luxurious motor. Waldo 
 heard the patrolling policeman say sharply to her: 
 
 " Now then, what are you doing here ? You get 
 along." 
 
 He came out of the shadows after that and went up to 
 the still-open door. The butler, very respectful and dig- 
 nified, explained that Sir Hubert and Lady Wagner had 
 already left the house. They were dining with Lord and 
 Lady Alistairs in Carlton House Terrace. . . . 
 
 "Is Miss Wagner better?" 
 
 " I believe so, milord." 
 
 "Is she at home?" 
 
 Miss Wagner was at home. The servants were ob- 
 viously surprised that his lordship should linger, more 
 surprised when he called to Lady Wagner's maid, who 
 was just moving off after the completion of her arduous 
 duties. 
 
 " Ask Miss Wagner if she can see me, will you? Tell 
 her I won't keep her ten minutes." It was strange that 
 his lordship knew no better. 
 
 " I will find Miss Wagner's maid," she said primly, 
 disapprovingly. She was very like her mistress. 
 
 The butler and the two footmen, who knew his lord- 
 ship had a lavish way with half-sovereigns, showed him 
 into the morning-room on the ground floor. 
 
 " This way, milord. I'll see myself that the message 
 gets conveyed." The butler was quite confidential, and 
 duly rewarded. 
 
 The room, oak-panelled, and hung with mezzotints by 
 J. R. Smith and William Ward, by Grozer and Dean, 
 after pictures of women by Sir Joshua Reynolds, was Sir 
 Hubert's own sanctum. There was a big writing-table, 
 elaborately set out with blotter and huge inkstand, cal- 
 endar and pen-rack; but there were no papers or sign 
 of work. A big Chippendale bookcase, easy-chairs up- 
 holstered in green leather, and a large sofa, added some- 
 thing to the room's impressiveness.
 
 ii 4 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " Can I bring you anything, milord ? " 
 
 " Yes." The cocktails had made him thirsty. " Bring 
 me a whisky and soda." 
 
 Manuella had spent a day in bed, then a day or two 
 in her room, wondering if Waldo would call or write, 
 show some interest in her health. She did not know 
 that Dr. Shorter had advised her wedding should be 
 postponed, although she knew that whatever he had said 
 Sir William had contradicted. When Waldo neither came 
 nor wrote she was something more than disappointed, 
 her worst fears seemed confirmed. 
 
 On the third day of her seclusion she had the strangest 
 possible letter from Harston Migotti, asking her to meet 
 him, saying he had hung about the door hoping to see 
 her, that he had something he must say to her. She did 
 not answer the letter, because, before she had time to do 
 so, she met him accidentally. It was the morning when 
 Lord Lyssons came back to London. Her headache 
 better, but not gone, tired of her room, wearied of her 
 thoughts, not exactly unhappy, but restless, taking her 
 maid with her, she went for a walk in the Park. She 
 would have ridden, but walking was less trouble. It was 
 warm and sunny, and her spirits revived directly she was 
 outside the house. She had not an idea of meeting any- 
 one, although it was true that Lord Lyssons was an 
 early riser. She met the young musician before she had 
 been walking ten minutes, and was glad. It saved her 
 from answering his letter, and over and over again she 
 had wanted to tell him how sorry and ashamed she had 
 been of her stepmother's behaviour, and to assure him of 
 her continued interest in his opera. She showed her 
 pleasure in the encounter, perhaps too plainly, or perhaps 
 he was misled by his own feelings and took hers for 
 granted. 
 
 " May I walk a little with you ? " he asked, after the 
 preliminaries had been got through. 
 
 " Of course. I am going into Kensington Gardens. 
 Isn't it a lovely morning? You'll tell me about the 
 opera, won't you? I meant to write to you, but I've 
 been ill."
 
 CONCERT PITCH 115 
 
 He talked of the opera ; the libretto was finished, also 
 the overture, and many of the numbers. The maid be- 
 haved as discreetly as French Tnaids are in the habit of 
 doing. They were alone under the trees when he began 
 by saying he hoped she had not been reproached upon 
 his account the other day, and to tell her that the hour 
 he spent with her had been the happiest in his life. 
 
 " It is the inspiration for which I have been waiting. 
 I knew it then, or even before that. I know it better 
 now." 
 
 To her intense surprise he burst out that he loved 
 her, that he believed they were in sympathy, that she 
 understood him. 
 
 " You will listen to my music, and I shall dedicate 
 it to you ; you will sing my songs." She was shocked 
 and tried to stop him, agitated, and tried to reason with 
 him, wanted to get up and run away. He poured out 
 impassioned phrases. 
 
 " It is because it is new to you, you did not know I 
 loved you ; I did not know it myself. ' They never loved 
 who loved not at first sight,' as your poet said. Of course 
 it was that." 
 
 All she wanted was to get away, she did not know how 
 to answer him. Although agitated and half frightened, 
 she was very sorry for him, and anxious not to hurt his 
 feelings. She was never so glad in her life as when the 
 discreet French maid came forward and said it was time N 
 they went home, for it was nearing the lunch hour. She' 
 said incoherently that she was dreadfully sorry, and she 
 was sure he could not mean it. 
 
 " I am afraid it is awfully late ; we shall have to drive 
 home even now. I can't stay. ..." 
 
 " But I must see you again." 
 
 He understood her to say she was sure they would 
 meet again. When they parted he had not an idea he had 
 been rejected. It was natural she should be agitated. 
 He was himself agitated, excited, exhilarated ; this was 
 quite different from the ordinary emotions. He had, of 
 course, been in love before, but never like this, never in 
 the least like this.
 
 n6 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Manuella escaped from him with her maid. She was 
 very sorry for him, and astonished he should be in love 
 with her after having- seen her only three times. When 
 she had got over the amazement of it, and was once 
 more in her own room, she was perhaps a little flattered. 
 Supposing it had been Lord Lyssons who had said such 
 things to her, such wonderful things ! The supposition 
 grew into daydreams that were like fairy tales, and 
 lasted through lunch time and the afternoon. 
 
 " You are the light of my life, my inspiration ; I do 
 not love, I adore you." These were the things the 
 strange young man had said to her under the trees. 
 
 Supposing Lord Lyssons had uttered them ! Lord 
 Lyssons being an Englishman, without that admixture 
 of Italian blood and sentimental German training to 
 which Harston Migotti owed his eloquence, was very 
 unlikely ever to indulge in such rhapsodies. But, igno- 
 rant of ethnology, she had her happy dreaming. 
 
 And, because she was always highly imaginative and a 
 creature of moods, it seemed like the continuation of her 
 afternoon dreaming when Claire came up to her in the 
 evening, just when she was preparing to go to bed and 
 dream there, to say Lord Lyssons was below, and wished 
 to speak with her. She had not seen him for three days, 
 and now she heard he was here. 
 
 She ran down impulsively, never stopping to change 
 her dress, or adjust her hair, just as if she had been 
 sixteen instead of eighteen and without any of the ad- 
 vantages of Lcetitia's training. She was never quite such 
 a child again after this evening; her fine impulsiveness 
 and high courage were ingrained in her, but something of 
 her ignorance fell away, of her fearless innocence. 
 
 She ran down when she heard Lord Lyssons was 
 waiting in the library to see her, her luxuriant hair in a 
 loose knot low on her neck. She actually wore that old 
 school blouse, the red one in which he had first seen 
 her. She had outgrown it and it was open at the throat, 
 the slender girlish throat, on which the lovely head was 
 set so superbly. Never had he seen her look more charm-
 
 CONCERT PITCH 117 
 
 ing, more attractive. And his eyes were a little hot. 
 He tried to collect himself: 
 
 ' Hallo ! that you ? " 
 
 ' Who did you think it was ? " 
 
 ' So you're better ? " 
 
 ' I'm quite all right." 
 
 ' And the wedding need not be put off." 
 
 ' Was it going to be? " 
 
 ' You don't mean to say you didn't know Shorter 
 ordered it off. Bellairs says there is nothing at all the 
 matter with you. Are you glad or sorry there is to be 
 no postponement ? " 
 
 He had drunk whisky and soda on the top of the cock- 
 tails and it had loosened his tongue. She went pale, but 
 her colour came back more quickly and overwhelmingly 
 than it fled. 
 
 " That depends on what you are." 
 
 " Oh ! does it ? Am I glad or sorry ? Let me think, I 
 suppose I ought to have no doubt about it. ... " 
 
 Never, never in any crisis of his life, could Waldo 
 Lyssons find the appropriate word. 
 
 Manuella, standing when he first began to question 
 her, now took the corner of the sofa. The red blouse, 
 her dark hair, and pale face, against the green leather, 
 made a picture Nicholson would have liked to paint. 
 
 He told her so, going over to where she sat, flinging 
 himself into the opposite corner. 
 
 He thought he saw fear, fear of him, in her eyes, and 
 that she shrank further into her corner. 
 
 " Of course you hate the idea of being married, you 
 don't care a bit about me ? " 
 
 He may have been mistaken in thinking she shrank 
 from him ; she was sitting quite still now. His long arm 
 went out, and he drew her towards him. She may have 
 been reluctant, or too surprised for resistance, but he 
 drew her face to his own, and found her lips, her gen- 
 erous responsive lips. He sought her lips and found 
 them. Now he forgot she was a child and remembered 
 only that she was soon to be his wife. He held her
 
 n8 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 tightly, kissing her long and her heart went out to him as 
 if it were water flowing. It seemed like that because she 
 had no resentment of that long kiss ; she yielded to it, and 
 felt the warmth stealing through her. She wanted to hide 
 her eyes, not her lips, from him. When at length he re- 
 leased her, she hid both lips and eyes on his shoulder, 
 she was warmed all through and tingling. They sat like 
 that a long time. 
 
 " We know now, don't we ? " he whispered. 
 
 When he began to speak, his tongue halted, his words 
 were lame ; they were elliptical words and few, not in the 
 least like Harston Migotti's fiery eloquence. But she 
 would have understood, she would surely have under- 
 stood, because she as surely responded. She never knew 
 what he said, but that she answered, " I love you, I love 
 you," feverishly in answer to something, she was sure; 
 cruelly sure, as the event proved. 
 
 She had her head on his shoulder and her eyes hidden, 
 and her words, although whispered, were loud in her ears : 
 
 " / love you." 
 
 What was happening? He put her away from him 
 quickly, abruptly. He had risen and was no longer 
 beside her on the sofa, her eyes were no longer hidden, 
 and the vibration of her words was loud in the room. 
 Discordant and harsh against it she heard her step- 
 mother's voice, her stepmother's astonished voice : 
 
 " Manuella ! Waldo ! At this hour ! on the sofa ..." 
 
 Manuella gave a short, confused laugh : 
 
 " Well ! this time, at least, it is not an itinerant musi- 
 cian." 
 
 " A vagrant peer," put in Lord Lyssons quickly. 
 
 " I must confess, I am surprised." 
 
 " Always been like that, from my cradle upward be- 
 fore, I believe. Can't see a pretty girl without kissing 
 her ... " 
 
 A greater libel upon himself could not have been 
 uttered, nor any sentence more incongruous with his 
 mood. He wanted to cover his mood and hers, to protect 
 her from Lcetitia's tongue. That secret he had surprised
 
 CONCERT PITCH 119 
 
 was for themselves alone, the secret so exquisite and new. 
 She would give herself to him! He could not think 
 coherently, far less speak. He still felt her head on his 
 shoulder, the warm young generous lips against his own. 
 
 "Rotten of me, isn't it? I am always doing things 
 like that. I suppose I ought not to have come at 
 all." 
 
 " It is a surprise to me, a most unpleasant surprise. 
 Sir Hubert became suddenly unwell, we were compelled 
 to return. Then, to find you here, Manuella alone with 
 you ... in deshabille!" 
 
 " I agree, I thoroughly agree, the whole affair is most 
 reprehensible." 
 
 " She was ordered complete rest, early hours. Sir 
 William was most particular that she should keep her 
 room." 
 
 He must stand between her and this woman's tongue, 
 say anything to silence her : 
 
 " There is not the shadow of an excuse for me. I 
 quite agree with you. But I heard she was out this 
 morning. ..." 
 
 " Out ? " 
 
 " In Kensington Gardens, with that itinerant musician 
 of hers." He had no longer the slightest fear of the 
 young man, the slightest jealousy; her lips had told him 
 all that he wished to know. " So I thought I had better 
 come and see that he had not cut me out." The lightness 
 of his speech was inconceivable. 
 
 " In Kensington Gardens, with with that person ! 
 Manuella, surely this disgraceful story is not true? I 
 understood you were keeping your room " 
 
 " Disgraceful ! Come now, come now, Lady Wagner. 
 Why shouldn't she walk in the Park with him? If he 
 were not itinerant, he wouldn't walk. You agree with 
 me there, surely. Sit down; let us talk about the wed- 
 ding. You wrote me it was not to be put off. Manuella 
 here says she is glad of it. Shorter is an ass. I've been 
 stopping away, thinking whether I ought not to take his 
 advice, notwithstanding the great Bellairs. . . . And now
 
 120 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 I hear she is just like you, would not have it put off for 
 anything. ..." 
 
 Manuella had hardly heard a word, until loud and clear 
 as her own words in the room she heard these. She had 
 been stunned to deafness by his others. 
 
 " I can't see a pretty girl without kissing her." 
 
 Was that what it meant, all it meant? And she had 
 said : " / love you " to him. The flood of her heart that 
 had gone out to him ebbed slowly, painfully back, icy 
 cold, stopping her breath, submerging and stunning 
 her. 
 
 "She is just like you, would not have it put off for 
 anything." 
 
 She was being forced on him, and she had told him 
 that she loved him. He could tell her stepmother, make 
 light of it ! She burned with shame, choked with shame. 
 
 She never heard what her stepmother had to say of her 
 meeting with the musician, nor understood that her true 
 lover was but trying to protect her, give her time to 
 recover herself. She only wanted never to hear his voice 
 again, never to hear him speak. Her hatred of her step- 
 mother was as nothing compared with her hatred of him, 
 as he stood there, and, as she imagined, made fun of what 
 had happened between them, of that kiss, the flood of love 
 that had carried her to him. What had been born in her 
 with that long and tender kiss died, died in agony, not 
 to be revived for many a long, misguided day. 
 
 " I don't want to marry you in three weeks, or at all. 
 ... I never said I wouldn't have it put off for any- 
 thing." Her cheeks were scarlet, her eyes burning. 
 
 It was to Waldo she spoke, but Lcetitia could not 
 understand about the morning walk and pursued the 
 subject relentlessly. 
 
 " You are surely not going to permit her to continue 
 her acquaintance with that person." 
 
 Waldo tried to divert her, and said that he did not 
 suppose Manuella would be satisfied with his own com- 
 panionship ; jested, and said for his part he wasn't musi- 
 cal, couldn't grow his hair long ; Manuella's taste was, of
 
 CONCERT PITCH 121 
 
 course, strange. Then he mimicked Lcetitia's speech. 
 " Live and let live. She must indulge her tastes, and I 
 mine; you cannot put old heads upon young shoul- 
 ders. ..." 
 
 Manuella misunderstood everything. He had but meant 
 to play lightning conductor, to bring the storm lightly 
 and safely down upon himself, but it was a complete 
 failure. Manuella, in the anguish of her reaction, said 
 the most inconceivable things ; that she hated Lord Lys- 
 sons and did not want to marry him at all, that she should 
 meet Harston Migotti whenever she liked, that she knew 
 he loved her, and was proud of it. ... 
 
 The summer rain and lightning became winter sleet and 
 ice. Lcetitia forgot the altered position, spoke to the girl 
 in the old way. She said she was " not surprised " ; she 
 was coldly disgusted and acrimonious. 
 
 " It is of course Lord Lyssons' concern if he permits 
 you to continue this extraordinary acquaintance." 
 
 Waldo laughed when Manuella said she hated him ; 
 that Harston Migotti was in love with her, and she proud 
 of it. He knew she did not mean what she said, and 
 although she had obviously lost her temper, he thought 
 it was only with Lcetitia, and was not surprised. 
 
 He bantered her and said he was sorry he was so objec- 
 tionable. Perhaps she would think it over and let him 
 know in the morning if she was of the same opinion. 
 
 " I may look better in the morning. You ' never can 
 tell,' as Bernard Shaw says. Wait and see ; you may 
 change your mind again. You were quite fond of me 
 an hour or two ago; it may return." 
 
 Lcetitia would certainly not leave them alone again, it 
 seemed there was only one thing to do, to get away. 
 
 He had his misgivings about leaving the girl with her ; 
 misgivings to be most fully realized, but he thought they 
 had been too close for anyone to come between them now. 
 For all his light talk and banter, that kiss had meant at 
 least as much to him as to Manuella. The woman's talk 
 about the musician was absurd, out of place; Manuella 
 would know he took no heed of it. To-morrow he would
 
 122 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 see her alone again, try to tell her something of what he 
 felt for her, what her kiss had meant to him. But he 
 thought she understood; she had already flushed to 
 womanhood in his arms. He knew his were arms to hold 
 her against herself, against the world ; she needed under- 
 standing, sympathy everything she had never had. And 
 he would give all this to her, full measure, brimming 
 over.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 LORD LYSSONS had not the least idea that it was 
 he, and not her stepmother, who had hurt the girl 
 so hurt her that Loetitia, although she said all the 
 wrong things, not only that evening and the next morn- 
 ing, reiterating them, was only partly responsible for the 
 result. 
 
 " Directly my back is turned you do something out- 
 rageous. Either I find you sitting with a strange young 
 man, or together on the sofa like like a cook and a 
 policeman. No wonder Lord Lyssons thinks lightly of 
 you. If it had not been for me, the wedding would 
 have been put off, perhaps abandoned. I knew what 
 was behind that letter from Dr. Shorter. He wanted 
 it postponed told the man what to say. I wonder how 
 many people saw you walking in the Park with that 
 person. I don't know where your sense is, your sense of 
 shame. Was it not enough that you should have behaved 
 so disgracefully to Lord Calingford, to the Duke of 
 Banff? Let me tell you, we were astonished yes, and 
 very grateful, when Lord Lyssons came forward. It was 
 not easy, don't imagine it was easy. Lady Sallust spoke 
 to him and then to me. Your father promised he would 
 do as much as he would have done for the Duke. You 
 are the most ungrateful girl I think I have ever met, and 
 I have had some experience with girls. You must have 
 been mad when you talked as you did last night. Of 
 
 123
 
 I2 4 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 course, I can make allowances; you were startled when 
 you knew Lord Lyssons heard of your escapade ; I don't 
 wonder at it. But he is a very honourable person, al- 
 though .eccentric and greatly in need of money. He 
 will forgive you, I have no doubt he will forgive you, if 
 you take back all you said; you ought to go down on 
 your knees to him. ..." 
 
 This was not all she said, not nearly all, but the rest 
 was on the same note, hardening Manuella, although she 
 only heard half of it. Manuella did not want Lord Lys- 
 sons to forgive her, she wanted to be able to hurt him. 
 There were hours in the night when she could not bear 
 that he should be in the world at all, when she wished he 
 were dead. Because she had said " I love you " to him, 
 and he had laughed ! Perhaps it would hurt him to know 
 he was not going to have her money. She would not 
 marry him, not if there was not another man in the 
 world, whereas there was any number of them, and one, 
 Mr. Harston Migotti, had written her this morning to 
 say that he adored her, asking her to run away with 
 him. 
 
 When Lord Lyssons came, she could think of nothing 
 but how to obliterate what she had told him. She went 
 down to see him in the smaller drawing-room. He looked 
 very tall and thin, and his expression was kind. She 
 knew that, and that there was no one like him. She 
 looked away from him because she knew it; the glass 
 he was continually trying to keep in his eye, that he was 
 replacing only this minute, could not disguise it. She 
 tried to see his faults, to criticize him. He was not a 
 dressy man, and if his valet did his hair he ought to have 
 changed his valet. He had rowed when he was young, 
 and his hands were oarsman's hands. It was impossible 
 she had liked him to kiss her. She contrasted him with 
 Harston Migotti, who had fallen in love with her at first 
 sight, and now wished her to run away with him. She 
 forced herself to remember his Beethoven brown and 
 golden hair, his ardent eyes. She had such a pain in her 
 heart when she turned away from Lord Lyssons and con-
 
 CONCERT PITCH 125 
 
 trasted him with Harston Migotti that she could not 
 speak. She was afraid to face him, she wished he would 
 go away, and bewildered him by her manner. 
 
 " But what have I done ? How have I altered ? I 
 thought last night at one time you were rather fond 
 of me." 
 
 " Well, I wasn't ; I was only pretending. ..." 
 
 He couldn't understand it, suspected Loetitia, wavered 
 about what had occurred. He could not have dreamed 
 it, and yet . . . yet ! she said now that she hated him, 
 and had only pretended. He went over and stood before 
 her. 
 
 " Look at me." 
 
 " I don't want to look at you." She covered her face 
 with her hands, a childish trick. 
 
 He took her hands down from her face, ignoring her 
 efforts to thrust him away from her. 
 
 " Tell me the exact truth, the entire truth. I must hear 
 it. Look at me ! " But that she could not do. " Have 
 they forced me upon you in the same way they tried to 
 force Calingford? You don't like me at all, you dislike 
 me ? You asked Shorter to get our marriage postponed ? 
 Don't be frightened, tell me the truth; I only want to 
 know the truth. Speak ! " 
 
 Because those rough, strong oarsman's hands of his, 
 and the way he held those struggling ones of hers, gave 
 her that catch in her breath, that contraction of her 
 heart, because she feared his breath, and that he might 
 kiss her again, and again she might want to hide her face 
 on his shoulder, because she was overwhelmed by her 
 feeling, and did not know how long she could disguise 
 it ; she pushed him away with all her strength. 
 
 " I hate you, I hate you," she said. But " love " would 
 have been the truer word. 
 
 He kissed her, notwithstanding that she said she hated 
 him. His lips rested a moment on her hair strange that 
 she felt it in her heart. 
 
 " Poor kid ! You haven't had a chance, have you ? 
 Not a five minutes' start." His voice was extraordinarily
 
 126 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 low, and his manner had altered completely. Certainly 
 he was taking her seriously now, but it was difficult for 
 him to change his habit of speech. 
 
 " Think it over again. I'm afraid there's a devil of a 
 time before you if you don't. We'll take Shorter's advice 
 and postpone it. I'll go to Norway anywhere stay 
 away until the end of the season. You can't mean to 
 throw me over altogether." 
 
 She dared not look at him, and thought of nothing 
 but how to tell him that what she said last night was 
 not true; she did not love him, she hated him hated 
 him. 
 
 " I don't care where you go or what you do : I'm 
 not going to marry you. I'd rather die." 
 
 " Why not walk ? " He let go his hold of her when 
 he said it ; he hardly knew what he was saying. 
 
 It was impossible her feeling for him could have 
 changed in so short a time. She would not have kissed 
 him if she had not loved him ; he knew that, and how 
 straight she was, and impulsive. He almost stumbled 
 upon the truth. 
 
 " Look here ! it wasn't anything I said, was it ? Not 
 because I played the fool with Lady Wagner; trying to 
 mislead her?" 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " You are sure ? " 
 
 " I'm sure I want you to go away." 
 
 " You won't say anything more than that, you won't 
 give me a chance ? " 
 
 " I can't say more than that I hate the sight of you." 
 
 " But you didn't " he persisted, "you didn't hate the 
 sight of me last night." 
 
 That he reminded her again was the worst of all. She 
 became furious, and showed him that ungovernable 
 temper of which Loetitia had felt it her duty to advise 
 him. It did not repel him, he thought nothing at all 
 of it. She might stamp her foot and flash her eyes and 
 say hard things to him, but what he wanted to know 
 was what was at the root of it. He was more, not less,
 
 CONCERT PITCH 127 
 
 in love with her at the end of the interview, and not 
 convinced, not really convinced, that she was telling him 
 the truth when she said she hated him. 
 
 " You think you hate me. I don't believe you do a 
 bit," were almost his last words, infuriating her. And 
 as he turned and left the room slowly, he heard her say 
 it was his conceit, his horrid vanity, that made him 
 disbelieve it. When he had gone away he thought he 
 heard her sobbing, and went back. But she had shut the 
 door, and held it against him; he could not persist. 
 ****** 
 
 All the hullabaloo there had been when she broke off 
 her engagement with the Duke of Banff was doubled and 
 redoubled when she dismissed Lord Lyssons in this 
 summary fashion. Lord Lyssons did his best for her. 
 As he told her, he knew Lcetitia would give her a devil of 
 a time. He left the house after that abortive interview 
 without attempting to see Lady Wagner. And after he 
 had thought matters over as well as he was able for his 
 pain, he wrote: 
 
 " DEAR LADY WAGNER, 
 
 " I have been thinking over that report of Sir 
 William's. It must, of course, be a great satisfaction to 
 you to have your judgment confirmed. But I have an 
 idea nevertheless that Tom Shorter is the better man, that 
 we had better stick to his advice. I'm sure a neat 
 paragraph will occur to you. You could say, for instance, 
 that I have gone to Heligoland with a camera. Your 
 appreciation of the political situation will suggest an 
 explanation of why the wedding is postponed until the 
 end of the season. ..." 
 
 What he wanted to bring out was that it was " post- 
 poned," not abandoned ; he wanted that reassurance for 
 himself. To Lady Sallust he wrote also : 
 
 " BEST OF AUNTS, 
 
 " Have you ever heard of the ' Kinchin Lay ' ? 
 I'm sure you have not; it's East End slang, not Lime-
 
 128 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 house oratory. I can't play the part I undertook, I've 
 torn up the copy. Somerset House must do its worst. 
 Gilbert may have to leave off writing poetry and take 
 to mathematics, but tell him not to hurry ; he can pursue 
 the high-sounding hexameter until he hears again. Be 
 kind to the girl if you get a chance." 
 
 Lady Sallust did not understand the letter at all until 
 she had seen Lcetitia, and then she understood it less than 
 before. 
 
 The condition of Loetitia's mind is not difficult to 
 comprehend. Here was the girl on her hands again, 
 and probably a horrible scandal connected with her. 
 Everybody knew or said that the Duke of Banff had 
 thrown her over ; now Lord Lyssons was leaving England 
 on the eve of his marriage. It was entirely characteristic 
 that Lcetitia should attribute this last to the discovery of 
 an intrigue between the girl and that " mountebank," 
 and express it coarsely. There are few things as coarse 
 as the woman who talks about her " refinement." Man- 
 uella had hardly given a serious thought to Harston 
 Migotti until her stepmother accused her of an intrigue 
 with him. Afterwards . . . but it were better that 
 events should appear in their sequence. 
 
 When Lady Wagner received Lord Lyssons' letter 
 and realized the contumacy with which the girl had 
 received her advice, she became Lcetitia Briarley with a 
 refractory pupil, the stepmother who had not hesitated 
 to use a cane, solitary confinement, bread and water, 
 in early efforts to subdue " one of the worst children she 
 had ever known ! " She zvas one of the worst children, 
 and she had grown up into one of the worst girls. Lady 
 Wagner told her so now, and in unmistakable language. 
 She did not condescend to argue, she threatened. She 
 said this " disgraceful and indecent conduct " could not 
 be permitted, she was not " going to be allowed to dis- 
 grace them all, she had gone too far. ..." 
 
 Manuella did not even defy her at first, maintaining a 
 contemptuous silence. When Lcetitia spoke of Harston
 
 CONCERT PITCH 129 
 
 Migotti and said inconceivable things about their rela- 
 tions, the girl did not even understand what was being 
 implied. That her stepmother abused him, called him 
 a mountebank or an adventurer, made her hot in his 
 defence, but hardly in words : she would not condescend 
 to defend him. 
 
 Being Loetitia, and with that " position to keep up " 
 to which she was never tired of alluding, the most neces- 
 sary thing first to be done was to put a face upon the 
 matter for the public. Sir Hubert had been taken ill 
 at Lady Alistairs' dinner; the paragraph disseminated 
 by the Press Association was reasonable under the cir- 
 cumstances : 
 
 " On account of the serious illness of Sir Hubert 
 Wagner the marriage between Miss Wagner and the Earl 
 of Lyssons is unavoidably postponed." 
 
 Sir Hubert did not in the least mind going into retreat ; 
 there were half a dozen cures and diets he had not yet 
 tried Vibro-massage, for instance, and St. Ivel milk. 
 
 The next announcement was that : 
 
 " In consequence of the continued indisposition of Sir 
 Hubert Wagner he is compelled to cancel all engage- 
 ments." 
 
 Stone House was to be shut up, the family removing 
 to Scotland, to Sir Hubert's place at Gairoch, known for 
 the salubrity of the climate. 
 
 This was in the middle of the season, their first season 
 at Stone House ! It was a cruel sacrifice for Loetitia to 
 make, and Manuella was not spared the narrative of it. 
 
 To have actively ill-treated the girl, chastised or 
 starved her, would have been at this time entirely to 
 Loetitia's mind. But we live in a complicated world, 
 and such primitive action was impossible with a girl of 
 nearly eighteen. To say that, before the removal to 
 Gairoch, and during the journey, she nagged her con- 
 tinually, in season and out, is to put the case very mildly. 
 Lady Wagner lost no opportunity of pointing out that
 
 130 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Manuella had disgraced her family, that on her account 
 they would be socially ostracised. Manuella's reasoning 
 powers were almost deadened by the repeated blows from 
 Lcetitia's flail-like phraseology. That must be counted 
 as an excuse for her. When she dashed off a foolish 
 letter to Migotti, just before they started, she had no 
 definite intention. He had seen the announcement of 
 the postponed wedding, drawn his own conclusion, and 
 written her eloquently and passionately. She replied that 
 her people were awfully angry with her and were carry- 
 ing her off to Scotland. She added the address, and that 
 she would like to hear how he was getting on with the 
 opera. It was her protest against Lcetitia's abuse of him. 
 Nothing more. Although, perhaps, when she was hear- 
 ing constantly how entirely evil she was, and outside the 
 pale, it was a solace to read in his impassioned letter 
 that she was adorable and beautiful, and that he was 
 laying, not only himself, but his art at her feet. 
 
 Arrived at Gairoch, there was a short lull in hostilities. 
 Sir Hubert's nerves could not withstand the paragraphs, 
 and he developed in earnest the illness that had been 
 prematurely announced. The attention of the house 
 became concentrated upon him, and Manuella was left 
 to herself. Even those few days were sufficient to justify 
 Dr. Shorter. Porridge and cream, plain food and open 
 air brought back the colour to the girl's cheeks, strength- 
 ening her for what was in front. 
 
 Lcetitia heard from Lady Sallust. Nominally she wrote 
 to inquire after Sir Hubert, really to tell of a letter from 
 Waldo, in Norway, in which he asked to be kept informed 
 of Sir Hubert's progress. Lady Sallust had cut out the 
 extract and enclosed it: 
 
 "I hope I am not considered a recalcitrant lover, 
 because I could not resist the salmon. Have you by any 
 chance seen my fiancee? Keep me posted in Wagner 
 news. I expect to be back before the autumn." 
 
 Lady Sallust added her comment : 
 
 " I don't understand this, but I am sure you will.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 131 
 
 What about a quiet wedding in Scotland? Waldo is 
 always incomprehensible. I'm not clear now why he 
 went away. Was there any quarrel? I will write him 
 anything you tell me. ..." 
 
 Albert arrived during the lull, very curious, quite 
 prepared to be sympathetic to his sister or his stepmother, 
 full of his own affairs. Loetitia gave him her own 
 version ; by this time she was quite persuaded it was the 
 true one. 
 
 " He discovered she was keeping up a correspondence, 
 secretly meeting a foreign musician. ..." 
 
 " A musician ! " Even Albert was shocked that she 
 should have so far forgotten herself. 
 
 " You may be able to influence her. If she could be 
 brought into a proper state of mind it seems Lord Lyssons 
 is prepared to come forward again. His affairs are in a 
 shocking state. But, of course, it is one of the oldest 
 earldoms. I have my hands full just now ; so much 
 correspondence, your father's illness; everything de- 
 volves upon me. And in the height of the season, too! 
 Perhaps you will succeed in bringing her to a sense of 
 her conduct. When you have spoken to her and made 
 it clear, you can tell her that I have heard from Lady 
 Sallust, that I am myself writing to Lord Lyssons, and 
 am conveying her regrets, her contrition. She must, 
 of course, promise not to see or correspond with this 
 dreadful person, to break off all intercourse with 
 him. ..." 
 
 Albert did his best in conveying this conversation to 
 his sister; but he was not a persuasive person. 
 
 " I say, you know, this is simply tommy-rot." He 
 liked the expression and repeated it. ' Tommy-rot, I 
 call it! Who is the bounder, anyway? You can't 
 marry a musician a chap with a name like a penny-ice- 
 cream man." 
 
 " Who said I was going to marry him ? " 
 
 " Well, you'll have to chuck it in the end ; why don't 
 you do it now, and let me tell her it's all settled? She'll
 
 132 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 get Lord Lyssons back, his affairs are in no end of a 
 mess. . . . This other fellow, now, he isn't even a 
 gentleman. It isn't worth the row. She is in the devil's 
 own rage. She says you are mad, she will get you locked 
 up, she's capable of it, you know. Sir William Bellairs 
 will say anything he is told. ..." 
 
 " So will you, it seems. I don't care what she says, or 
 does. I'm not a child any more. I never heard people 
 talk like you all do about musicians. Harston Migotti 
 is a genius. ..." 
 
 " Genius be damned ! I suppose you mean he's got 
 long hair ! " 
 
 She did not want to quarrel with Albert, nor he with 
 her, and she did not care in the least about Harston 
 Migotti, although she defended him. She received almost 
 daily letters from him ; he had an idea now that she was 
 being persecuted for his sake ; he wrote wonderful love- 
 letters. It was really only in defiance of Lcetitia that she 
 encouraged and answered them. 
 
 " You are not going to make an absolute ass of your- 
 self? You are not going to throw this bombshell, this 
 organ-grinder, at us ? " 
 
 " I'm going to do whatever I choose." 
 
 With reluctant admiration he said she'd got any 
 amount of pluck : 
 
 " You don't mean a word of it, you know. But you 
 always did like fighting her." 
 
 " And always shall." 
 
 He was in no hurry to go to Lcetitia with the story of 
 Manuella's defiance. He lounged about the grounds with 
 his sister and went on talking; although he had nothing 
 more illuminating to say than that it was " rot," or " bally 
 rot," or " tommy-rot " ; that she would have to " climb 
 down," so "why not do it at once?" and other similar 
 futilities. All through her childhood she had known 
 Albert admired her when she fought Lcetitia, although 
 he never followed her example. Lcetitia slapped her 
 often in those days, hard vindictive slaps, and one day 
 she had bitten Loetitia's hand. The solitary confine-
 
 CONCERT PITCH 133 
 
 ment that followed was easy to bear, because Loetitia's 
 hand bled when she bit it, and Albert had been awed at 
 her daring. 
 
 " You've always had pluck ; I wish I had." 
 
 Now the admiration came reluctantly, and was followed 
 by a long tale of his own troubles and difficulties. They 
 were utterly sordid, but he seemed to like talking about 
 them. He said he had once been in love himself, when he 
 was sixteen, with a " boys' maid," as they were called 
 a servant in his house at Eton. In exasperation she inter- 
 rupted to say she had never been in love, she wasn't 
 in love, didn't know what he meant. Then she grew 
 scarlet, and so made him exclaim : 
 
 " What's the good of denying it ? Girls can't help 
 falling in love ; it's a way they have. Why should you be 
 different ? " 
 
 He maundered about chorus-girls, barmaids, girls in 
 tobacconists' shops. She shut her ears against the sordid 
 talk he poured into them. It was only when he said 
 again that Lcetitia was going to write to Lord Lyssons 
 that she became excited. 
 
 " She is not to write to him. I won't have it ; I forbid 
 it. I swear I'll run away with Harston Migotti if she 
 does. He shan't think I've sent for him." 
 
 " Tell her so yourself, then. / shan't; I've got to keep 
 on good terms with her got to, I tell you ! " 
 
 She did not stop to think, for it was not her way. They 
 would make him believe she wanted him, whether he 
 cared for her or not ; that she was like the girls of whom 
 Albert spoke, who had no dignity. 
 
 She made a flying run to her stepmother's room, and 
 broke in upon her without ceremony. 
 
 " Albert says you are going to write to Lord Lyssons." 
 Her face was flushed, her eyes full of tears and battle. 
 
 " To what am I indebted for the honour of this visit? " 
 Lady Wagner rose when her stepdaughter came into the 
 room. Her tones were icy. She thought she was digni- 
 fied, and justified in resenting the intrusion on her 
 solitude by this disgraced and disgraceful girl. Manuella
 
 134 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 looked beautiful in this mood, but naturally Lady Wanner 
 set no value on her beauty. She only saw the old ob- 
 stinacy and evil temper. 
 
 " Are you going to write to him? " 
 
 " Would you kindly allow me at least the privilege of 
 solitude ? Your behaviour becomes worse and worse. As 
 I was telling your brother, it may become necessary to 
 consult Sir William Bellairs. . . . Will you go?" 
 
 " Not until you've answered me." 
 
 " I am certainly thanking Lord Lyssons for his extra- 
 ordinary delicacy, his consideration." 
 
 " Asking him to come back ? " 
 
 " I will not be cross-questioned. I don't know what 
 things are coming to." 
 
 " Don't you ? Well, you can. They're coming to 
 this: if you write to Lord Lyssons I'll run away with 
 Harston Migotti. I swear I will. I won't be thrust on 
 Lord Lyssons. He doesn't care about me. ..." She 
 was beside herself. Scarlet in the face. 
 
 " Who could ? " Lcetitia answered coldly. " Not that 
 that has anything to do with it; he probably found you 
 exceedingly forward. Care about you ! One would think 
 you were a housemaid ! " 
 
 Of course, the words had escaped Manuella unwit- 
 tingly; she would have done anything to recall them. 
 Perhaps her stepmother would put that in her letter, that 
 she complained he did not care for her ! 
 
 " I swear I'll run away with Harston Migotti if you 
 write." 
 
 " I am not to be moved by threats. You are interrupt- 
 ing my morning's work. I wish you to understand that 
 until you recollect yourself, and your duty to me and 
 your father, until you leave off talking and thinking of 
 this disgusting person, I wish for no intercourse with 
 you ; no intercourse to which I am not compelled. You 
 will probably find he, too. will not wish to be burdened 
 with you if your father cuts you off with a shilling, as he 
 will do, as he will certainly do, if you don't alter your 
 ways. Go away ! "
 
 CONCERT PITCH 135 
 
 Manuella did not go. She stormed and raged, and 
 even begged her stepmother not to write to Lord Lyssons. 
 Her life seemed to hang on it. 
 
 Loetitia remained calm. She kept her pen in her 
 hand, her eyes on the paper before her, dipping it in the 
 ink now and then, holding it suspended. " How much 
 longer," she seemed to say, " how much longer are you 
 going to stand there, saying those unlady-like things, 
 keeping me from my correspondence? I have no more 
 to say to you." 
 
 Manuella flung herself out of the room in the end, half 
 maddened by this exasperating and contemptuous calm, 
 banging the door behind her, confirming Lcetitia's worst 
 opinion of her manners. 
 
 Albert met her outside. 
 
 " Didn't get any good out of her, I suppose ? " 
 
 She could not even speak to him. 
 
 In the evening, ostentatiously placed upon the hall- 
 table, ready for the post, in such a position that it was 
 impossible to miss it, was a letter in Lcetitia's precise and 
 pointed hand-writing, addressed to the " Right Honoura- 
 ble the Earl of Lyssons." 
 
 At dinner Lcetitia said she hoped Manuella had re- 
 covered herself. 
 
 ****** 
 
 At five o'clock the next morning, after a night of 
 unreasoning rage, Manuella went from Gairoch, leaving 
 girlhood behind her, and so much more, rushing into the 
 unknown. It was the mood in which children commit 
 suicide ; one reads of such cases. She could not breathe 
 under the same roof as her stepmother. 
 
 Claire packed her box, Barker took it to the station. 
 Never would she forget the journey, nor recall it without 
 the same shuddering sense of unreality and terror. She 
 had told them that if Lord Lyssons was written to she 
 would run away with Harston Migotti, and she was going 
 to keep her word. 
 
 She drove to the station at five o'clock in the morning. 
 The two servants helped her, the others may have known
 
 136 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 how to look the other way. Loetitia was not popular in 
 the servants' hall, and her treatment of the girl was 
 commented upon freely. 
 
 In the crawling local trains, changing from one to 
 another, dodging the pursuit that never came, she had 
 alternations of feeling, hot fits, cold apprehensions. 
 Her courage and her cowardice raced together in her 
 heart-beats. At every change she looked for a familiar 
 face, for the one who might have been sent to bring her 
 back. It was two days after she left Gairoch before she 
 reached London. 
 
 At home, at Gairoch, she was not missed until the 
 morning was far advanced. Everyone in the house knew, 
 save Lady Wagner and Sir Hubert. Her own maid told 
 Loetitia in the end her own maid, who was not without 
 gratification at being able to convey bad news, who did 
 her duty with gusto. 
 
 " Miss Wagner is not in her room, milady ; her bed 
 has not been slept in. They are saying in the house as she 
 has run away. I thought your ladyship ought to know." 
 
 Loetitia, without her transformation, showing more 
 skull than even Dr. Shorter had seen, changed colour, and 
 the pink in her nose deepened. For a wild moment she 
 thought the girl had committed suicide. If that were 
 so, an explanation of everything would be easy to find : 
 " Suicide whilst of unsound mind." But the voice of her 
 maid went on : 
 
 " She must have gone by the early morning train to 
 Pitlochrie. Nobody in the house knew nothing about it, 
 but her box has gone. Mary says. ..." 
 
 But Lady Wagner did not wish to hear what the house- 
 maid had said. When she collected her thoughts she 
 became haughty and imperious, commanding that she was 
 to be dressed quickly. 
 
 " No one is to go to Sir Hubert with this news. Tell 
 the household so. I shall inform him myself. ..." 
 
 To disbelieve the story, or even question it, was im- 
 possible. It was just what the girl would have done.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 137 
 
 She had " no shame, no feeling." So said Lcetitia as she 
 hurried through her toilette, making up her mind mean- 
 while her inexorable mind. " Miss Mincey-Pincey," the 
 Dutch children had called her in her governess days. 
 The name suited her this morning before the transforma- 
 tion was adjusted. Her lips were one narrow and blood- 
 less line, she was as prim and stiff as if she had never 
 captured the mining magnate, nor achieved the dignity 
 of a married woman. All virginity was outraged. 
 Manuella had run away with her lover ! She was an 
 " abandoned girl whose name must not be mentioned in 
 the house." She came to this conclusion quickly, without 
 consulting Sir Hubert or waiting to hear her bad opinion 
 confirmed ; and she voiced it before she left the bedroom. 
 
 " We shall wash our hands of her entirely. I have 
 done all I could to save her. ..." She was not in the 
 habit of talking to her maid, but the occasion was excep- 
 tional. " You will say that I do not wish the matter 
 discussed." 
 
 She might have had some difficulty with Sir Hubert. 
 He did, indeed, make a protest, but Loetitia was so anx- 
 ious he should not agitate himself, so concerned as to the 
 effect excitement might have upon him, that he imagined 
 she knew something about his health which he did not 
 know himself, that Sir William had told her, warned her. 
 He insisted upon hearing what Sir William had said. 
 
 " Did he tell you there was any tendency to apoplexy? 
 I have had anything but a good night. These spots 
 before my eyes are only a sign of biliousness. It is absurd 
 to talk of washing our hands of her, of letting her go. 
 She must be found ; we must see what is to be done 
 for them. Of course, I can't go up to London myself 
 in this state. Albert must go. Did Sir William say 
 anything about me that you are keeping back? Do 
 these spots mean anything? My hands are a little shaky. 
 I am not going to have a stroke, am I ? This news has 
 shaken me. You don't recollect her mother? Of course 
 you don't recollect her mother; what am I saying? I 
 think you had better telegraph for Sir William."
 
 138 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " Sir William said you must be kept very quiet ; there 
 is a tendency for the blood to rush to the head." 
 
 Lcetitia used every weapon in her arsenal, tried de- 
 liberately to frighten him, took everything out of his 
 hands. By the end of the day he was nearly as ill as 
 he thought himself. Sir William charged two hundred 
 guineas for the journey to Scotland, but what was money 
 when Sir Hubert Wagner's eyes did not focus, when he 
 felt a loss of power in one hand, and began to speak 
 incoherently? Lady Wagner had some excuse for her 
 decision that Manuella was not to be pursued. She had 
 chosen to leave them ; her conduct had " flung her father 
 on a bed of sickness " ; they would " erase her name from 
 the archives of the family " ; Albert should be their 
 " only child." 
 
 Lcetitia never invented a phrase nor forgot one, and 
 this was a juncture to which they all came appropriately. 
 
 It was comparatively easy to act as she desired. Fear 
 or excitement, treatment, or his sixty-fifth year, were 
 responsible for a slight stroke. Even Sir William Bellairs 
 was able to diagnose it. Many days afterwards, before 
 that little rupture in the brain was fully healed, Lcetitia 
 showed him an announcement of the marriage in a reg- 
 istry office of " Manuella Wagner and Harston Migotti." 
 
 " And she has never even written, she has made no 
 inquiry, although the papers have been full of your illness. 
 I have heard from everybody; we have been inundated 
 with telegrams, and most kind inquiries. But your 
 daughter has ignored you entirely. ..." 
 
 It may have been true, Manuella may not have written. 
 Lcetitia can have the benefit of the doubt. Sir Hubert, 
 in his weakness, fell to whimpering, and said Lcetitia was 
 right ; she was an ungrateful daughter. 
 
 From this time onwards, under fostering, what had 
 been hypochondria became something very like mono- 
 mania. Sir Hubert was really in no condition to resist 
 his wife, nor defend his daughter; he could think of 
 nothing but his health.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 MANUELLA arrived at Euston two days after she 
 had left Gairoch, her passion and herself ex- 
 hausted, nothing but her obstinacy strong. She had tele- 
 graphed to Harston Migotti to meet her. He had asked 
 her to come to him, and rather than Lord Lyssons should 
 know she cared for him, she was here. 
 
 She looked for him, putting her head out of the 
 windows, straining her eyes, even before the train came 
 to a standstill in the station. Then she got out and 
 looked up and down the platform. He was not there. 
 
 " Any luggage, miss ? " She was irresolute. The 
 porter found her box, shouldered it, and waited for 
 direction. 
 
 " I'd better have a cab." The telegram might have 
 miscarried ; she had given it to a little paper boy only a 
 few hours ago. 
 
 " Where to ? Where shall I tell him to drive ? 
 Thank you, miss." She tipped him, then hesitated an 
 imperceptible moment. 
 
 " Tell him to drive to the nearest hotel." 
 ' Temperance ' ? " 
 
 There were several temperance hotels in the neighbour- 
 hood, and they seemed to the man, grey-haired, and with 
 a family of his own, more suitable to her youth than the 
 " Euston." She was travel-stained and not well dressed 
 and he gave her the best advice he knew. 
 
 139
 
 140 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " Yes. No. Anywhere ! " she answered. 
 
 " I should try ' Leeson's/ " he said ; " it's a very 
 respectable house, miss," he said confidentially. 
 
 " Lookin' for a situation," was his summary of the 
 position, " new to London." 
 
 When the cab pulled up at the sordid house and she got 
 out, her heart sank, her tired eyes filled with tears. She 
 was ashamed of herself when she felt those tears in her 
 eyes, and recognized the cause. " Leeson's " was so un- 
 like Stone House, or Gairoch. But her whole life was 
 going to be unlike the life she had led lately; she had 
 known that all along. Nevertheless, the outside impres- 
 sion of this third-class temperance hotel, or boarding- 
 house, made her heart sink. The cabman lumbered 
 rheumatically off his seat to help with her box. She 
 rang, and a German waiter, young, not over clean, an- 
 swered the bell. 
 
 " Can I have a room ? Have you got rooms ? " 
 
 " I will call Mr. Leeson." 
 
 She did not hear the name, she was nervous, anxious 
 that no one should see it, pretending self-possession. 
 She overpaid the cabman, following her box and the 
 German waiter into the hall that smelt of mutton or 
 candle-grease, or many lodgers. She sat on a wooden 
 chair in the hall whilst the proprietor was being fetched. 
 The desire to cry had left her; she was entirely occupied 
 in keeping up the appearance of self-possession, as if all 
 that was happening was nothing new to her. She need 
 not have troubled. Mr. Leeson was represented by his 
 wife, a civil woman, with rheumy eyes, who was entirely 
 commonplace, except for her tenses. These were 
 grotesque, and misrepresented her mind. 
 
 " Would you be wanting a sitting-room as well as a 
 bedroom ? And what were you thinking of paying ? " 
 
 Manuella had not the slightest idea, but answered 
 vaguely : 
 
 " Are they good rooms ? " 
 
 " Perhaps you would like to see them ? " 
 
 " Yes, please." The rheumy-eyed woman turned a
 
 CONCERT PITCH 141 
 
 bent back, covered by a brown blouse irregularly hooked 
 up, showing gaps, and led the way upstairs. 
 
 She opened the door of a front room, where there were 
 walnut-wood chairs and sideboard, saddlebag sofa, and 
 the same smell that dominated the hall. 
 
 " The bedroom is behind ; there'll be a double bed in it. 
 How long would you be wanting it for? " Mrs. Leeson 
 was only mildly interrogative. Manuella covered her 
 inability to reply by asking what was the price. 
 
 " They would be two guineas and a half a week. We 
 could not do it for less than that, and a shilling a day for 
 the kitchen fire. Washing will be extra. How long did 
 you say it would be for ? " 
 
 Manuella agreed to the terms; she had not the least 
 idea whether they were dear or cheap. 
 
 " I'll take them," she said indecisively. The woman 
 looked at her for the first time with something approach- 
 ing personal interest. This strange young person had 
 not tried to make the bargain which had been allowed 
 for in the quotation and was customary. She had not 
 looked into the bedroom nor asked any questions. 
 
 " Then you'd like your box brought up. Fritz will 
 uncord it for you." In this locality boxes were corded, 
 not strapped. " The dining-room is downstairs ; dinner 
 is at one. Can I get you anything before I go?" 
 
 " Can't I have my dinner sent upstairs ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. But it's extra sixpence extra for meals 
 served in the rooms. I'll tell Fritz to bring you up the 
 tariff; it's all wrote down." 
 
 Slowly Mrs. Leeson woke up to the fact of there being 
 something unusual about her new lodger; she began to 
 be suspicious, not that it was " any affair of hers." 
 Nothing was very definitely any affair of hers except 
 making a living profit in a house where there was no drink 
 served, an almost hopeless task. 
 
 " We shut up the house at eleven o'clock. If you are 
 out after that me or my husband sits up, but ..." 
 
 " Oh, I shan't be out," she answered hastily. 
 
 Mrs. Leeson withdrew.
 
 142 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " I don't know what to make of her," she said to her 
 husband later ; " she seems respectable. It's a big box 
 she has with her ; Fritz could hardly get it up the stairs." 
 
 " Did you ask her to pay in advance ? " 
 
 " She is not that sort. Looks more like a runaway 
 to me, as if she's run away from school. She says she 
 wants us to send off a letter as soon as she has written 
 it. That'll be to a young man, I'm thinking. It's not 
 our affair." 
 
 " Not so long as she pays her way," Mr. Leeson 
 agreed, taking his long churchwarden out of his mouth 
 and preparing to argue. Argument was his principal 
 contribution to the work of the house. 
 
 " Her dinner is to be sent up to her room." 
 
 " Then I'll step up with it myself. There's no know- 
 ing." The last sentence was cryptogrammatic, and inten- 
 tionally controversial. But Mrs. Leeson kept her mouth 
 aggravatingly shut, looked at the mutton roasting in the 
 oven, and shut the iron door with a bang. 
 
 Mr. Leeson's curiosity made him as good as his word. 
 By the time he brought up the dinner Manuella had 
 removed her hat and her travel-stained clothes, washed 
 in cold water with yellow soap, taken down her hair, 
 brushed and put it up again, and changed into a white 
 embroidered dress that was one of the triumphs of 
 Lucille's atelier, a trousseau dress. 
 
 " She looks like a young lady, that's what she looks 
 like, and a rare and 'ansome one," was Mr. Leeson's re- 
 port, when he had finished laying the cloth, adjusting the 
 dingy cutlery, putting two straw mats on the table to pre- 
 vent the hot dishes leaving a mark, and gone downstairs 
 to fetch the " cut from the joint and the two veges ! " 
 
 He was a long time returning, and while she was wait- 
 ing Manuella wrote a letter. She was sure now the tele- 
 gram had miscarried. At first she thought she would 
 send a cab with the note, then that it would be better 
 posted. The nearer the time came when she would see 
 him the more she dreaded the meeting. It was absurd, 
 because why had she come here ? Why had she run away,
 
 CONCERT PITCH 143 
 
 but to join him ? It was absurd, but it was true. She was 
 filled with fears, misgivings, a suddenly reared and 
 hydra-headed modesty. She had to send for him, but she 
 did not want him to come. Inside she was cold, trem- 
 bling, frightened at what she was about to do. Out- 
 wardly she kept her self-control. 
 
 " Have this letter posted at once, please ; it is very 
 important," she said, when Mr. Leeson reappeared, 
 perspiring, but prepared to be friendly. 
 
 " I'm passing that way this afternoon, miss, I'll drop it 
 for you. You'll be in an 'urry for the answer." 
 
 Having said it was important, she would not tell him 
 there was no hurry. She bolted her dinner, for there 
 was no saying how soon Harston Migotti would be here. 
 She had only written that she was here in London. He 
 was a stranger to her, little more than a stranger. There 
 was no beginning and no end to her letter; she did not 
 know what to call him, or how to sign herself. She knew 
 nothing intimately about him. 
 
 He was not surprised to get her letter, not nearly as 
 surprised as she was to have written it. He came as 
 quickly as possible from his rooms in Bedford Square. 
 
 Manuella had a first overwhelming moment of terror 
 when he came in. What had she done? Had he meant 
 it when he implored her to come? Was it true he was 
 really in love with her? But the thought was only 
 momentary. His personality was so overwhelming that 
 there was not room for hers. 
 
 " But here you are ! How wonderful it is ! I have 
 not been able to work, to play, or to compose ! " She 
 did not respond to his embraces, shrinking from them 
 rather; she could not understand that all this was 
 happening to her. He soothed what he imagined to be 
 her fears. 
 
 " We will be married as quickly as possible. I have a 
 friend, quite a great friend, and he will tell us how it is 
 to be done. Oh ! how I long that you are my wife ! I 
 scarcely believed you would come. And yet, ever since 
 I had your letter, your first dear letter, that I kissed and
 
 144 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 kissed again, I have felt more than happy. ... I have 
 known that you loved me. ..." 
 
 She tried to believe it was true, and that that was 
 why she had come ; he was really a genius, and of course 
 he loved her, he was telling her so all the time. She 
 could see nothing beyond the immediate present, des- 
 perately refusing to look. 
 
 An amazing few days followed. Harston was with her 
 all the time, embracing her, playing to her on the dread- 
 ful cottage piano, out of date and out of tune, talking 
 to her about himself, about his opera, about Madame 
 Liebius, whom he actually brought to see her, and about 
 Gerald Streatfield, who was his best friend, his good Eng- 
 lish friend, who would arrange that they should marry 
 as soon as the law the strange English law allowed. 
 
 Madame Liebius, who was the kindest-hearted soul in 
 the world, was kinder than possible to Manuella. 
 
 " And you have come all the way from Scotland to 
 marry our Migotti, our wonder boy. I never thought 
 that he would have fallen in love like this. Oh ! but 
 you are lovely, my child. And he tells me that you can 
 sing, and that your father is that Sir Hubert Wagner, at 
 whose great house I sang and he played the Trio! Of 
 course I remember now you came in the artists' room. 
 You have run away to marry Migotti. Wunderschon! 
 Ah! but he will make a great name. Have you heard 
 his symphony? What am I to do for you both? Will 
 you leave this so strange house ? " She looked around 
 her with obvious distaste. "Will you come back to 
 my hotel with me? Of course I shall go with you to 
 the church, or to the Office, if you are not married in a 
 church. I have known Harston since he was a baby; 
 since he played when he could not reach the piano, but 
 sat upon my lap to touch the keys. At Kreuznach they 
 called him the infant Mozart. You will be proud to have 
 such a husband, will you not? But you are brave, very 
 brave to run away from your home. I love romance. I 
 myself am romantic. ..." 
 
 All the days were incredible, impossible. Always
 
 CONCERT PITCH 145 
 
 Manuella thought that she would wake up and find none 
 of it was true, that she was back in Stone House, or at 
 Gairoch ; that Lord Lyssons would come in, tease her, 
 tell her he had come to fetch her. She dreamed of him 
 every night, although Harston Migotti was with her every 
 day, and she was going to marry him in less than a week ! 
 
 The Leesons knew everything now and that it was a 
 runaway marriage. Romance and sentiment are the two 
 great dominating factors of English life, without which 
 the lower orders would all be Socialists, and unrest grow 
 quickly to revolution. Now the overworked chamber- 
 maid, the workhouse boy who did the duties of hall- 
 porter, the proprietor who had never been solvent since 
 he came into business, and his wife who agreed it was 
 " all the fault of them moneyed men who made the 
 laws," knew that what they had dreamed of all their 
 lives was in their midst. The two young people had 
 good service, no one forgot to knock at the door before 
 entering, willing feet ran to their call ; they created and 
 diffused their own light and heat, and the whole dingy 
 house was warmed and illuminated. 
 
 It was managed very quickly. Before she realized 
 the moment had come Harston called for her, and 
 there, waiting in the Registry Office, were Madame 
 Liebius and Gerald Streatfield, and a man behind a big 
 desk, who looked like a superannuated clerk. The short 
 ceremony seemed to be all over before it began. She was 
 Harston Migotti's wife ; she was actually married, a thick 
 gold wedding-ring was on her finger ! 
 
 The day before Gerald Streatfield had talked enthusias- 
 tically of Harston. 
 
 " I never thought of such a thing as marriage for him. 
 Such men as he generally live alone ; they must live 
 alone, you know. Half the time they are not there at 
 all, not where we are, I mean. But you understand, of 
 course you understand him. I was all against his mar- 
 riage at first ; but when I saw you, I said : ' She knows, 
 she understands him.' I saw you were not in love with 
 him, not in the ordinary way, like a sentimental schoolgirl.
 
 i 4 6 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 But your eyes watch him, your beautiful sombre eyes; 
 it is not your own happiness you are thinking of. I can 
 see that. He wants you, needs you ... in some things 
 he is the merest boy, he has the heart of a child and 
 the mind of a superman. He tells me you have a wonder- 
 ful voice. I hope you do not intend to sing in public. Of 
 course, if he wishes it, if it is his music, but really to 
 marry Harston Migotti is a profession, a vocation in 
 itself. One has to watch constantly, and understand, and 
 fall in with all his moods. ..." 
 
 After the colourless strange words that made them man 
 and wife, there was the lunch that Madame Liebius gave 
 in the restaurant of the " Ritz," where everybody stared 
 at Madame Liebius or at Harston, where Manuella's plate 
 was heaped and heaped again with things she did not eat ; 
 when she drank champagne and saw faces that she knew, 
 surprised incredulous faces from that Stone House world, 
 recognizing and not recognizing her, melting away and 
 leaving only Harston Migotti, to whom she was married, 
 who was entirely strange to her. 
 
 She drove in Madame Liebius's brougham to Padding- 
 ton. Madame Liebius kissed her many times, perhaps 
 too warmly. Madame Liebius had the ample proportions 
 of a contralto, and had lunched generously. 
 
 " Oh ! but you will take care of him, you will not let 
 him ever be sorry. You are a dear, dear girl, and I 
 love you very much. It is an experiment, for he will 
 never be like other men. But everything is well it is 
 very well, of course. You will care for him, he takes 
 no care of himself, of the times for his meals. ..." 
 She kissed and praised her because she would look after 
 Harston Migotti's meals and clothes, and lighten the 
 long hours that he worked. 
 
 At Paddington Gerald and Harston were waiting for 
 them. They had gone on earlier in a motor-cab, reserved 
 a carriage, and registered the luggage. Harston was 
 beaming ; he held his hat in his hand, his thick crisp hair, 
 yellow and longer than is customary with most English- 
 men, was uncovered during the whole time he stood on
 
 CONCERT PITCH 147 
 
 the platform. Many people turned to look at him. It 
 was a noble head, an interesting face. His friends 
 saw him with a halo, but even without it the massive 
 features and fine brow made him sufficiently remarkable. 
 They talked of him, as if she were of no moment, a 
 subsidiary, of little personal account, something he 
 suddenly needed, and that they were glad he would 
 have. She wondered if he, too, was thinking that. He 
 smiled radiantly when he saw her. 
 
 " Isn't she lovely ? " he asked Gerald and Madame 
 Liebius. He would have asked it of the bystanders if 
 they would have listened to him. Then he kissed her 
 cheek, both cheeks, before everybody ! He kissed Gerald, 
 too, in the same way before he got into the reserved 
 carriage; this rather shocked her although she was so 
 numbed and strange. That Madame Liebius should kiss 
 him was more natural. 
 
 " Oh ! you boy, you dear, dear boy. ..." Madame 
 Liebius was almost crying. As for Gerald, he may have 
 coloured when Migotti kissed him, but all he said was : 
 
 " This will make history, you know." 
 
 " You will come and see us on Sunday, you will both 
 of you come down ? " Harston called to them out of the 
 window as the train moved off. Madame Liebius was 
 wiping away her tears, Gerald waving his hat to them. 
 It was understood they would come. The bridal pair 
 were only going to Wargrave, Wargrave-on-Thames. 
 Gerald had arranged their honeymoon. 
 
 The guard blew his whistle, waved his green flag. . . . 
 
 Now they were alone, man and wife ; little more than 
 boy and girl, but man and wife nevertheless, although 
 when Manuella looked at her husband she saw a stranger.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE George Inn at Wargrave, where the honeymoon 
 was to be spent, is a long, two-storied house, 
 built at the worst period of early Victorian architecture, 
 and redecorated when it had deteriorated further. The 
 bedrooms are low, but without compensating width. 
 There are no bathrooms, nor is hot water handy, while 
 the sanitary arrangements are primitive; candles gutter 
 in pewter candlesticks on a table at the top of the stairs. 
 The new wall-papers are hideously yellow, or unwhole- 
 somely terra-cotta, with huge unnatural flowers for 
 design. There are compensations, however. The broad 
 river sweeps by the bedroom windows ; every day save 
 Sunday there is peace in the garden that slopes to it, 
 charm in the rafts to which the boats are moored. On 
 Sundays men and maidens in boating costumes sit with 
 their tea or their beer, and rest awhile from pulling their 
 boats up the river or down the river. These young men 
 and maidens have the lust of movement. If they are at 
 Wargrave they must go to Henley, or even to Sonning; 
 it is not enough for them to drift into the backwater, tie 
 up their boats and be still. They want to take off their 
 coats, roll up their sleeves, row, and get into a perspira- 
 tion to show their prowess. Wargrave is a favourite 
 haunt, and the " George " overcrowded for week-ends in 
 July and August, even in September. 
 
 And the inn, badly built, badly furnished though it 
 
 148
 
 CONCERT PITCH 149 
 
 may be, is admirably administered. There are no dirty 
 German waiters, but trim clean English maids, with the 
 spirit of alacrity in serving; the substantial English fare 
 is of the best quality, abundant and well cooked. It was 
 a good place in which to spend a honeymoon. Harston 
 Migotti and Manuella had it almost to themselves; the 
 flowing river, the quiet backwater, the warm and mellow 
 autumn. In the backwater the sun shone through the 
 shifting leaves of the willows, the water plashed against 
 the boat, now a water-rat made a quick irregular course 
 from bank to bank; a wagtail showed its sudden black 
 and white against the green ; a blackbird or a linnet 
 peeped upon them. But for the most part they saw 
 nothing but Harston Migotti. Both of them saw the 
 same ; that was perhaps inevitable. 
 
 Manuella knew, before she had been married many 
 hours, that she had committed a crime in marrying him, 
 wronging him hardly less than herself. If she had not 
 known it before, she knew it when Waldo's letter came to 
 her, the answer to Lcetitia's, forwarded by some friendly 
 or unfriendly hand from Gairoch. Waldo wrote better 
 than he spoke, he did not halt with his pen. She could 
 even read between the lines, for those few days of her 
 marriage had sharpened all her faculties, showing her her 
 irretrievable folly. Waldo's letter told her everything 
 she wanted to know, but had not waited to hear. He 
 did love her. Whether he laughed or bantered, went 
 away or stayed, mattered nothing. He made it clear 
 that he loved her, had only tried to do what was best 
 for her. 
 
 " I know I can take care of you if you will trust your- 
 self to me. I want you to be happy, to be again the girl 
 I met in the boat. I'll take you to Rhodesia, anywhere 
 you want to go. I think I understand you now better 
 than I did when I was in London. I love your passion 
 and your pride. Child that you are, you must not be 
 proud with me. You gave me your lips ! Oh ! my dear 
 generous one ! That was the moment of my life. Wait 
 for me, think of me, get over your pride, or keep and let
 
 150 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 me share it. Now that I am away from you, I know you 
 care for me, and I'll make you glad of it even if then you 
 were a little ashamed. Sweetheart, I'm a duffer at talk- 
 ing, there has never been anyone to whom I could talk, 
 so I've played Tom Fool and stood outside. You know 
 where you are with me, don't you? In my heart of 
 hearts, and no one has ever been there before you. I wish 
 I were younger, handsomer, more like that musician of 
 yours ; but, as I am, I believe you care about me. It is 
 very wonderful, and I ought perhaps not to believe it. 
 But you kissed me, you let me kiss you, and you are my 
 Manuella, beautifully impulsive, natural, honest. Girlie, 
 when may I come back, when will that pride melt again 
 ' as once in June ' ? It doesn't seem a long time ago ; 
 I often see you in my dreams. ..." 
 
 She had been married three days, and if one looked at 
 her one would have thought she had been through an 
 illness. But Harston Migotti, her husband, noticed 
 nothing, for he was absorbed in explaining himself to her. 
 
 Her answer to Waldo was brief : 
 
 " I've just got your letter. I married Harston Migotti 
 at a registry office nearly a week ago. You were quite 
 right, it was my pride, and there isn't any of it left. I 
 didn't know you loved me, only that I loved you, and 
 wanted to hide it. I ran away to Harston Migotti because 
 I was in a rage with my stepmother; that's the truth. 
 I'm going to do my best, my very best, that he should 
 never know it. Goodbye, don't write to me ever again ; 
 I've got to live it through. My stepmother would say : 
 ' As I've made my bed I must lie upon it.' I wish I were 
 lying cold upon it." 
 
 It was true she wished it after she had Waldo's letter. 
 This time, at least, she was utterly candid with him. 
 She told him not to write to her again; she had to put 
 him out of her mind, out of her heart. 
 
 It has been often said that there is no phenomenon in 
 nature more remarkable than the difference in perspective
 
 CONCERT PITCH 151 
 
 between a genius in the distance and a genius in the near- 
 ness of the domestic circle. It is not necessary to go back 
 to the time of Milton. Biographies, letters, innumerable 
 diaries, show the greatest philosopher of his age wrang- 
 ling with his wife over petty details of domestic economy, 
 morbidly selfish, and still more morbidly introspective, 
 his indigestion assuming the proportions of a disaster, 
 and finally of tragedy. And only yesterday the fierce 
 searchlight of the Divorce Court was turned upon an 
 interior where was seen a man who for half a century 
 had held the nation entranced with the magic of his art, 
 living side by side, but never together, with an unhappy 
 and neglected woman he could not hold from throwing 
 up the impossible part of pretending any longer to be his 
 loving or faithful wife; a woman estranged by long 
 silences and queer subtle inhumanities. 
 
 What distinguished Harston Migotti from his fellows 
 was his simplicity, his ingenuousness, and, of course, his 
 youth. That, in the effulgence of his genius, his wife or 
 comrade would be eclipsed seemed to him inevitable. He 
 had a gift for the world. At the best, the wife of such a 
 man could have only a gift for him. And perhaps if she 
 had loved him, however clearly she had seen his attitude 
 of mind towards her, she would have accepted it as the 
 right one. As it was, she only saw that he was under 
 a misapprehension, and one that must never be put 
 right. 
 
 After Manuella had had Waldo's letter and answered 
 it, there seemed nothing she desired more strongly than 
 to prove to him, to Lord Lyssons who would never know, 
 and to herself who must have this solace, that it was true 
 she was " honest." Passionate she had been, wrong- 
 headed and impetuous. She had wronged Harston little 
 less than herself. She had to amend that wrong, to see 
 that he missed nothing, to meet his needs. Madame 
 Liebius and Gerald Streatfield had told her how this was 
 to be done, although she had not understood them at once. 
 If she had a personality, it was to be effaced, subordi- 
 nated. If her married life was to be a duet, it was one in
 
 152 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 which she must always play the bass ; if they were to be 
 one, he was the one they must be. 
 
 At eighteen the lesson of personal insignificance is a 
 difficult one to learn. Harston Migotti, her young genius 
 of a husband, did not know that all the time in these first 
 days of his honeymoon he was teaching it to her. He 
 often said how much in love with her he was, and talked 
 of the emotions she gave him, and the influence they 
 would have upon his art. 
 
 Although he insisted he was an Englishman, with an 
 English father, and, notwithstanding his Italian mother, 
 he had the German attitude of mind towards women. 
 When his passions moved him he took the response for 
 granted. When they walked out, he went always a little 
 ahead. When he talked, he rarely waited for an answer. 
 
 And how he talked ! He could be silent equally over- 
 whelmingly, but this she did not learn so soon. During 
 that first week at Wargrave, she heard all the story of 
 his life. He talked of it at breakfast and again at dinner, 
 lay in the bottom of the boat and dilated upon its sig- 
 nificance; walked between the hedges in the English 
 lanes in gloaming or even-time, and said there would 
 come a day when the romance of his life could not be 
 hidden. 
 
 " It is leader of the people I should be perhaps, but 
 instead, I will write their music. A man once said he- 
 cared not who made the people's laws if he could make 
 their ballads. It is not ballads I will write, but a National 
 Music ; the whole spirit of England shall be in my songs, 
 already it is in all my ' Chariot Queen. . . .' " 
 
 She knew that she had made a mistake, blundered 
 irreparably. Everything that was fine in her and but 
 for her stepmother all might have been fine went to 
 filament with which to hide the knowledge upon which 
 she would fain not look; she spun cocoon hiding-places 
 for it ; some day a butterfly might emerge, very rare and 
 beautiful, but now all she must do was to spin a hiding- 
 place for her mistake. 
 
 She had not been a religious girl, but in her loneliness
 
 CONCERT PITCH 153 
 
 she felt the necessity of prayer. She began to pray; 
 it was really only a wild call for help, but this was the 
 form it took. " Oh, God, help me to be a good wife to 
 him ! " These were the words in which she clothed her 
 self-doubt. She prayed that his egotism should become 
 her egotism, that she should not begin to criticize him. 
 
 " I want to be good," she cried, in the passion of revolt 
 and revelation of those early days of her marriage. 
 " Help me to do my duty to him, to give myself up com- 
 pletely. Make me a good wife, dear God ! I want to be 
 better than I have been, not to be always sorry and . . . 
 and ashamed. I didn't know what I was doing. . . . 
 I didn't understand. Help me, God ! " 
 
 Blindly she had run away, bungled into a morass; 
 now she was desperate to find a plank. 
 
 " If I do everything he wants, if I never think at all 
 about myself, and live only for him, it will get better? 
 I can't always have this pain at my heart. I will be 
 good. ..." 
 
 She was already a woman, but it was the child's heart 
 that prayed. Later on she found her strength in action 
 and not in prayer. It was the pain of dying childhood 
 that cried and she soon rid herself of the habit. 
 
 This was a man of genius to whom she had given her- 
 self, a young genius, to whose first passion she was dedi- 
 cate, consecrate or a mere sacrifice. Her eyes knew hot 
 burning tears, her lips framed prayers, but only at first. 
 
 " This will enrich all my art," he whispered. 
 
 " I must do whatever he says," her desperate conscience 
 answered. " I ran away from home to marry him ; it 
 is all my own fault." 
 
 The story of Harston Migotti's life, told to Manuella 
 at such length in these honeymoon days, can be made 
 quite short. Behind the story can be seen his ideals, his 
 dreams, and what inspired them. Justice must be done 
 to him, he had a strange origin. 
 
 His first remembrance was of being one of a little 
 family, himself the smallest of them all, in Darmstadt. 
 The mother, whom he called " Mutterchen," but whom he
 
 i 5 4 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 always knew was not his mother, sang in the theatre. 
 She was Italian, but sang in the German manner, and 
 in Wagner's operas ; he did not know how he heard that, 
 but he told it to Manuella as one of his earliest recollec- 
 tions. Her German husband was one of the first violins 
 in the orchestra, and from the time Harston could hear 
 at all, it was always music he heard. Before he was 
 five years old he could play, not only the violin, but the 
 piano, and all the people that came to the little house 
 called him " The Infant Mozart." 
 
 Once, and it was not a thing a dreamer of five years 
 old could forget, he heard " Mutterchen " say in Italian, 
 which was the first language he learned : " One day he 
 will be a king among musicians." And her husband, 
 who played the violin, and taught him, whom he loved, 
 and looked up to as a child looks up to his master, 
 answered laconically, his finger on a string: 
 
 " If he had his rights, it would not be among musicians 
 only that he would be a king." 
 
 A belief in some grand and mysterious origin grew 
 with his growth. He was many years older before he 
 knew that he had no rights, no rights at all, not to the 
 name he bore, nor to any name. But by this time the 
 knowledge could not hurt him, for he had his own king- 
 dom, playing by his adopted father's side. In the early 
 years he loved the piano more than the violin. But what 
 he loved most of all was playing his own dreams, the 
 harmonies that came to him. Wide and luminous was 
 that kingdom of his, full of glory. He was conscious of 
 high destiny. What is bastardy to the gods? 
 
 The blood of an English prince ran in his own veins, 
 and soon he knew it was to England he would take his 
 gift. He learned the language and history of this 
 country; was it not his own? At eighteen he spoke 
 English almost fluently. The acquisition of languages 
 came naturally to him. He had no hesitation in telling 
 his new wife how easily he learned, and that all Darm- 
 stadt was proud of him. 
 
 " When I walked in the streets everyone knew me
 
 CONCERT PITCH 155 
 
 and turned to look. At five years old I was as beautiful 
 as an angel. My hair hung in curls, like pale gold with 
 the sun on it I was dressed always in velvet. ..." 
 
 Manuella saw the vision he conjured up the Wonder 
 Child, like Mozart, with the width between his blue eyes, 
 and the broad white brows. She saw him as he played 
 too; the little fingers on the keys, the rapt expression. 
 Harston told her of that quite simply. 
 
 " When I played I was absorbed in the music. Some- 
 times they said I was like John the Baptist, but more 
 often that I was like Mozart. ..." 
 
 It seemed there had always been money for his educa- 
 tion ; some protecting hand from afar stretched out over 
 those early years. 
 
 " I cannot remember when I first heard that my mother 
 died when I was born. She was Muttercheris younger 
 sister. Before she made her first appearance in Opera 
 she met the Prince. He was only eighteen, and she a 
 year younger. Ah ! but theirs was a short love dream ! " 
 
 There was a tradition in the Darmstadt family of a 
 wholly unexpected visit, wholly unexpected because it 
 was understood that it was always to be a secret who 
 was the father of the child they had adopted. 
 
 When he came, all the papers were full of the great 
 wedding preparations being made for him in his own 
 country. Afterwards they heard there had been a short 
 paragraph announcing that the bridegroom had con- 
 tracted a chill, and was confined to his room for a few 
 days. He may have been ill; everybody knew his heart 
 was not in the marriage. But when the papers said he 
 was confined to his room, he made that hurried surrep- 
 titious journey to see his son, to bid good-bye to the old 
 life before entering on the new. Mutterchen said he 
 looked very young, slender, fair, not at all happy. 
 
 " Sometimes I seem to remember him. I know he ex- 
 claimed : ' Why, he is quite a little Englishman ! ' 
 That was because my hair was so fair. They all re- 
 member he said that. Very soon afterwards came the 
 news of his death from pneumonia."
 
 156 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Harston had an income; he spoke of it carelessly; 
 it had always been enough for his needs. He told her 
 that money would come quickly enough when the opera 
 was finished. In the meantime, three hundred a year 
 was almost a fortune. He had really been well educated, 
 although music had stood in the way of his studies. He 
 spoke regretfully of a young English tutor who had 
 tried to teach him Latin and Greek. No expense had 
 been spared. Then Steinhault came to Darmstadt, and 
 diverted all his life, creating new ambitions. He wanted 
 to be Steinhault's pupil, but the master no longer took 
 pupils. Harston told his young wife how he had first 
 played to Steinhault. 
 
 " He was smoking, steadily puffing away at his pipe, 
 indifferent. I played and he puffed. I began to im- 
 provise, he left off puffing. I forgot to think about him, 
 and put my life and my soul into my playing. ' But you 
 are a young fool/ was all he said, ' you cannot play at all. 
 Find me matches. My pipe has gone out.' After that 
 he thrust me from the piano-stool and played himself; 
 he played to me to me alone ! There is no one like 
 Steinhault; some day you shall know him." 
 
 " I meant him to take me as his pupil," he told 
 Manuella simply. " I always get what I want," he added, 
 just as simply. And up to now it had been true. He 
 won Steinhault, and much, later, when he had learnt all 
 Steinhault could teach him, he won what was far more 
 difficult, the freedom to leave him. 
 
 " And now I have you," he finished triumphantly. His 
 hand caressed her hair. The soft warmth of her brought 
 keen, sweet, new pleasures to him ; already he heard 
 them in the violins. Love was for strings, he knew that 
 already. He had known it before, through Wagner ; but 
 he understood it better now. 
 
 He had travelled far with Steinhault, serving and 
 learning. Three times to America, on long concert tours 
 throughout the States, in Russia twice, and at last, 
 only two years ago, he came to England by himself. And 
 here he had stayed. Not Steinhault's insistent letters, nor
 
 CONCERT PITCH 157 
 
 all his rage, remonstrance and appeal, could move him 
 from his choice. 
 
 " It is my country," I wrote him, " my own country. 
 It is here I will stay, and grow more at home in the 
 language, and study, and it is here I will make my name. 
 In their folk songs I hear their National music, the dumb 
 sleeping music of their nation. I will do for this, my 
 father's country, what Beethoven, Wagner and Schubert 
 have done for Germany, Grieg for Scandinavia, 
 Tschaikowsky for Russia, Debussy for France. I will do 
 all this and more. People shall come from far off to 
 hear my English music, even as they go now to Bayreuth 
 to hear Wagner's." 
 
 Steinhault still protested ; the pianist, who had neither 
 kith nor kin, commanded, coaxed, stormed at the boy's 
 resolution. 
 
 " You shall be my son," he wrote. Harston told this 
 part lightly, but Manuella understood that the harsh man 
 who growled and stormed but never praised, had grown 
 attached to the " Wonder Boy " who had followed him 
 round the world. 
 
 " He could teach me no more. I knew I should never 
 play as he played, no one else can play with just that 
 technique. I have more expression; I interpret in my 
 own way, and when I am in a mood. The other night, 
 now, it was to you I was playing; no one could have 
 played the Trio as I played it that night, not Steinhault 
 himself. He would have played it better, perhaps, but 
 not so wonderfully, you understand. It is I who sway 
 the emotions, Steinhault who moves the intellect." 
 
 That was almost all the story. He had abandoned 
 Steinhault almost as easily as he had abandoned the 
 Darmstadters, who had so proudly nurtured his youth. 
 The path of a genius is wide and lonely, and what he sees 
 is always far off, in the dim distance. Always in the 
 stretch of firmament above him the sun is behind clouds. 
 It is to fling a radiant glory on his journey's end, the 
 journey that never ends. 
 
 " I could have had "engagements. Madame Liebius
 
 158 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 is also a sister of ' Mutterchen,' a still younger sister. I 
 could always have played her accompaniments. But 
 that night, that night at your father's house, was the 
 only time I have played for her in public. All the other 
 time, all these two years, I have been studying your 
 language, your folk-songs, the songs of your country- 
 side. 
 
 " To leave Steinhault, to stay in England was an 
 impulse; but now I know it was Providence that guided 
 me, that always guides men like me. All of a sudden that 
 night, when no one knew me in the room, and no soul 
 in your great hall, it came to me that I must play to them, 
 must let them hear me. I knew how it would be. But in 
 the end it was to you I played. Now I continue to write. 
 Your England will have its National music, its great 
 opera that will be greater than the Niebelungen Ring. 
 We will go home soon now, my little wife, it is singing in 
 my ears all the time, the song motif of my opera. It is 
 the ' Wedding March ' that interrupted it. But now the 
 ' Wedding March ' is written ; I have finished with it. 
 Let us go home." 
 
 That evening, the evening he said the " Wedding 
 March " was no longer in his head, distracting him, they 
 stood together on the verandah. The words he had used 
 unwittingly struck cold on her hot heart. He stood 
 silent by her side. She saw the moon's reflection on the 
 water, and the shadows stretch from the backwater. 
 The trees were black, the rising mist was grey and sad, 
 and the greyness and sadness were the life to which 
 she would return with him. Already she had learnt, 
 and knew that when he was silent she must not speak. 
 It was in silence he heard his music. All the rare sounds 
 by day, reeds and rushes purling, leaves swaying, water 
 plashing; all the mysterious murmur of night, peewits 
 twittering, wind in the tree tops, the rumble of a distant 
 train, resolved themselves for him into harmonies and 
 discords, into his English music. 
 
 " I hear rain," he said. " Hush ! I hear rain." 
 
 And in five minutes it was upon them, plashing in
 
 CONCERT PITCH 159 
 
 great drops on the broad surface of the river. At first 
 it was good to see it fall, making strange lights and 
 sounds in the water, strange shapes too, circles and 
 widening circles, broken circles ; but presently she began 
 to shiver. He stood watching a long time after she 
 had gone in. Later he was no longer silent. 
 
 " Hardly any one but Wagner has written his own 
 libretto to his own music. But I am writing my own 
 libretto ; the words are borne to me in the music. Oh ! 
 how well I know your Boadicea and your England : 
 
 ' Fear not, isle of blowing woodland, isle of silvery parapets, 
 Tho' the Roman eagle shadow thee, tho' the gathering enemy 
 
 narrow thee, 
 
 Thou shalt wax, and he shall dwindle, thou shalt be the mighty 
 one yet!' 
 
 I will write it better than that, but that is my theme. 
 Oh ! my wife, my little darling of a wife, how proud you 
 will be of me when I have made my great English Opera, 
 when at last you have a National Music. ..." 
 
 They went home the next day. The rain was still fall- 
 ing, the river grey white, streaked and dirty, empty 
 bottles, baskets, paper and dead fish floating on its wind- 
 swept, rain-swept bosom. She saw it when she leaned 
 from the bedroom window, the cab at the door, the 
 luggage strapped. She was as cold as the river ; it was to 
 her youth she said good-bye to Manuella of the child- 
 heart. Henceforth and for ever she was only Harston 
 Migotti's wife. She would listen to his music. But the 
 grey years would be as the grey river, and she shivered 
 as she shut the window and went down to join him where 
 he stood beside the station cab.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THEIR married life began in the rooms Harston 
 Migotti had occupied as a bachelor, the rooms in 
 Bedford Square. 
 
 " I like them ; I feel at home here," he said. 
 Manuella never questioned the arrangement; the days 
 before her marriage were too few, her mind was too 
 numbed. 
 
 The house was very old, built in the days when no 
 party-wall was less than two feet thick, when partitions 
 were not mere lath and plaster, nor floors made of only 
 half-inch boards. Everything was strong, silent, sub- 
 stantial. The rooms on the top floor had been the 
 nurseries of the house in the days when it was occupied 
 by the well-known Quaker family of Elias Underwood 
 and Dame Ursula his wife, with their family of thirteen 
 children. There were beams in the ceiling, joists in the 
 wide fireplaces, the little windows with the small panes of 
 glass had deep eaves and quaint gargoyles. The fact 
 that there was no hot water, nor bath, nor sanitation and 
 no electric light, had preserved his solitude to Migotti. 
 He missed none of them. Here he had lived during the 
 two years he had passed in England before his marriage. 
 In the front room was his grand piano, standing upon the 
 moth-eaten carpet that must have lain undisturbed for 
 at least a century. Around him were wood-panelled 
 walls, the paint faded to a greyish brown. There was 
 a rough, ricketty kitchen table, and there were many 
 
 1 60
 
 CONCERT PITCH 161 
 
 chairs, no two of which were alike. In his bedroom were 
 a huge, wooden four-poster, the bedding, once of feathers, 
 now of dust, a common deal washstand with a cracked 
 Derby basin and two jugs, a bow-fronted chest of 
 drawers, a pair of tallboys, a dressing-table like a box 
 with a hand-silvered obscure glass in the lid. 
 
 The Misses Underwood, maiden ladies, vague distant 
 relics of the ancient family, kept their poor tradition in 
 the stately empty rooms on the first floor, from which 
 they had sold most of the furniture. 
 
 Gerald Streatfield rented a small back room on the 
 lower floor. 
 
 Such was the home to which Harston brought his 
 bride. He saw no lack in it. 
 
 " I am glad to be at home again," he said to her on the 
 evening they came from Wargrave. " In all London 
 Gerald tells me there is nothing like these rooms, so big 
 and quiet, where I can play all day and all night, where 
 I am alone." 
 
 She came to him from Stone House, from Gairoch, 
 where she had the comfort of her own maid, her porcelain 
 bath, the electric lamp by her bed, dainty food brought to 
 her in delicate china, fine glass, lace and embroidered 
 napery. 
 
 " They are fine rooms, are they not ? Oh ! how happy 
 I shall be now that you are here in them with me. I 
 always knew it would be here I should finish my opera." 
 
 Within two days of their home-coming he scarcely 
 remembered that he had a wife, that things were any 
 different from what they had been with him a month ago. 
 Then he was but studying, making notes, filling his mind 
 with English folk-lore, and folk-song, the material with 
 which he would work. He was in the white heat of crea- 
 tion before the honeymoon waned, before the month 
 was passed. 
 
 Coming up in the train he had talked of Tennyson, 
 and Coleridge, exulting because neither poet had written 
 the story, the great epic. 
 
 " Mine will be so different from theirs, it will be true
 
 162 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 tone-poetry. My oboes and my flutes will voice wood- 
 land England. Already I hear the war-cry of Boadicea 
 ringing triumphantly on the wind." 
 
 Sometimes in the streets one sees a barrel-organ, a 
 cradle attached to it, in which, wrapped in rags, lies 
 a sleeping, or whining baby, pale and puny. A swarthy 
 man with a red scarf round his throat turns the handle, 
 a woman with big gilt earrings and white smiling teeth, 
 invites charity and collects coppers. Whenever in the 
 after days Manuella saw such a group, she stopped to 
 look at them, remembering that strange old house, its 
 carved staircase uncarpeted, the walls broken in places, 
 the plaster falling, and the fine cornices covered with 
 spiders' webs. She, too, like that baby, slept and woke 
 to the turning of the handle ; she was never away from 
 the sound of her husband's opera. It was immortal 
 ,music that ran from his trained fingers, that sang gruffly 
 and inadequately from his throat, that filled the rooms. 
 She had called herself musical, hearing music as from an 
 enchanted garden ; but the very music of the spheres 
 may sound too close, drowning all else. She was like 
 the baby in the basket, sleeping and waking to sound. 
 
 Without Gerald Streatfield she would not have known 
 how to manage her housekeeping; she was bewildered 
 at her position. 
 
 Gerald came to her early on the first morning of their 
 homecoming. He knocked at the bedroom door and 
 entered quite without ceremony. Harston was already 
 at the piano, and of course he could not be disturbed. 
 
 " I came up early on purpose. He has already started, 
 I find ; I heard him as I came up. Do you know where 
 everything is, how to manage? I did it all for him 
 before you came. There is only one little maid-of-all- 
 work. ..." 
 
 Gerald Streatfield is of no more interest to this story 
 than an echo to a voice. He was about eight-and-twenty, 
 wore his hair parted in the middle, and curled his 
 moustache at the ends ; he earned his living as an assistant 
 in the music-publishing house of Messrs.. Munzay and Co.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 163 
 
 But he was an enthusiast, a hero-worshipper, and no 
 mean performer on the violin. When he met Steinhault 
 on the continent he felt capable of kissing the platform 
 upon which his hero's feet had trod. Now it was to 
 Harston Migotti that his enthusiasm was eagerly and 
 swiftly transferred. He became his slavish admirer, his 
 most ardent follower; dreaming of being a Seidl, or a 
 Theodor Uhlig to this English Wagner, or as Nietzsche 
 in the early days. Gerald was well-read in his subject. 
 At the worst he could play Boswell or Pennell, gathering 
 up the fragments of wisdom or discarded notes let fall 
 by the master. Harston Migotti was young, but that 
 he would be a master there was no doubt. 
 
 " You won't put me out of your life, you will let me 
 share both your lives? You see, I understand him so 
 well ; for nearly two years I have studied his moods," 
 Gerald pleaded to Manuella, before even he had shown 
 her where the big tin bath was kept, under the mouldy 
 bed, and the oil stove at which they cooked, and on 
 which they made tea or coffee. 
 
 On the first morning the maid-of-all-work brought up 
 their breakfast. 
 
 " I inspected the tray before it came up, I know what 
 he likes," he said enthusiastically. " Of course he would 
 go without food altogether if some one did not look after 
 him. When the mood is on him, the inspiration, he 
 neither eats nor drinks. I have known him go twenty- 
 four hours without food." He said this solemnly ; he had 
 underlined it in his diary. 
 
 It appeared that neither Harston Migotti nor Gerald 
 took many meals in Bedford Square. 
 
 " We go out to restaurants, there are any number of 
 them in the neighbourhood, tea-shops, eating-houses, 
 hotels. Sometimes we go further, into Fleet Street, 
 the Strand, or Leicester Square, it all depends how he 
 feels. I always seem to know, he leaves it to me. ' And 
 where are we going to-day ? ' he asks, ' I have an appetite 
 like a hunter,' or ' I have no appetite at all ! ' One never 
 knows with him."
 
 1 64 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 It did not seem in the least strange to Gerald that this 
 young and beautiful girl should be content to share their 
 Bohemian meals, and put up with the same incon- 
 veniences. Was it not natural that she should be glad 
 and willing to share any life with Harston Migotti ? Be- 
 cause he was a hero-worshipper, and Harston the hero, it 
 seemed to him impossible it could be otherwise with her. 
 
 She fell in with his views. If she had blundered no 
 one must ever know it. Perhaps her prayers helped her, 
 perhaps it was only her fineness becoming clear after her 
 yeasty and impetuous youth, but, in any case, she settled 
 to her circumstances, and took up the burden of her days 
 as if love lightened them. Neither Harston nor Gerald, 
 nor any of the few friends who came to the rooms in 
 Bedford Square, doubted that she loved her gifted 
 husband. 
 
 After the brief passion of his honeymoon Harston 
 swung back with fresh impetus to his opera. Very soon 
 Manuella knew his ways almost as well as Gerald. He 
 would write or compose for hours, hours during which 
 no one must disturb him. He had no fixed times for 
 meals; he fed on his inspiration. She must be on hand 
 when he emerged, ready to minister to him. Many of 
 these meals were completely silent, his mind was still 
 absent ; he was still listening, phrasing, composing. 
 Sometimes, in the midst of them, he would go back 
 hurriedly to his desk or his piano. 
 
 The music came to him more easily than the libretto. 
 This she gathered from him or from Gerald. She under- 
 stood quickly that he did not like to be questioned about 
 his work. If he was in the humour to talk of it all was 
 well, but even then he resented questioning. His temper 
 was extraordinarily uneven, his hours of sociability as 
 rare as pockets in an alluvial mine. He was passionately 
 in love with his young wife, or so he believed. But in 
 reality he loved and worshipped only his gift and she was 
 but a hand-maiden in the outer temple. She learnt to 
 serve ; that was the hard lesson of those early months of 
 her married life to wait and serve.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 165 
 
 When his work flagged and his inspiration failed, he 
 would go for long, solitary walks. Gerald told her that 
 exercise was necessary to him, and loneliness inevitable. 
 
 " He hears when he is alone," he explained, with some- 
 thing of awe upon him. " You can understand that, 
 can't you? We interrupt him when we speak, or when 
 he is conscious of our presence ; he is listening to some- 
 thing we cannot hear." 
 
 He was sometimes out for eight and twelve hours; 
 tramping the Embankment, or further afield, on the 
 Heath at Hampstead or in the lanes of Hendon, hearing 
 new melodies, harmonies beyond the telling, song and 
 intersong. But he never heard the beat of that lonely or 
 rebellious heart that lay at night beside his own. He 
 thought he was all a husband should be to her, often 
 passionately fond. 
 
 She had to find occupation to justify and fill her days. 
 Ultimately she worked at her strange housekeeping with 
 all the energy of her incoherent despair. It proved 
 incredibly helpful ; what, in the beginning, was an un- 
 congenial necessity, became, in the end, and comparatively 
 soon, a grateful alternative to idleness, and an incentive 
 to exert her intelligence. She found she, too, had gifts, 
 and began to exercise them. She was less unhappy after 
 that, her conscience applauding her. She could at least 
 make home for him. 
 
 The large and airy rooms were almost incredibly dirty 
 when she came to them. She found it out, and Gerald 
 admitted it ruefully. There was only one maid-servant, 
 and there were many stairs. 
 
 " He hates to have anything disturbed. ..." 
 
 Because Harston hated to have anything disturbed, 
 Manuella's task was more difficult, and perhaps on that 
 account better worth doing. Cleanliness was essential to 
 her and it had to be accomplished when he was out. Her 
 own indefatigable personal energy was supplemented by 
 the hurriedly-summoned charwoman. There was fortu- 
 nately no lack of money. Harston willingly handed over 
 his income to her.
 
 i66 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " I don't want to have anything but my opera in my 
 mind. Do what you like with the money, only do not 
 weary me about it. That is a wife's function, to make it 
 go far. I am sure my beloved will know how it is done. 
 Gerald says I am extravagant, but now you will be my 
 purse-bearer." 
 
 It was wonderful how quickly she grew to her respon- 
 sibilities ; Gerald was always at hand to help. He knew, 
 for instance, that Harston's capital was invested in some 
 stock, the interest of which was paid quarterly. A 
 quarter's income became due a few days after they came 
 home from Wargrave, and it was then Harston pushed 
 the cheque over to her, and said she was to do what she 
 liked with the money. 
 
 No one would have believed the millionaire's daughter 
 would become so quickly practical, or what a help it was 
 to her to have things to do. She learnt makeshift from 
 Gerald, and something from the charwoman, but much 
 was her own discovery. The floors were scrubbed, made 
 aromatic with soap and soda. She bought a new carpet, 
 a mattress, a large double washstand, a second bath. 
 Tottenham Court Road was handy; she may be said to 
 have gone to school at Shoolbred's. There were incred- 
 ible difficulties to be overcome, of which not the least 
 was that all work had to be stopped when Harston was 
 at home. Gas was already laid on downstairs; it had to 
 be brought upstairs, and trained to a cooking-stove. It 
 was some compensation that the top floor was really 
 roomy; the wide landing sufficient for both kitchen and 
 larder. The Brothers Adam had been liberal in cup- 
 boards; one of these, when the shelves were taken out, 
 was made to hold a geyser and the new bath. She found 
 solace in making these contrivances, in shopping, market- 
 ing, and learning to cook. When Harston awoke from a 
 day and a half of complete silence to praise the coffee it 
 seemed to make everything worth while. Her omelettes 
 and toast, the different ways in which she found eggs 
 could be cooked, interested, and almost absorbed, her. 
 It was of little consequence that she spoiled a few things ;
 
 CONCERT PITCH 167 
 
 she could afford to replace them. Seventy pounds for 
 three months seemed an almost inexhaustible sum when 
 it went out in a shilling's worth of eggs, or sevenpence 
 for half a pound of butter. 
 
 The little maid-of-all-work downstairs was subsidized, 
 and ran up and down, helping willingly, in many ways. 
 Manuella found she liked her housekeeping, but what 
 she liked best of all was mending Harston's and her own 
 clothes Gerald's too, presently. Her foreign education 
 served her in good stead. She could darn exquisitely, 
 sew on buttons that did not come off, patch and mend and 
 put in gussets. 
 
 They were not unhappy months when she was occupied 
 with these things, making home for them all. Each day 
 had its duties, almost every hour. There was always a 
 new pudding to learn, or a fresh disposition of the house- 
 hold utensils to make ; her wants grew, but they were 
 such simple wants ; new shelves, or pots and pans, a 
 whisk or a cherry-stoner ; easily supplied. Harston had 
 no longer to seek his food in a restaurant when he was 
 hungry. She was proud to improvize a meal for him, 
 or for Gerald when he came upstairs. She kept material 
 handy eggs always, potted meat, jams, all manner of 
 tinned things. And when she acquired a small upright 
 refrigerator in which she could store butter, fish, or chops, 
 she seemed to have reached her housekeeping millennium. 
 
 If only she had never been told she had a voice, never 
 repeated the encomiums on it to Harston ! 
 
 There came a stage in the progress of the opera when 
 its creator wanted active sympathy, open applause, help 
 and encouragement. There was Harston at the piano, 
 Gerald with his violin. It was when Harston said : 
 
 " And Manuella will sing for us," that she began to 
 doubt. She knew herself untrained, a few months with 
 De Lausan could hardly be counted ; the music in her had 
 been deadened and stifled by Harston's. She had not 
 practised, had forgotten what little she knew. . . . 
 But no pleading nor nervousness prevailed against his 
 insistence.
 
 1 68 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " Nonsense ! nonsense ! I will teach you, train you. 
 Begin ..." he struck a chord, then played the whole 
 song through. It was the song known now as " The 
 Invocation." 
 
 She certainly had a voice, naturally well placed, and 
 when she got over her first nervousness, neither man 
 could doubt it. It was unspoiled by forcing, of wide 
 range, true as the voice of a bird. Harston's accom- 
 paniment had a magnetic quality; his own voice was 
 that of a bull, but when he raised it, as he often did in 
 teaching, it enriched hers. Perhaps he heard them only 
 in unison. Certainly he came to think her voice adequate. 
 She was glad to be of this help to him ; she remembered 
 what he told her, tried to express him, strove to become 
 dramatic. She worked at her music vehemently in 
 the intervals of her housekeeping, carrying out her vows. 
 It was all for the service of Harston. She found no 
 difficulty in throwing herself into the part of Boadicea. 
 She felt the anguish of the outraged Queen, and all her 
 agony, practised self-abandonment in declamation, wished 
 that her hair were of gold instead of black, and began 
 to live in the opera. All three of them lived in it as it 
 grew into a thing of rare beauty.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THERE came the great day when the opera was 
 actually finished. To Harston himself, and to that 
 enthusiastic young Boswell, Gerald Streatfield, it seemed 
 that, with the final chords, as they crashed from the 
 piano in the exultant finale, a whole new and splendid 
 era of English national music dawned. There was not a 
 doubt in either of their minds that the opera had only to 
 be heard to be accepted, and hailed as a masterpiece. 
 Their talk was never out of key; their minds moved as 
 one. The Wonder Child had justified the great omen of 
 his birth. Never could he be content to become even a 
 superlative pianist, to rival Steinhault ; his dream of 
 destiny was always to become a great composer. Now 
 he saw himself also as his own librettist, the man who 
 had done for England what Wagner had done for Ger- 
 many. Who that would hear The Chariot Queen could 
 doubt this? The whole heart and soul of Britain were 
 in his work, all the legends of the people, their traditions, 
 their inspirations and their songs. His confidence was 
 supreme; there was nothing mundane or material about 
 it ; it was of the spirit uplifting, ennobling, complete. 
 
 Harston Migotti had written a Symphony when he was 
 eighteen, and without any difficulty it had been produced 
 in Darmstadt and had achieved a distinct success. His 
 " Wedding March," that was to rival Mendelssohn's, and 
 the one in Lohengrin, was in the hands of Gerald Streat- 
 
 169
 
 170 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 field's firm, accepted and only awaiting the right season 
 for publication. Difficulty, failure, non-appreciation, were 
 unknown words in the dictionary of his short life. For 
 two years he had been studying, writing, composing, 
 now fruition was at hand. Of course it would gain im- 
 mediate recognition, adequate production. There was 
 much to be thought of, but he had no doubt of the 
 triumph awaiting him, no possible shadow of doubt. 
 
 It is true that no artist is ever completely satisfied with 
 his work, and to that rule Harston Migotti was no excep- 
 tion ; he meant to touch and retouch, strengthen, deepen, 
 polish. But he was on fire to hear its representation in 
 full volume, with a great orchestra, to see the mise-en- 
 scene as he had projected it, the Roman legionaries burn- 
 ing the groves and altars of the Druids ; Boadicea in her 
 chariot, her wild hair flowing: 
 
 Phantom sound of blows descending, moan of enemy massacred. 
 Phantom wail of women and children, multitudinous agonies. 
 
 And the lighter scenes, Boadicea's daughters with their 
 fierce Roman lovers, all the court of Suetonius Paulinus, 
 and the fine recitative of the outraged maidens, the 
 chorus of the Druids : 
 
 Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, 
 Harmony the path to fame. 
 
 He wanted to see and hear it all, and be filled with the 
 whole sequence from overture to finale. Before the great 
 day of completion Gerald had arranged a selection from 
 the music in the first act as a suite for the piano, with 
 which his firm had expressed themselves charmed. A 
 vital question was whether to ask Clara Cue to sing the 
 song in the second act at her grand annual concert in 
 the Albert Hall : 
 
 Fear not, isle of blowing woodland, isle of silvery parapets, 
 Though the Roman eagle shadow thee, though thy mercenaries 
 
 menace thee, 
 Thou shalt wax and they shall dwindle, thou shalt be the mightier 
 
 yet! 
 
 In the end, however, they decided against this proposi-
 
 CONCERT PITCH 171 
 
 tion, resolved that the bloom must not be taken off the 
 first production. 
 
 Gerald was enthusiastic, and Harston seemed alight, 
 radiant, no doubt or shadow crossing his faith in his work. 
 
 Manuella's attitude towards her husband had changed. 
 If love had not come with service, belief had. When 
 Harston wrote and played, full of his music as a globe 
 of light, she was ready to admit she was married to a 
 young god, to worship and to guard the flame before the 
 altar. When the lamp burned low, and he was her hus- 
 band, more human than God-like, she cooked and darned 
 for him dutifully. She had grown at peace with herself 
 through serving him. 
 
 On the Sunday before the opera was finished, the end 
 actually in sight, Gerald was inspired to suggest that a 
 National theatre should be built for it, that the King and 
 Queen would desire to take the lead in acknowledging 
 such a gift to them and to their people. Stated in cold 
 print this may well look ridiculous. In that panelled 
 room in Bedford Square, where the piano stood, it ap- 
 peared not only feasible, but almost inevitable. Was this 
 not the first great English Opera, the precursor of others 
 to come? And there was Bayreuth to guide them. 
 
 " But what have they got that could be made into a 
 Bayreuth? Sandringham is too small, Scotland too far 
 off. ..." Migotti had a stranger's knowledge of the 
 country he called his own. 
 
 From Manuella came the suggestion of Windsor. 
 
 " Windsor Forest ! Of course, just the place ideal ! " 
 Gerald, fired by the idea, was sure a theatre would be 
 built in Windsor Forest for the production of The Chariot 
 Queen. 
 
 " Why not go down and find a site, see what 
 could be done? You are not working any more to- 
 day?" 
 
 It was early spring, the excursion was planned quickly ; 
 in moments like this Gerald showed his abilities. 
 
 " We can catch a two-o'clock train from Paddington ; 
 we shall be in Windsor before three. I know there is an
 
 172 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 express that only stops at Slough. It will be daylight 
 until after six." 
 
 They actually caught the train. Harston was in 
 holiday spirits, more German than he knew at the pros- 
 pect of an excursion in a forest. Gerald was full of the 
 theatre, imagined the building, tier upon tier, and the 
 people who would throng there. 
 
 " You know this will make an enormous difference, 
 not only to Windsor, but to Datchet and Slough, and as 
 far as Maidenhead. They will have to build new 
 hotels. ..." Gerald saw speculators buying land and 
 building capaciously, multitudinously ; he wished he had 
 capital to invest. 
 
 In the third-class carriage which they had to them- 
 selves Harston bawled a few bars of the " Song of the 
 Thames " ; but presently he would talk no more of the 
 opera or the theatre ; he would only speak enthusiastically 
 of England, looking out of the window and drawing 
 Manuella's or Gerald's attention to tree or sky, or shifting 
 panorama of the landscape. They passed mean suburban 
 houses of red brick, long roads where passing motors left 
 trailing clouds of dust, trees backward in budding, with 
 sparse stems, and he found it all admirable, national, 
 characteristic. 
 
 But when they got to the Forest everything was 
 different. The day, it is true, was no longer warm, and 
 the trees were hardly in bud. He found the paths too 
 wide and ordered, the vistas narrow and confined, and 
 a suitable site for the theatre was difficult to imagine. 
 But Gerald's enthusiasm carried them through, and 
 Harston's spirits never flagged. He called Manuella his 
 liebchen and his sweetheart: his energy was enormous, 
 he was untiring in walking, and he showed a real sense of 
 topography, discovering in time that the Forest was no 
 maze, but that the many roads converged to a centre. 
 He found where the Great Park encroached on the Forest 
 land, and the many points from which one saw the Castle 
 and the river. He it was who ultimately discovered the 
 very place for the theatre, and even before Gerald
 
 CONCERT PITCH 173 
 
 realized its advantages, Harston began to plan what 
 trees must come down and what space would have to be 
 cleared. 
 
 Manuella plodded after them like a German housewife. 
 She was unused to walking, soon tired, and at the end of 
 the day most desperately weary, hardly able to keep up her 
 dragging steps. She was a little embittered by her fa- 
 tigue, slightly out of temper. She began to see that their 
 plans were only so much futile talk, to know that the King 
 and Queen would not cut down their forest and clear a 
 space for Harston and Gerald to build a theatre. Of 
 course, she believed in the opera and in Harston's genius ; 
 without such belief life would have been insupportable, 
 but she could not take this talk of theirs seriously. 
 
 They had tea at the station. Her legs ached and her 
 back ached, her feet were hot and blistered; there were 
 shadows under her eyes, her cheeks were sallow, at a 
 word her temper flared. She did not want to pour out the 
 tea, cut bread and butter, or spread jam for them. Hars- 
 ton had learnt to expect all these things from her ; he ate 
 like a German on a holiday, with gusto, abandonment, 
 quite voraciously. 
 
 " But go, go on ! Cut more, cut thicker slices." His 
 mouth was full as he spoke. 
 
 " Cut some yourself." She pushed the loaf over to him 
 before he had half finished. " I can't cut you any more, 
 I'm tired." 
 
 He did not understand at all. 
 
 " Oh, no ! but that is impossible. I cannot cut bread and 
 butter for myself, nor spread the jam. And I must have 
 another cup of tea a large cup, strong. I have a great 
 thirst. ..." 
 
 This was the first time there had been anything like a 
 scene between them. Manuella was for ever unreal 
 with Harston, playing the part she had assigned herself. 
 Over-fatigue was responsible for the childishness of her 
 behaviour this afternoon at the round marble-topped 
 table in the dingy refreshment-room of the railway sta- 
 tion. She said she wouldn't cut any more bread, and
 
 174 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 she wouldn't pour out any more tea; she was sick of 
 waiting upon him. Harston was astonished, Gerald 
 grieved ; both of them made matters worse by sympathy, 
 kindness, too much talk. 
 " But you are ill. ..." 
 " We've overtired you ! " 
 " I'm not ill, I'm quite well. I'm not tired." 
 " But you are cross ! " 
 
 She even cried presently, tears of rage ; they could not 
 understand her at all. Their high spirits were damped 
 and destroyed, the whole excursion spoilt. On the way 
 home in the third-class carriage, overfull with other ex- 
 cursionists, she lay back silent and repentant in the cor- 
 ner, acutely conscious that both Harston and Gerald were 
 watching her uncomprehendingly, as if they saw her for 
 the first time, and did not know how rightly to deal with 
 so strange a phenomenon. She was infuriated when they 
 asked her again if she were tired. They did not speak of 
 the theatre, they were so engaged in wondering what 
 had come to her. 
 
 When they got home she made no effort to prepare 
 supper for them, she went straight to bed, her temper 
 not yet restored. But she was quite disgusted with her- 
 self and convinced that her stepmother had been right. 
 She had no excuse for herself, she felt wretched and 
 ashamed, but convinced, nevertheless, that all the talk 
 had been ridiculous, and the long walk in search of a 
 site merely waste of energy. 
 
 In a way, Gerald and Harston, sitting over supper, 
 came to the same conclusion. They dismissed the 
 strangeness of her conduct, Harston with a shrug and 
 Gerald with a sigh. 
 
 ' We walked too far for her." 
 
 ' She could surely have said so ! " 
 
 ' She will be all right in the morning." 
 
 ' I shall have to work all the morning." 
 
 ' You will be finished by Wednesday ? " 
 
 ' By Wednesday my score will be ready." 
 
 They discussed the writing out, the copying, then they
 
 CONCERT PITCH 175 
 
 came back to the question of the theatre. It would be 
 a year, two years, before a theatre could be built. To 
 wait was of course impossible. The excursion had been 
 only a holiday. The theatre of their dreams was for the 
 future, the far distant future. Of course, they had 
 realized this all the time ; there was small need for Manu- 
 ella to point out their folly to them. She had not spared 
 them, but of course they knew. The opera must first be 
 produced at The Grand Capitol. They spoke of the 
 production at The Grand Capitol as they sat talking after 
 supper, talking long into the night. 
 
 " I will take the score to him myself and play certain 
 parts to him." 
 
 " You are going to tell him that you will yourself take 
 the rehearsals, conduct the first performance ! But . . ." 
 
 Harston was in no humour to listen to buts. And, after 
 all, Gerald was only an echo, never a voice. They were 
 both very young, and Harston knew as little about the 
 production of opera in England as he did about women. 
 He thought everything was going to be easy, quite plain 
 sailing. For a masterpiece there is always opportunity. 
 To-night, over that disordered supper-table, which showed 
 the worse for Manuella's absence, he was as definite and 
 dogmatic as if he were Mascagni, or Strauss, and could 
 dictate terms. 
 
 " The house will have to be remodelled. Reinhardt 
 and Craig are all very well in their way, but I have 
 gone beyond them. All the theatre must be part of 
 the scenery, so that the atmosphere is preserved. The 
 audience will be part of the atmosphere, assisting the 
 tragedy, not merely spectators. ..." 
 
 As he talked he saw Stonehenge and the Druids, the 
 great scene of the sacrifice, the Court of Paulinus, 
 Boadicea crying alone in the wilderness, or valiantly 
 leading her followers. 
 
 " Hear, Icenian, Catienchlanian, hear Coritanian, 
 Trinobant! " 
 
 He heard, he saw them all. His eyes were alight. It 
 was all in his opera. Like a God he had recreated ancient
 
 176 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Britain with music and deep undercurrents of spirit- 
 sound. In the Overture, and in the choruses, this cradle 
 of a race, this birthplace of a nation, this battle-song and 
 prophecy, this wailing and rejoicing was one homogene- 
 ous whole. It was not natural for him to turn aside from 
 such a vision to think of a scolding girl, overtired per- 
 haps, certainly ill-tempered. He was not angry with her, 
 but she may have dropped a little in importance. Per- 
 haps already she disappointed him. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Harston Migotti had been in the train of Steinhault, 
 the great artist, whom crowned heads had united to 
 honour, to whom palaces had been open, and who was 
 acclaimed wherever he went. Perhaps not unnaturally, 
 he compared himself with that triumphant Steinhault, 
 and to his own advantage. Steinhault played other 
 men's music superbly, incomparably. But he, Migotti, 
 was poet and composer. That Pan should play and 
 the hurrying, busy world of men not stay to listen 
 was a contingency outside the sweep of his soaring 
 imagination. He lived in a dream-world that he bestrode 
 like a Colossus, and, enveloped by a rarefied atmosphere 
 of adulation, the dazzling light of his supreme self- 
 confidence made him see the actual world but dimly. 
 Vested interests were a sordid something of which he had 
 never heard, an empty phrase for little men. 
 
 It seems impossible that he should have had no doubt 
 nor misgiving lest he should be denied a hearing. But 
 the impossible is true. With difficulty Gerald persuaded 
 him to write to Madame Liebius for an introduction 
 to the impresario of the Opera House. The score had to 
 be transcribed, there must needs be a waiting time. 
 Madame Liebius replied: 
 
 " The end no, the beginning has come at last ; then 
 the great, great work is complete. Oh ! how I long to 
 hear it, see it our Wonder Boy ! Of course I will write 
 to Brian O'Neill. I am singing for him this season. Who 
 will create the part of your Chariot Queen? You must
 
 CONCERT PITCH 177 
 
 write me everything. In two months I will be in 
 England." 
 
 There was more in the letter, but that was the gist 
 of her message. The one that went with the score to 
 Brian O'Neill was even more enthusiastic. She spoke of 
 Harston Migotti's genius, and said it was a great priv- 
 ilege that Brian O'Neill should have the opportunity of 
 introducing him to the public in England. She knew 
 exactly what to say. 
 
 After the score and the letter had been posted, they 
 waited, and waited, and waited. Harston, the least 
 impatient, because there was always something more to 
 be done. For eight and ten hours a day he was at the 
 piano, or with his head bent over the score. Nearly 
 three weeks passed before he remembered to wonder why 
 no answer had come from the Opera House. 
 
 Then he concluded that O'Neill was not in England, or, 
 at least, not in London. In the end, Harston decided 
 he must go and see him ; it would be infamous if O'Neill 
 had already put the opera into rehearsal without con- 
 sulting the writer ! 
 
 Manuella had, of course, recovered her temper, if not 
 her spirits, long before this. She had even said she was 
 sorry ; and Harston, who by that time it was only the 
 next day had forgotten the incident, kissed her and 
 called her " Schatzchen," and praised an omelette she 
 made for him. Naturally, when he was so occupied in 
 alterations and additions he could not question, or interest 
 himself in, his young wife. Gerald noticed she was not 
 looking well, and said feelingly to her : " Of course, this 
 is a trying time for you and me. He has no anxiety; 
 it is wonderful to see how calm he is. Now, I, I can 
 hardly sleep, and I suppose you, too, pass sleepless 
 nights?" 
 
 Harston went to see Mr. Brian O'Neill, fearing lest the 
 opera should have been put into rehearsal, or even tried 
 with an orchestra, without his being present ! 
 
 He had not written for an appointment, and he was
 
 178 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 kept waiting, first in the lobby of the theatre, and then, 
 after he had sent in his card, in the anteroom of the man- 
 ager's office. When at last he was asked to enter, O'Neill, 
 who had interviewed already about fourteen prima-don- 
 nas, various chorus masters, ballets divertisseuses, entre- 
 preneurs, and Heaven knows whom besides, had forgotten 
 why he had consented to see him. He had, at the back of 
 his mind, some association with the name, but he could 
 not for the moment recall the circumstance. The letter 
 from Madame Liebius, the parcel that had come with it, 
 the name of Harston Migotti, had all escaped him. 
 
 He was courteous, of course, in his temporary lapse 
 of memory, with that hurried perfunctory courtesy that 
 is so very little removed from indifference. He waited 
 for the man himself to give him the clue. Possibly it was 
 about an engagement. He put on his " And-what-can-I- 
 do-for-you ? " air, and leaned back in his chair. 
 
 This was Harston Migotti's chance, had he but under- 
 stood and taken it. Here he was, in the great man's room, 
 assured for the moment, at least, of his attention. Hars- 
 ton was a young man with a personality, and as we know, 
 of striking appearance ; already Brian O'Neill had glanced 
 at him with interest. He had only to accentuate that 
 interest, establish it. Everybody knows that Brian 
 O'Neill is generous, expansive, keen to secure new talent. 
 A few words from Harston would have been sufficient, 
 a few tactful words about the manager's services 
 to music, the last successful season, the promise of the 
 new one under his management . . . O'Neill had had 
 an extremely busy morning, Migotti's name was unfa- 
 miliar to him, but certainly he would have listened if the 
 right methods had been employed. 
 
 " I am Migotti. Harston Migotti." So abruptly 
 Harston began, without a word of recognition of his 
 hearer's great position, or his complaisance in receiving 
 artists. 
 
 " To be sure . . . Migotti ! And what can I do 
 for you, Mr. Migotti? Be seated ; be seated, please. I've 
 hardly five minutes to spare. Let me see, it was the
 
 CONCERT PITCH 179 
 
 Duchess of Landale . , . no." He was turning over 
 a filed sheet of notes. Who had written to him about 
 the man? Did he sing? What the devil had he prom- 
 ised to do for him? 
 
 " You have the score of my opera." Harston did not 
 understand this indifferent man. " It is I who have writ- 
 ten The Chariot Queen, the libretto, and the music." 
 
 " Oh ! of course, I recollect quite well now. The ' First 
 English Opera/ " He had found the note. " But, my 
 dear fellow, don't you know that there are dozens of 
 English operas ? ' An English National Music . . .' " 
 he was still reading. " Yes, yes, of course. Druids, and 
 that sort of thing." 
 
 He was quite pleasant, if a little patronizing. He 
 remembered the pretentiousness with which the score 
 had been forwarded to him and that he had had no 
 time to look at it. He struck the bell on the table sharply. 
 He told the secretary who answered it to be quick and 
 find the parcel that had come with the letter from Mad- 
 ame Liebius. Doubtless he meant to glance at it then and 
 there, to be kind, and even encouraging, to the young 
 composer. After all, to have written and composed an 
 opera any opera, at the age of the young man before 
 him, was very creditable, showed industry, enterprise. 
 He went on talking whilst they waited for the parcel to 
 be found. 
 
 " Where did you get your musical education ? In 
 England ? I don't seem to have heard your name before. 
 Were you at the Academy, or the Guildhall ? You have 
 done other work, of course ? " 
 
 His tone was perfunctory, perhaps, but he was cer- 
 tainly kindly and courteous. Harston hardly yet realized 
 that the announcement of his name, and the fact that he 
 was the composer of The Chariot Queen, had failed of 
 effect. He had not taken the seat indicated to him; he 
 stood with his hat in his hand, and his most uncompromis- 
 ing expression. When O'Neill spoke of other English 
 operas, he could not disguise his contempt. 
 
 " But they don't count, they don't count at all."
 
 i8o CONCERT PITCH 
 
 O'Neill looked at him questioningly, with a certain 
 surprise and stopped his questions. Harston took ad- 
 vantage of the pause. 
 
 " Mine is a National Opera, not like any other. In 
 Italy, in France, and in Germany they have a National 
 Music, but not in England. ..." 
 
 Then he mentioned the names of two English com- 
 posers ; and tore their work to pieces in a phrase. 
 
 Brian O'Neill actually reddened; the two composers 
 in question had been his own discoveries, his own nov- 
 elties of last season, presented by him to the limited 
 opera-going public. Certainly they had been only fairly 
 well received, but the young man was impertinent, pre- 
 suming. The secretary at this moment brought the 
 mislaid parcel. He took it and untied the strings. 
 Migotti saw that it had not been opened ! 
 
 " You have not looked at my opera ! " he exclaimed. 
 Of course, that was the explanation. How could the 
 man know the difference between his opera and every 
 other that had been written if he had not looked at it? 
 He would have to play it to him. His eyes roved for a 
 piano. Yes ! there it was, an Erard grand standing 
 open. Brian O'Neill saw the direction of his eyes. He 
 said pleasantly, for he had recovered his self-possession 
 and superficial agreeability : 
 
 " Do you realize that I have some dozen operas brought 
 or sent to me every week? I am a very busy man, Mr. 
 Migotti." 
 
 " But mine is not an ordinary opera ! " Harston Migotti 
 was amazed that this had not been understood. 
 
 " Of course not ! " 
 
 And sotto voce he added : " They never are ! " 
 
 He had untied the string; he was looking through the 
 overture, now humming a bar or two under his breath. 
 
 But it was not a bar of The Chariot Queen that he was 
 humming. His mind was upon the opera brought him 
 that morning by a peer, one of the richest men in Eng- 
 land, who was prepared to put up any amount of money 
 to have it staged. Already he was wondering if it were
 
 CONCERT PITCH 181 
 
 possible, if some special professional skill could make it 
 producible. His eyes were on Migotti's MSS., but 
 his mind, that versatile, agile mind of his, had suddenly 
 reverted elsewhere. 
 
 Migotti could not make out what passage he was 
 trying to materialize ; he went quite naturally to the 
 piano, adjusted the stool, and sat down. When he began 
 to play, O'Neill was really overwhelmed by his temerity. 
 He had not been asked to play, no permission had been 
 given. But when, not content with playing, Harston 
 started to thunder out in his impossible voice : 
 
 " Hear, Icenian, Catienchlanian, hear Coritanian, 
 Trinobant!" 
 
 O'Neill became convinced that the fellow was mad, 
 actually stark, staring mad ! He was a handsome fellow, 
 and could play the piano, but that he was mad, the Great 
 Man of the Opera House, who had given him no permis- 
 sion to play, and certainly none to sing, had no doubt. 
 " And a damned nuisance to boot. ..." was how he 
 finished the sentence in his own mind. " Damn it, he's 
 bellowing like a bull. ..." 
 
 How to silence him, how to get rid of him, was the 
 immediate question. He had Lord Swanage's offer to 
 consider; Lord Swanage was coming back in the after- 
 noon for his answer. Brian O'Neill never heard the 
 trumpet effect, or the fanfaronnade that introduced the 
 chorus in the second act, nor the Invocation. ... A 
 long time was to elapse before he knew, in common with 
 the whole world, the whole music-loving world, that he 
 was listening to what is now admittedly the finest and 
 most characteristic aria heard on our own, or any, stage 
 since Tannhduser. To him, the piano and Migotti's 
 dreadful voice, and the aria, were only obstructions to his 
 day's work, to the immediate work that pressed. He did 
 not know how to put a stop to it, how to tell the musician 
 that this was not the wav to obtain consideration for his
 
 1 82 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 opera. It seemed impossible to stop Migotti at the piano, 
 thundering out selections from the score. 
 
 Brian O'Neill took the path of least resistance; he 
 escaped from the room. When Migotti took his fingers 
 from the keys, and swung round on the stool, in the 
 expectation of seeing the man entranced, overwhelmed, 
 ready to embrace him, and place the house, the artists, 
 everybody and everything at his disposal, he was con- 
 fronted by a totally unexpected figure, a dogmatic young 
 man in glasses, who said: 
 
 " I say, don't you know you oughtn't to make such a 
 row here? We can hear you on the stage. Don't you 
 know we are at rehearsal ? " 
 
 He gazed at Migotti through his round glasses, and 
 Migotti flung back his head with its mane of fair hair 
 and stared back at him. He had almost forgotten where 
 he was, he had been so absorbed in his beautiful music. 
 Mr. O'Neill's secretary continued more mildly, his in- 
 structions had been definite. 
 
 " Get rid of him for me. Tell him I'll consider his 
 opera; tell him we are full up for the season, but I'll 
 look it over before the next. Tell him any damn thing; 
 only get rid of him. Politely, if possible ; but ged rid of 
 him. He is a protege of Liebius, a genius, a crank. Oh, 
 Lord ! listen to him. ..." 
 
 "But Mr. O'Neill . . . where is Mr. O'Neill?" ex- 
 claimed Harston from the piano-stool. Now the sec- 
 retary could hear his own voice, and execute his com- 
 mission properly. He smiled, he beamed: 
 
 " He told me to offer you his apologies. He is really 
 so overwhelmed with work just now. About your opera : 
 he told me to tell you he is going to give it the most 
 careful consideration. Of course, for this season you 
 know we have made our engagements. ..." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me that your master has not 
 even heard what I've played him ; that the finest, the 
 most original and astonishing music that has been written 
 since Siegfried has not kept him here. . . . ? " It was 
 really astounding, incredible ; his fair face flushed.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 183 
 
 " He will consider it, he will certainly consider it," the 
 secretary had a soothing, almost cooing manner " but 
 not now, not just now. In six months, perhaps, or in 
 twelve. ..." He thought he was obeying his instruc- 
 tions with complete tact. " You may leave your work 
 with him, he told me to say so. ... " 
 
 He was never more astonished in his life than when 
 the musician, red in the face, and " like a madman," 
 so he recorded the scene, burst into a fury of words, the 
 gist of which was that O'Neill did not know music when 
 he heard it, was not capable of understanding anything 
 better than opera bouffe or musical comedy, that he was 
 not worthy to produce The Chariot Queen, and now 
 would never be allowed to do so. 
 
 Harston Migotti seized the parcel that still lay only 
 half-opened on the table; he would have rushed away 
 without his hat, but the secretary followed him to the 
 door and tactfully handed it to him. 
 
 " I say, you know. You must not take things like 
 that. Mr. O'Neill is awfully interested. You must tell 
 Madame Liebius that he said he was very much obliged 
 to her for giving him the opportunity. ..." 
 
 Migotti was flying down the stairs before the mild 
 young man had brought out half the speeches that are 
 used on similar occasions. But he had a certain sense of 
 satisfaction, for he had executed the essential part of his 
 commission, and " got rid of the fellow."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 FOR a few days Harston said nothing about this 
 visit to either Manuella or Gerald. He brooded 
 over it, and went long, solitary walks. Surely his opera 
 was beautiful ! He spent hours at the piano, or over the 
 score, wondering. 
 
 They knew better than to question him, although Gerald 
 at least, was overwhelmed with curiosity. It was the 
 first rebuff of which the young musician had ever been 
 conscious. The fit of fury in O'Neill's room had been 
 followed by a bewilderment of anger, into which doubt 
 intruded. But he pondered, and re-read the music, and 
 played it, and felt there was no room for doubt. 
 
 When, in about a week's time, he had reassured him- 
 self, he told them what had happened. Of course, Gerald 
 found a hundred excuses and explanations. Manuella, 
 too, although already she took only a secondary place 
 in their councils, did not think it proved anything but 
 Mr. O'Neill's incapacity for the position he held. 
 
 " Considering that he never looked at the score, and, 
 when you played it, he did not listen, it is not a personal 
 matter at all, nothing to do with the opera. You say 
 the parcel had never been opened." 
 
 I played it to him ; I played the Invocation ! " 
 
 " But he wasn't in the room." 
 
 " He was in the room when I began to play." 
 
 '' Then, someone must have called him away." 
 
 184
 
 CONCERT PITCH 185 
 
 " But he could have returned ; surely he could have 
 returned ? " 
 
 " We don't know what kept him." 
 
 " Nothing should have kept him. I continued to 
 play " 
 
 It was deplorable, but worse, of course, for Brian 
 O'Neill and the Grand Capitol audiences, than for Hars- 
 ton Migotti, who had only to wait. . . . But it was 
 impossible to wait. 
 
 " Let me take it to John Otterstein. He has forgotten 
 more about music than O'Neill ever knew," Gerald 
 pleaded. 
 
 But Harston had lost something of his supreme self- 
 confidence. It was as if he were a child, and had been 
 unexpectedly, undeservedly struck and was still bewil- 
 dered by the blow. They had to make him forget, to 
 prove to him he had done nothing wrong, but had offered 
 a precious stone, brilliant and unmatchable. It was not 
 his fault if it had been mistaken for a common pebble. 
 At times, of course, he assumed a different attitude; 
 he was not the child, but the master, knowing it was a 
 diamond of the finest water he had found and set. 
 Nevertheless, Gerald had to urge Otterstein upon him. 
 
 " He has his own theatre, and can do what he likes 
 there ; not like O'Neill, who, after all, acts for a syndicate, 
 and not for himself. Look what Otterstein did in 
 America. And he's got the public ; he's impressed 
 them." 
 
 In the end they all became persuaded that the new 
 house on the Embankment, " The Ambassadors," was the 
 right house, pending the building of that ideal theatre 
 out in Windsor Forest, and that John Otterstein was the 
 right man. 
 
 Harston, although a little less self-confident, was no 
 less obstinate. 
 
 ' This time I will not ask Madame Liebius for an intro- 
 duction. I shall write to him myself, and I will send 
 him the Overture. That is all I will send him, for it is 
 enough. It is that, or the whole opera, and he, too,
 
 1 86 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 might say he had no time, was too busy to consider it. 
 For the Overture he will have time." 
 
 That letter of Harston's was perhaps responsible for 
 the result. Some day it will be in the British Museum, 
 John Otterstein has promised it. But when it came to 
 him first he laughed he only laughed ! 
 
 "DEAR SIR, 
 
 " I send you with this the Overture, and the text, 
 of my opera The Chariot Queen. You will see for your- 
 self that it is unlike anything that has been done before. 
 But with the rest of it you will perhaps be more sur- 
 prised. I wish it produced this season, and with as little 
 delay as possible. I will myself undertake the rehearsals, 
 and conduct at the performances. The scenery will 
 necessitate some alterations in the construction of the 
 theatre, which can be put in hand at once. I should like 
 an interview with you when you have considered the 
 Overture, and then I will tell you all my plan. 
 
 " MlGOTTI." 
 
 Gerald thought there should be more in the letter about 
 Migotti's intention to found a School of English National 
 Music. But Harston said that when he saw John Otter- 
 stein it would be time enough. 
 
 It certainly never entered either of their heads that 
 the letter would be looked upon as a joke, treated as a 
 hoax, handed round, and laughed at. Yet that is what 
 actually occurred. And the answer was intended to be 
 witty. 
 
 " Mr. Otterstein is obliged to ' Migotti ' for his friendly 
 offer of rebuilding ' The Ambassadors,' and producing, 
 conducting and rehearsing his work, but suggests that 
 for opera bouffe some other house would perhaps be 
 more suitable." 
 
 What the reply meant none of them could understand ; 
 it was completely incomprehensible. Opera bouffe !
 
 CONCERT PITCH 187 
 
 The Overture of The Chariot Queen opera bouffe! 
 What did it mean? Gerald was as ready as ever with 
 explanation. 
 
 " Did you put your note in the parcel with the Over- 
 ture ? Of course not. That's what has happened ; they've 
 got separated. He gets a lot of stuff, and it is even 
 possible someone has hit upon the same title. What 
 isn't possible is to call The Chariot Queen opera bouffe ! 
 It's absurd to get the hump over it. ... " 
 
 But for the moment nothing could be done with 
 Harston. He had not even words for argument. 
 
 Manuella and Gerald argued with each other as to 
 what was best to do now, and recalled instances where 
 genius had failed of instant recognition. In the end 
 Manuella herself wrote to Mr. Otterstein, asking if he 
 had received the Overture and text of her husband's 
 opera, The Chariot Queen, and enclosing the note about 
 the opera bouffe, which she said she thought must be 
 meant for someone else. 
 
 When Mr. Otterstein received these and understood 
 that The Chariot Queen letter was not a hoax, nor the 
 production of a humorist who wished to " draw " him, he 
 caused quite a nice, thoroughly American reply to be sent 
 to the lady. He had not time to look at either music or 
 text, but dictating amiable letters was one of his gifts. 
 
 " MY DEAR MADAM, 
 
 " As you say, the letter enclosed was sent in 
 error. I was exceedingly interested in your husband's 
 valuable and most original work. I am returning it to 
 you by this mail, as it is my misfortune at the moment 
 to have no opening for it. With my best wishes, never- 
 theless, for his ultimate success, of which I am sure there 
 can be no doubt, I remain, 
 
 " Faithfully yours, 
 
 " JOHN OTTERSTEIN." 
 
 The letter was opened by Manuella in the presence of 
 Gerald, and was found alternately to be encouraging and
 
 i88 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 discouraging. Manuella was for writing again to find out 
 when he would have an opening. Gerald, undoing the 
 parcel, had his misgivings that it was intact as it had 
 been sent. 
 
 It was incredible to him that Harston Migotti was to 
 join the ranks of those unrecognized geniuses, unacted or 
 unsung, unpublished or unpurchased, of whom the annals 
 of art and literature are full. 
 
 As for Harston, he had fits of rage, when he would 
 thump the piano and break into wild diatribes of anger 
 against the music that was produced, the people who 
 produced it, the critics who praised it. But, as time went 
 on, these wild fits of rage were interspersed with attacks 
 of profound and, to those two who watched him, tor- 
 turing depression, in which they could do little or nothing 
 to help him. He did not lose faith in himself or The 
 Chariot Queen, but he lost faith, or seemed to be on the 
 brink of losing faith, in humanity, in justice. During 
 one whole week he would neither play nor compose, and 
 the piano was kept closed. He took long solitary walks, 
 absenting himself from them for intolerably anxious 
 hours. His health seemed to fail, yet he complained of 
 nothing ; indeed, he hardly talked at all. But he grew 
 thin, and his eyes, under the pent brows, seemed to have 
 sunk back into his head ; his cheeks were hollow. It was 
 the first time disappointment had come near him, or dis- 
 illusionment. The " I am Migotti " attitude had buoyed 
 all his youth. His intellect was so acute, his spirit so 
 proud, that his position was now intolerable. He saw a 
 new Migotti, one that had failed failed of a hearing. 
 His rages were like demons that desecrated his soul, and 
 his soul was seared and grew unfit for song. 
 
 The two who watched him took constant counsel. To 
 their credit it may be recorded that they never wavered 
 in their belief in him. 
 
 The tenderness Manuella discovered in her heart to- 
 wards her husband at this period was very like love, and 
 might have grown into love. She, too, had known dis- 
 appointment, disillusionment; her sympathy flowed to
 
 CONCERT PITCH 189 
 
 him. If it took the form of preparing dishes that he 
 rarely ate, and never noticed, of redoubling her domestic 
 cares and solicitudes for him, this was because she could 
 think of nothing better. 
 
 Out of the misery of those disordered days was born a 
 question. Gerald asked her one day when they were as 
 usual alone, Migotti ever more restless, wandering some- 
 where with his tortured spirit : " Would not your father 
 help?" 
 
 He put it with some hesitation, knowing, of course, 
 that Manuella had married without her father's consent. 
 It had always been tacitly understood that she would 
 seek forgiveness when the success of the opera justified 
 her faith; understood, that is to say, by Gerald and 
 Harston himself. Manuella had no illusions. 
 
 The papers were full of Sir Hubert Wagner when Ger- 
 ald asked the question. The illustrated weeklies had his 
 photograph and that of Lcetitia. Sir Hubert, not com- 
 pletely recovered from his recent illness, was propitiating 
 the Deity by a huge gift towards the establishment of 
 an endowed Protestant Church in Johannesburg. He was 
 going out himself to assist in laying the first stone of a 
 great cathedral. 
 
 " He has given two hundred and fifty thousand pounds 
 towards an endowment, and he is going to build six 
 churches. Wouldn't he do something for a National 
 Opera House? He would get just as much, or more, 
 kudos out of it. ... " 
 
 " I have never heard one word from them since my 
 marriage ; I believe he has forgotten my existence. 
 There is not an earthly chance of their doing anything to 
 help me or him, and I wouldn't ask them. You don't 
 know my stepmother. I want her to think I am quite 
 happy ; she will hate that." 
 
 " But we can't either of us be happy when he is like 
 this." 
 
 Naturally Gerald Streatfield could never think of any 
 other reason why Manuella should not be completely 
 happy. He pressed the question, but she refused em-
 
 190 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 phatically to write the appeal that could only bring 
 humiliation. Yet the opera must be heard ; of that they 
 were both agreed. It was impossible to speak to Harston, 
 and his absences were getting more prolonged. Once he 
 was away two days and a night, and when he returned, 
 it was obvious he had been all that time without food or 
 sleep. The idea of suicide was hanging about the out- 
 skirts of their mind, waiting for entrance. There were 
 times when they could scarcely speak of him to each 
 other, the alteration in him was so dreadful. He seemed 
 to shrink from them, from their sympathetic eyes; it 
 was obvious he could not bear sympathy. His sensitive- 
 ness was so inflamed that even their presence in the room 
 hurt. He to be pitied ! He to need sympathy ! Migotti ! 
 The mood might have passed, it was too painful, perhaps 
 too unreasonable, to have lasted. 
 
 " If only I had money of my own I would take a theatre 
 and mount the opera. I know it has only to be heard. 
 It is killing him to think his music must lie dead, inar- 
 ticulate. I know how he feels, for he told me. Like a 
 father with a child, lovely, exquisite, but blind and deaf 
 and dumb. That is exactly how he feels. I have written 
 down his own words. ..." 
 
 " We must do something." 
 
 Later on that evening, when Hartson was in the 
 room, but sitting apart from them, silent, Gerald said it 
 again : 
 
 "If only I had money of my own ! " 
 
 Harston was apparently not listening, but to their 
 surprise he said irritably : 
 
 " What use would it be if you had all the money in the 
 world? You could not make them produce The Chariot 
 Queen." 
 
 " I would take a theatre and produce it myself," Gerald 
 answered boldly. 
 
 " But why not ? Why not ? " 
 
 Harston sprang excitedly to his feet. 
 
 " Because I haven't the money. I only wish I had." 
 
 " But / have, / have. Is it, then, only a question of
 
 CONCERT PITCH 191 
 
 money? But why did not you, why did not you or 
 Manuella say so before ? " 
 
 He was all excitement and rapid interrogation. There 
 was question and quick answer, Gerald taking fire from 
 him. 
 
 None of the three of them was a practical person, 
 although Manuella had learnt to keep house. The scheme 
 seemed to come to life fully grown. Why should not 
 Harston Migotti produce his own opera in his own way 
 take a theatre and reconstruct it, engage his artists, his 
 orchestra, and be his own conductor and manager? Be- 
 fore they realized to what they were committed, it had 
 become not only possible but inevitable. It is what they 
 ought to have done from the first. Migotti himself would 
 make his own reputation, be dependent on no man's 
 favour. He swung back to an almost incredible elation, 
 and would neither hear of difficulties nor admit the word 
 doubt. Once again he became imperiously confident. 
 
 It appeared that the income upon which Manuella and 
 her husband lived was derived from a capital of between 
 five and six thousand pounds. The sum had been in- 
 vested to provide for his education, but when he came of 
 age a lawyer had written to him that now the capital was 
 his own. There had been an interview when papers of 
 release were signed. The lawyer had spoken of the satis- 
 factory investments, and advised that if Mr. Migotti had 
 no immediate need of the money that they should be 
 left undisturbed. He had had no use for the money then, 
 but now ! It became wonderful all at once, all their 
 lives became wonderful, for Harston was himself again 
 and Gerald his ecstatic henchman. Of course he would 
 himself produce his opera, then they would see what they 
 would see. ... It was really a mad scheme and carried 
 out on a mad scale. 
 
 The investments were all sold out ; that was, of course, 
 the first thing to do. 
 
 Manuella, to whom it did occur that they had no means 
 of livelihood if the enterprise failed, could not suggest 
 such a thought to Harston in his present mood. She
 
 i 9 2 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 ventured a word to Gerald, but Gerald asked her in 
 astonishment how could the enterprise fail? Was it 
 possible that the greatest musical work of the day, the 
 first wholly English opera, written and composed by a 
 tone-poet, greater than Richard Wagner, who would 
 conduct all the rehearsals, arrange all the scenery, engage 
 all the artists, fail of a great, of a commanding success? 
 Besides, as Gerald pointed out enthusiastically, Harston 
 was not one to care for luxury ; he had slept as well on 
 his old dust-bed as he did now on the new spring mat- 
 tress, eaten at restaurants, and worn old clothes. . . . 
 Manuella flushing, but keeping silence in her growing 
 self-discipline, realized how little she had done for him. 
 Certainly, now she would not stand in his way. 
 
 In these first days after the great decision, there seemed 
 no drawbacks to face, no obstacles to overcome. None of 
 the difficulties of the enterprise appeared at once. The 
 investments realized six thousand pounds ; with that 
 it was easy to take a theatre. Once the Palestrina was 
 secured, paragraphs began to appear ; soon Harston was 
 overwhelmed with offers of help, offers that in the end 
 showed that everybody wished to help themselves to a 
 share of the six thousand pounds. All these volunteer 
 assistants were agreed in acknowledging Harston Migot- 
 ti's genius and admiring his opera, even before hearing it. 
 
 The ease with which Harston Migotti was allowed to 
 spend his six thousand pounds was only exceeded by the 
 difficulty he found in getting value for it. Once the 
 theatre was taken, all the careful estimates he and Gerald 
 had made went by the board. Everyone realized they 
 were dealing with amateurs, and extras mounted accord- 
 ingly. The amount allowed for rent and lighting, dresses 
 and scenery, proved elastic, and the never-ending re- 
 hearsals had all to be paid for. All the incredible diffi- 
 culties were doubled and redoubled by the English 
 libretto. 
 
 Singers of all nations were engaged, tried and dis- 
 carded, and had to be compensated. Paliset and Callot 
 returned their parts after having accepted them; they
 
 CONCERT PITCH 193 
 
 could neither learn their words nor sing the music. 
 Havelock Green and Trestle were unknown, and merited 
 their obscurity, but before they were engaged so many 
 people had been approached that the mere list of 
 their names reads like a Who's Who of the operatic 
 stage. 
 
 Harston Migotti set himself the task of giving an 
 adequate representation of a scheme that in its first 
 intention was to have outrivalled anything as yet seen 
 outside Bayreuth, with a complete ignorance of the task 
 confronting him. The production of grand opera is an 
 enterprise so little like any other, that a lifetime is 
 necessary as an education for its accomplishment. 
 
 Before he started he was beaten by the unforeseen. 
 But, then, he foresaw nothing; neither the unfitness of 
 the acoustics of the house for the large orchestra, and 
 the space needed, nor the impossibility of finding English 
 singers. The inevitable had to happen. This, too, is 
 an old story now, but the result could never have been 
 in doubt. 
 
 The climax came when, less than a week before the 
 first night, Madame Stella Lely developed an operatic 
 sore throat, and threw up the title role. It was too late to 
 find a prima-donna. O'Neill and John Otterstein would 
 release no one from her contract. Grand opera voices 
 were not to be found on concert platforms, in musical 
 comedy companies, in schools of music. Or, if they were 
 to be found, there was no time to look for them. Manu- 
 ella, at least, knew every note of the music, and the com- 
 poser's intention. It was, of course, a counsel of despair, 
 but just one week before the first night Manuella was told 
 that the only way to help her husband, to save the opera, 
 was for her to create the part of " Boadicea." Once she 
 had dreamed of becoming a great singer ; now she knew 
 her inadequacy and pleaded, how she pleaded ! But what 
 was to be done? 
 
 " You have sung it over and over again," Gerald 
 argued when he was called into council. " For God's 
 sake don't make objections. Just do the best you can. I
 
 i 9 4 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 don't know what will happen if you fail us. We have 
 tried everybody." 
 
 Gerald was distracted; nothing but Harston's indom- 
 itable belief in himself and the opera could have carried 
 them through to a performance. 
 
 " It will not stand or fall by the title role," he told his 
 wife consolingly. " It is not you, but my music, they 
 will come to hear." 
 
 " Of course I will do the best I can," she promised 
 Harston. 
 
 '' I shall spoil the opera, you know it as well as I," she 
 told Gerald. 
 
 " Nothing can spoil the opera. As for this produc- 
 tion. ..." 
 
 But he would not admit that he knew nothing but 
 fiasco was before them. 
 
 She rehearsed with and without the orchestra, daily, 
 hourly, all that short week ; took hasty lessons in stage 
 deportment and diction, threw herself into the part with 
 a most passionate abandonment. She had a beautiful 
 voice and a fine ear, and was not without dramatic talent. 
 But not all the intensity of her desire and her Sisyphian 
 labours could disguise the fact that the task she undertook 
 was beyond her. Perhaps she would have acquitted her- 
 self better if Harston had been able to conceal this from 
 her. But all he said was that she was not worse than 
 many of the others, and that, however it was sung, the 
 Press and public, Mr. O'Neill and Otterstein would know 
 how fine the music was, how original and characteristic.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE last week passed with incredible swiftness. 
 Disputes, recriminations, exhausting, overwhelming 
 work, rilled its difficult hours. Manuella was little less 
 capable at the end than she had been at the beginning, 
 although she had had much help from kind women and 
 men in the new profession she was adventuring. 
 
 The Chariot Queen was being produced by Harston 
 Migotti at his own theatre, under his own baton, but with 
 a travesty of all his ideas and projects in regard to 
 scenery and singers. 
 
 He had reduced and further reduced his ambitions, 
 narrowed down his ideas that still remained bigger than 
 anyone else's, accepted, almost without complaint, the 
 abandonment of first one and then another of his effects. 
 The whole thing was so different from the dimensions 
 of his intention, so belittled and shorn, that the tragedy 
 of the first night hardly affected him. 
 
 The Chariot Queen is now part of our national musical 
 wealth, and acknowledged to be all, and more than, the 
 young composer claimed for it. In it we see the birth of 
 a nation, hear the break of the waves against our shores, 
 the coming of galleys, the murmur of stream and wood- 
 land, the tramplings and battling of armies, and always 
 in palpitating throbs the awakening heart of a people. 
 
 The libretto has an epic nobility, the music is vital, 
 with the universal appeal of enduring art; we all know 
 
 195
 
 196 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 this now. But the conception was on too great a scale, 
 and all the execution fell below it. The period of the 
 story was too remote for general sympathy, the love- 
 interest rude and primitive, the wild scenery almost re- 
 pellent in its ruggedness. On the first night of the pro- 
 duction in London, on the stage of the Palestrina, under 
 amateur management, with the wife of the composer 
 in the title role, the opera had no chance at all of a fair 
 judgment. The taint of amateurism was over every- 
 thing; it is cruel and unnecessary to go into detail. 
 Uninstructed or inefficient workmen manoeuvred the 
 scenery ; the waves were canvas on the wood that rocked 
 them, the Reinhardt lighting, as by this time it had come 
 to be called, was another name for the gloom on the stage 
 that spread quickly to the coughing restless house. The 
 action was obscured by delays ; the orchestra was con- 
 founded and the choruses confused by the stage car- 
 penters. Manuella's long hair was black, and though she 
 was in great beauty, and rose at times to the occasion, 
 she was never Boadicea, and the rage of prophecy was 
 only in her flushed cheeks and glorious anguished eyes ; 
 it was never in her inadequate voice and delivery. Her 
 performance would have damned any opera. 
 
 The greater part of the audience left before the end of 
 the second act. Those that remained made up for the 
 discourtesy of the others by exercising their sense of 
 humour. Many funny things were said in the stalls, and 
 some from the gallery were shouted to the stage. 
 
 Fiasco ; hopeless, unmistakable, incontrovertible, was 
 the verdict of the final stragglers in the vestibule ; it 
 was patent to the shrugging critics. The sense of it 
 had chilled the final numbers, and taken the heart out 
 of the singers. Manuella's last song was received with 
 cat-calls. At the end there was hissing. The orchestra 
 stood to their guns like men, and the grand finale under 
 the baton of the young composer swelled to its over- 
 whelming magnificence. He turned to face the house, 
 baton still in hand, that fine head of his erect, his 
 cheeks flushed. He would have spoken, but they drowned
 
 CONCERT PITCH 197 
 
 him with hisses and gallery wit, and so continued until 
 the lights were lowered. 
 
 The notices in the morning papers proved that the 
 Press there is no use disguising it failed utterly in 
 realizing what they had seen and heard. The best known 
 of our critics contented himself by writing that the very 
 greatness of the conception was an argument against its 
 execution. Having delivered himself of this epigram, he 
 wrote his article up to it, and, having mislaid the libretto 
 and forgotten what it was that pleased him in the music, 
 he generalized about the growing tendency to patriotism 
 on the stage, and wound up a really admirable essay 
 with an allusion to Drake and An Englishman's Home. 
 
 The gentleman who wrote for The Thunderer, having 
 left before the second act, dismissed the whole entertain- 
 ment as " obviously the work of a rich and ambitious 
 amateur who has much to learn but more to forget." 
 " Everything that is not reminiscent is forcibly feeble. 
 The beautiful unknown prima-donna was more like a 
 schoolgirl shouting defiance at her governess than 
 Boadicea rebuking the Romans." 
 
 Others fashioned their phrases merely to entertain ; 
 the following was characteristic of these efforts : 
 
 " The new and youthful aspirant to musical honours 
 breaks into the ring the close opera ring on gaily 
 caparisoned steed, his visor down, tilting with his lance 
 or baton. A very noble knight in sooth, and one to whom 
 we owe a certain amount of gratitude for having intro- 
 duced us to a new Queen of Beauty, without a voice, 
 however, or, we should say, any experience of the stage. 
 He throws down the gage to the recognized masters of 
 harmony, but that, too, is a mere detail. He has certainly 
 added to the gaiety of Nations. The shouts of laughter 
 or derision. ..." 
 
 A different note was struck in the columns of The 
 Daily Satirist: 
 
 " Until last night the name of Harston Migotti was 
 unknown. It will be interesting, although perhaps not 
 difficult, to find the motive actuating the anonymity of
 
 198 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 the gentleman who has taken a theatre, written a poem 
 (sic), composed music, mounted scenery, and called 
 his entertainment ' Grand Opera ! ' We were told 
 last night that the whole production was merely a 
 vehicle, a very cumbrous and ridiculous equipage, for 
 foisting upon the public a very beautiful young woman 
 who has every qualification for the stage except that she 
 can neither sing nor act. If this is the case, there is 
 something to be said in favour of a new form of philan- 
 thropy. It is more original than endowing public libra- 
 ries, for a greater number of people have been given 
 employment. ..." 
 
 The remainder of the article consisted of a well-written 
 essay on amateurism in art. 
 
 The above are fair specimens from the great dailies. 
 No one took the opera seriously, except a newcomer to 
 journalism on the staff of the Evening Intelligence, who 
 wrote that it was the noblest music that had been heard 
 in England for many a long year, and for that reason 
 would probably have to wait half a century for recogni- 
 tion. He went on to say that he understood Mr. Migotti 
 claimed to be an Englishman, and aimed at producing 
 an English National Music. But he must " find a better* 
 exponent than the beautiful young girl who made such a 
 deplorable attempt last night in the part of Boadicea." 
 
 Nearly all the papers spoke of the beauty of the young 
 and unknown prima-donna. Manuella found herself 
 insulted by these notices, bedewed them with angry and 
 indignant tears. 
 
 She had not wanted to sing, or to act, knowing herself 
 incapable of either. They had made her do it, and 
 she had wrecked everything. She was not sorry, she 
 was angry, furious. But she was also wretched. She 
 was not, and never would be in any sense of the word, a 
 " public woman," having the instincts neither of the 
 actress nor of the singer, aspiring neither to fame nor 
 notoriety. She had sung because there was no one else, 
 because Gerald urged it. She could see that Harston 
 resented her failure. He would scarcely look at her when
 
 CONCERT PITCH 199 
 
 they went home. And the next morning was worse. On 
 the second night there were not eighty people in the 
 house. The overture was applauded, and so were several 
 of the choruses. But Manuella was almost without a 
 voice, and let down every scene in which she appeared. 
 
 " If we can only hold on," Gerald said hopefully. That 
 seemed the entire question with him. But all that 
 Manuella cared about was that she should be released 
 from her hateful and intolerable task. She loved justice 
 passionately, and Harston was being unjust to her ; seem- 
 ing to confound her with his critics, to look upon 
 her as the principal factor in his great disappointment. 
 She tried to argue it with him, but he was beyond 
 argument. 
 
 They were not able to " hold on." At the end of 
 the week it became obvious to everyone that they must 
 close the theatre. All the hastily-engaged incapables 
 chorus-master, stage-manager, acting manager, Press 
 agents, and the rest of them, were clamorous to prove 
 that they were not responsible for the failure, and to 
 put the blame on some one else. To apportion the blame 
 seemed the only objective, and the prima-donna was the 
 natural scapegoat. 
 
 But it was only Harston's attitude and the injustice 
 of it that angered her. She had not wanted to sing. 
 
 But with all her anger, she could not withhold first 
 her sympathy for him, and then her admiration. His 
 whole life had centred on the opera; for two years it 
 had never been out of his mind, and he had worked in- 
 cessantly. Now it was damned by Press and public, and 
 he himself was flouted, contemptuously dismissed in a 
 paragraph, treated as of no account. It did not alter his 
 attitude nor shake his confidence. He was as certain of 
 himself to-day as he was yesterday. 
 
 " They will know some day," he said, and shrugged his 
 shoulders. " Notwithstanding what they say, it is the 
 great English opera." 
 
 The week after the theatre was compulsorily closed 
 he seemed to become calm calm all at once and that
 
 200 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 light in his eyes shone more brightly than ever. Already 
 he was at work again. Only Manuella he could not 
 forgive. At least, that is how it appeared to her. Once 
 when he came in and found her at the piano he put 
 his hands to his ears. 
 
 " Oh ! don't sing," he said, " for God's sake don't sing. 
 Cook ; it is far better. Make omelettes, then if you break 
 eggs no harm is done." 
 
 She was his wife, of course, but he could not get over 
 the way she had sung his music. He could not listen to 
 her any more ; she must never sing again ; he closed his 
 ears to her voice that had served him so ill. 
 
 She was so altered and disciplined that she did not even 
 cry out at the cruelty of it ; nor reproach him that he had 
 forced her to make the attempt. 
 
 It was comparatively easy to close the theatre, and 
 dismiss the company ; the six thousand pounds had been 
 lost. By various strokes of luck they even managed to 
 emerge solvent. The lessor took back the theatre; the 
 principal artists found engagements and cancelled their 
 contracts. There was real sympathy and goodwill shown 
 by the world behind the scenes. Every musician knew 
 what neither Press nor public had discovered. As for the 
 women and girls, to the last super, they proclaimed them- 
 selves in love with the composer. 
 
 After the theatre was closed, and all the business con- 
 nected with it at an end, the future had to be faced. 
 Gerald Streatfield had been useful, invaluable, sparing 
 Harston all possible detail. But he could not spare him 
 the knowledge that out of six thousand pounds there was 
 less than forty pounds left, and there was nothing coming 
 in to replace the everything that had gone out. 
 
 Harston took the news characteristically. The theatre 
 had been closed a month before the accounts were all in 
 and the completeness of the disaster was disclosed. It 
 seemed as if he had forgotten all the circumstances, or 
 excluded them from his mind. 
 
 " It was the singers, principally the singers," he said, 
 as if the financial aspect did not exist, and Gerald's
 
 CONCERT PITCH 201 
 
 announcement that he was ruined was of no account. 
 " I know now. I wrote my libretto in English, that is 
 the reason, and in English there was no artist to sing it. 
 In my new libretto I am now writing " 
 
 " You are really writing again have started another 
 libretto ? By Jove ! " 
 
 " But why not ? " He was quite calm. " Why not ? " 
 He shrugged his shoulders at their evident surprise, but 
 he obviously enjoyed it. " Did you think that was the 
 end? The Chariot Queen the end? Why, great God! 
 it is only the beginning ! " 
 
 To both Gerald Streatfield, filled with mundane things, 
 and to Manuella, hurt and angry with him, but not unfair, 
 it was wonderful that he ignored all that had happened, 
 and was at work again on a new opera. 
 
 " This time I shall write my libretto in Italian. Italian, 
 English, German, they are all my native tongues, but 
 my true inspiration is English. I am writing of Queen 
 Cartismandua, the great queen who gave her enemy to 
 Rome." 
 
 He refused to talk of what was going to happen now 
 no money was coming in ; all he would discuss was the 
 new opera. 
 
 " Manuella must manage," he said vaguely. " There 
 will be enough, there will surely be enough. I need so 
 little. Listen ! " His eyes were alight. Manuella came 
 in from the cookery to which he had relegated her, and 
 stood listening. 
 
 " At first, when my music was murdered and no one 
 could sing, I was very angry. I was angry with Manu- 
 ella ; poor Manuella, who cannot help it because she can 
 only cook. For days and days since the theatre was 
 closed I heard nothing. Then a riot of music began 
 again, and I saw, I saw all the mistakes that I had made. 
 Of course, the opera is great ; but this one will be greater, 
 and the libretto must be in Italian. ..." 
 
 He was no less confident. Boadicea was too rude a 
 figure, the story too concrete. It was of humanity he 
 had written, coarse and violent, even the woodland songs
 
 202 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 and twilight had been coloured by war and bloody battles, 
 by clash of arms. He had heard and written the birth 
 pangs of a mighty nation. This new work would be 
 vastly different ; he poured it all out, nothing else in- 
 terested him. There would be one act in England, the 
 land of uncleared forest, the land of promise those first 
 Romans saw before their own Neronian legionaries over- 
 ran it. Then they would see the heavy corn fleets ar- 
 riving from the granaries of the north, pastures almost 
 too deep and rich for cattle, and hills covered with innu- 
 merable flocks of sheep, their bodies weighed down with 
 wool; the harvest of amber from the generous sea; all 
 this they should see and hear. 
 
 Gerald listened open-mouthed. He had brought him 
 the tale of ruin, and his only answer was the new libretto. 
 
 "I am glad it is over; that Chariot Queen; I want to 
 get out of my ears the crash of arms, the noise of war 
 and lamentation. In this I have a dance of elves in 
 moonlight, a chorus of birds in sunshine, a skylark poised, 
 black against a grey sky. Oh! but I have beautiful 
 things. Listen ! " He took his place at the piano. 
 
 Manuella rested her tray quietly on the table. Neither 
 she nor Gerald moved whilst he played his first inspira- 
 tion of the " Dances of the Elves," that delicate mysteri- 
 ous aria now known as " The Grass Ring." When he 
 swung round on the piano stool he was as he had been 
 three months ago. Failure had neither daunted nor 
 changed him. 
 
 " So ! it is good eh ? " 
 
 The music was more than good, and Gerald went into 
 ecstasies. Manuella, too, joined in the praise, but she 
 could see that her words were of less importance. 
 
 Now he told them how the story would unfold, of 
 Cartismandua and the rebellious Venusias, of the idyll 
 with her armour-bearer not unlike that of Lancelot and 
 Guinevere, but more radiant and impelling. He talked 
 far into the morning ; he even played again. 
 
 He gave no thought to the state of their affairs. Three 
 o'clock struck before they went to bed. Gerald had said
 
 CONCERT PITCH 203 
 
 at least thirty times that he was the greatest musical 
 genius of the century, and he had agreed. They went 
 to bed at three, with never a word of finance or failure. 
 
 So acutely he heard, but never the pulsing note in the 
 heart of the girl who presently lay at his side. He was 
 a genius; but she needed a husband a human husband 
 to whom she could speak of the trouble that was coming 
 to her. She cried by his side and he heard nothing. It 
 was from loneliness she cried, as widows cry in the night. 
 To someone she must tell her trouble, and there was no 
 one. She had had the strength to keep her secret until 
 after The Chariot Queen was produced. Then, then she 
 thought she would tell him. Now The Chariot Queen 
 was finished, but everything was to happen again with 
 Cartismandua. She could not tell him; he would not 
 listen. . . . She cried in her loneliness whilst he slept 
 by her side, dreaming of romance and chivalry.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 EVERYTHING was the same, and yet everything 
 had changed. Manuella was enciente with her 
 first child an elemental difference. And Harston was 
 no longer in love with her, although perhaps unaware 
 of it. She could not help him in his work. He said 
 quite frankly that he could not bear to hear her sing. 
 Also they had now no income upon which to draw. Little 
 as she cared for money, hardly less than he, she knew 
 it was necessary now, and presently would be more 
 necessary. 
 
 Gerald tried to keep up her courage, but to him, as to 
 everyone who came to the house, Harston was the leading 
 figure ; what he would do next was the great topic. There 
 was no secret about Cartismandua. Gerald said : 
 
 " The Chariot Queen was great, but this will be greater 
 still. He is writing now, not composing; but the things 
 he has played me ! My heavens ! they are incomparable ; 
 this time it is a masterpiece ! Nothing else matters. 
 You feel that, too, don't you? Of course, the fault 
 was not yours The Chariot Queen was ruined. But you 
 will admit that, in the room, here, you sang differently? " 
 
 By now Gerald, too, seemed to think she was respon- 
 sible for the failure of the opera. 
 
 " You won't let anything interfere with the work, will 
 you? Not pride, nor anything like that. He must be 
 undisturbed. When I told him all the money was lost 
 
 204
 
 CONCERT PITCH 205 
 
 he only said it was of no consequence. He is wonderful, 
 really wonderful. I can manage something, you know; 
 you and he are welcome to anything I have. It isn't 
 much, but it may help." 
 
 " Nothing is of consequence but that he should be 
 undisturbed," she repeated bitterly, and he took her words 
 literally. 
 
 " Of course, that is the thing the only thing." 
 Gerald saw only Harston. She was not to stand with 
 her mere material needs between the poet and his inspira- 
 tion, the musician and his moods. She was to minister to 
 his physical needs, and be proud of her privilege. She 
 had not yet told her husband how it was with her. Ab- 
 sorbed as he was in the beautiful idyll of Cartismandua 
 and her armour-bearer, no one could expect him to be 
 interested in his wife's health. What was to be done 
 when the money in the bank was exhausted Manuella did 
 not know. She could take money from Gerald Streatfield 
 for Harston's needs, but not for her own ; her cheeks 
 flushed at the thought. Yet there were many things she 
 must have . . . baby clothes, for instance. Now, for 
 the first time, her dependence weighed upon her. All day 
 long Harston wrote or played. With her heart full, with 
 a sense of disaster impending and complete, she went 
 about her household work, holding and hiding her secret. 
 She had tried to make up, in the sacrifices of her married 
 life, for all the errors of her impetuous girlhood. But 
 now, for the moment, she was again in rebellion. She did 
 not know what she could do ; she had no woman friend to 
 whom to turn ; she had only these two men, to whom, as 
 she told herself often, she was now only an encumbrance. 
 The prospect of a child in these rooms, a crying child, 
 seemed impossible. She was herself hardly allowed to 
 move when he worked, the slightest sound disturbed him. 
 And then she would be ill. . . . Over and over again 
 the question turned in her mind: what should she do? 
 She was so utterly inexperienced, so pitiably young. But 
 she was strong. She hung on to the thought of her 
 strength. " I am going to get through somehow. I ran
 
 206 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 away with him without loving him, only because I was 
 out of temper. It is I, not he, must suffer." 
 
 Every week it became more difficult to tell him, because 
 each day the new opera became more engrossing. He 
 lived in a world of his own ; often those vivid eyes of his 
 looked past her, as if he never saw her at all. That she 
 was here, toiling, and about to bear a child, would be for 
 him a fact infinitely small and unimportant compared 
 with his visions. 
 
 In the end, but not before her pregnancy was far 
 advanced, she told Gerald Streatfield. " He will put it in 
 Harston's biography," she told herself bitterly, " but he 
 may be able to advise me what to do." 
 
 " You know I am going to have a baby." There was 
 no use trying to find another way of saying it. 
 
 " I was afraid it was so. What does he say about it ? " 
 
 " I haven't told him." 
 
 " No ! Of course ! We must keep it from him as long 
 as possible. He ought not to hear, you know, he really 
 ought to hear nothing, until his libretto, at least, is fin- 
 ished. Can it be managed? That is the question. He 
 tells me he does not write as easily in Italian as in 
 English or German. He works hard, night and day ; 
 what a man he is! But, I say, what are you going to 
 do? I suppose you'll have to go away. He told me 
 that at the rate he is going he ought to finish by Christ- 
 mas. Wagner wrote The Flying Dutchman in seven 
 weeks. It would be an awful pity for anything to inter- 
 rupt him." 
 
 " I shan't interrupt him," she said sullenly. 
 
 " No ! I know, you are simply ripping to him." 
 
 Nevertheless, although he thought her of so little ac- 
 count, Gerald's practical mind was very useful. He 
 found a nursing home for her, and even got over the 
 money difficulties. 
 
 " Haven't you got any jewellery, anything you can 
 pawn ? " 
 
 Such a solution had never occurred to Manuella, but, 
 once Gerald suggested it, everything became easy. She
 
 CONCERT PITCH 207 
 
 had a small string of pearls given to her by her father 
 when she was still at school. She had not brought away 
 the wedding present of jewellery, or any of the things 
 Lord Lyssons had given her, but she wore always this 
 little string of pearls. Gerald was able to borrow nearly 
 two hundred pounds on them, which seemed an inexhaus- 
 tible fortune. She was very inexperienced and grateful. 
 Later, they agreed that Gerald should tell Harston of 
 what was going to happen. 
 
 " I can tell him casually. You'll see he'll take little 
 notice of it." 
 
 " What is that of which I shall not take any notice ? " 
 
 Harston came in whilst they were speaking, looking 
 from one to another, sure, of course, that they were dis- 
 cussing him, some flaw or beauty they had discovered in 
 what he had played or read to them. 
 
 " Nothing of importance," Gerald answered cheerfully, 
 proud of his presence of mind, " nothing to interfere." 
 
 "Not the chorus?" 
 
 " No, no! certainly not the chorus. I am off; see you 
 later, perhaps." 
 
 But when Gerald had gone, thinking thus to avoid the 
 question, and put off the moment when it would be 
 necessary to tell him of the coming trouble, Harston 
 repeated the question and pressed it. 
 
 " If it is not the chorus, it must be the quintette. Tell 
 me," he insisted. 
 
 This was no case of whispering in his ear, nestling in 
 his arms, crying on his shoulder ; he was not that sort of 
 husband. 
 
 " It is nothing to do with the opera. It is only that 
 I am going to have a child," she blurted out. 
 
 " A child ! You are going to have a child ? " 
 
 He seemed quite stupefied and stared at her, as if it 
 were some action she had taken against him, something 
 in which he had had no part. 
 
 "But it is impossible!" And then, after a pause, 
 recollecting himself, and as if in apology: " But what a 
 trouble, what an inconvenience ! Here ! " he looked
 
 208 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 around. " And before the opera is finished ? " He was 
 quite dismayed. 
 
 " You won't see or hear anything ! " She was almost 
 fierce because she would not show she was hurt. " I have 
 arranged to go away. I was not going to tell you at all. 
 As Gerald says, it is not of any importance. You need 
 not be inconvenienced. He is getting a charwoman. You 
 won't miss me if I am away for a few weeks, unless 
 unless the omelettes are burnt." 
 
 She was ashamed of her quick tears. She had the 
 fears of her inexperience, and thought that perhaps she 
 would never come back. But he would not miss her, 
 unless the charwoman cooked less well than she. 
 
 He was not a monster, only a genius. He said he 
 should miss her all the time, and that it was dreadful for 
 her, worse than for him. He even tried to comfort her 
 by saying cheerfully that she would be back before 
 Cartismandua was finished. 
 
 " You must not worry about leaving me alone. In a 
 way I think it is good ; I work better if I am quite alone." 
 
 When he was so kind as to say this she cried more, but 
 in her own room, where he could not see her. The next 
 few days he hardly wrote at all, but bewailed the mis- 
 fortune, kissing her, and saying with some feeling that, 
 of course, she could not help it, it was not her fault. 
 But that for which she ached he never gave her an 
 understanding word. " Our baby." If he had only said 
 that, it would have been enough. But he wondered 
 instead what they should do with it, and if he ought not 
 to go away instead of her. 
 
 " I might go over to Darmstadt, to Germany, and work ; 
 but I have so many friends there. ..." 
 
 She told him hastily that all the arrangements were 
 now made. 
 
 " Well, it is true, you know, that I am better here. 
 These rooms are so quiet. ..." 
 
 Afterwards he said they had better leave off talking 
 about it, for the anxiety prevented him working. He 
 was naturally of a sympathetic nature, so he assured her,
 
 CONCERT PITCH 209 
 
 and he was uncomfortable in thinking that she must 
 leave them. 
 
 But things were little better when she was actually 
 gone. Fitzroy Square was close by, and he felt it his 
 duty to visit her, to visit her even daily, and this was a 
 great interruption. She could not persuade him to stay 
 away. He knew what was expected of a husband and 
 future father ; he had learnt that in Germany. 
 
 Every time he came to see her he said it was a pity it 
 had happened before Cartismandua was finished, and 
 wondered what they would do with a child in those two 
 rooms. 
 
 Her courage needed bracing in that week of waiting. 
 She had perhaps come into the Home too early, or per- 
 haps she had waited too long for attentive nursing. She 
 felt ill and worse than lonely. Hour after hour she sat by 
 herself in the room in that inexpensive maternity home ; 
 alone with the bare walls, uncurtained windows, un- 
 carpeted floors, and the fear of what was before her! 
 There was no joy in the prospect. It must not trouble 
 Harston ; Harston must never hear an infant's cry. 
 Sometimes she hoped it would not live, and these were 
 her worst times. The nurse told her it was bad for her to 
 cry, and she never cried except when she was alone. She 
 wished Harston did not think it his duty to come every 
 day. His visits gave her no pleasure. Whilst he was 
 playing the affectionate husband she saw, behind the thin 
 mask of his solicitude, the artist divorced from his art, 
 in all the real torment of arrested travail. He was quite 
 unable to conceal from her that she had become a burden 
 to him. Long afterwards Gerald told her confidentially : 
 
 " He said there was no room for a minor third in the 
 harmony of your lives." 
 
 But the harmony had never been music. Her studies 
 were as if from a beginner's exercise-book. 
 
 When the waiting time was over, the long lonely hours, 
 the nights of wakefulness and tears had the natural effect. 
 She was very ill, so ill that for a day and a night her 
 life hung on a thread. When Harston came and she
 
 210 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 fought long against his being sent for he was to hear 
 that a son had been born to him. In the nursing home 
 no one showed tact in dealing with him. They treated 
 him as- if he were an ordinary man, and he fell to 
 pieces under the test. It was a week before he came 
 again. And after that, Manuella, her mind clear, al- 
 though her body was so weak, begged him to stay away. 
 He brought her nothing but the knowledge that he suf- 
 fered in coming ; that she and the child were no essential 
 part of his life. He talked of nothing but the opera. 
 
 She could not wait for her convalescence, the wailing 
 baby jarred her overwrought nerves. As yet, at least, 
 it brought no message to her. Long before her strength 
 returned she was worrying about ways and means, think- 
 ing how she should manage. In four weeks she was 
 walking about the room. In five she surprised Gerald 
 by her unexpected return to Bedford Square. 
 
 " But how good it is to see you here ! " 
 
 Gerald's welcome, at least, was spontaneous and hearty, 
 as he met her on the staircase. 
 
 " He is out ; I suppose he didn't know you were com- 
 ing. He is awfully restless and distrait off his food, 
 too. It is a good thing you are back ; it doesn't seem to 
 be going well with the work ; I think he has put it aside 
 for the moment. There have been one or two inquiries 
 about The Chariot Queen. He talks of rescoring part 
 of it. I'm glad you are back." 
 
 " I suppose he hasn't thought of any way of making 
 money ? " 
 
 " You can't harness Pegasus. ..." 
 
 Upstairs she found disheartening things that more 
 experienced housekeepers might have expected dirty 
 pots and pans, broken crockery, burnt saucepans, the 
 handiwork of the charwoman Gerald had engaged from 
 the theatre. 
 
 " But what I do say, ma'am, is the music your husband 
 makes of an evening is that lovely I hain't got the 'eart 
 to clean up. I just sets and listens to it, me apron over 
 me 'ead. , ."
 
 CONCERT PITCH 211 
 
 She was specious, dishonest, drunken. When Manuella 
 had got rid of her volubility and excuses, depressed in the 
 undusted sitting-room, it seemed that this life she had 
 prepared for herself was unbearable, too hard for her, 
 not worth living. 
 
 " She has let everything go to ruin " there was even 
 passion- in her plaint over her household gods. Gerald, 
 when he came up in the evening, had difficulty in con- 
 soling her. Secretly he thought she was a little hard on 
 Mrs. Mortimer. 
 
 " But you'll soon have everything to rights again, 
 don't get the hump. Even if he doesn't say anything, 
 he'll be glad you are back." 
 
 Harston was glad, and even said so. Yet all that 
 evening she did not seem able to shake off her depression. 
 It was, of course, impossible to have a wailing infant here 
 with them ; she had no feeling for it, and could think 
 of it quite detachedly. The matron of the home had 
 found a kind woman to mother it. It was so small; no 
 one could be unkind to it. 
 
 Gerald asked her why she was depressed. Harston 
 played to her nearly all the evening. The baby had no 
 place, not even in her heart. So she thought, and that 
 all her duty was to the man to whom she had run reck- 
 lessly, because her stepmother angered her. 
 
 The next day and the next were occupied in restoring 
 order to her little domain; there was no time for 
 fretting. 
 
 It cost money to replace necessities. She found herself 
 thinking constantly of money. " I am growing like fa- 
 ther," she said to Gerald. 
 
 " Oh, no ; don't say that ! " 
 
 " But what are we to do ? There is nothing coming 
 in, and you say I mustn't speak about it to him. What 
 about the rent ? " 
 
 " I've got enough for that." 
 
 " We can't live on you. I am not going to live on 
 you." 
 
 " He is getting on ever so much better now ; your
 
 212 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 affair put him back months, positively months. We don't 
 know what we have lost. It would be simply awful to 
 pull him up again over a few pounds. You know in a 
 way he is altered, there is an exquisite humility. He 
 doesn't say now : ' I am Migotti, I have achieved.' He 
 says : ' I am Migotti, I will achieve.' One day, when you 
 have time, I wish you would look through my notebook ; 
 you will be surprised." 
 
 " He could make all we want by playing accompani- 
 ments." 
 
 " You know you don't mean it." 
 
 " I mean we can't live on nothing." 
 
 " I never thought of you as mercenary." 
 
 " Well, you can now if you like." She was paying the 
 woman eighteen shillings a week to care for her baby. 
 The seven weeks in the nursing home had cost a fortune. 
 
 The sense of emptiness, unfulfilment, depression per- 
 sisted. But Harston was working well; inspiration was 
 flowing back to him. He said once : 
 
 " You bring me good fortune. Since you are back all 
 goes better." 
 
 Since he worked better because she was here, she was 
 at least keeping her marriage vows those vows made 
 after she had had Lord Lyssons' letter. How could it 
 be possible she missed that wailing baby? Neither the 
 baby nor the want of money must be allowed to impede 
 Harston. Gerald said she had to keep the gyves from 
 his spirits, free him, take all burdens on herself, and let 
 him soar. 
 
 He was not yet soaring, but uplifted, making flights, 
 short, spasmodic, that carried him a little way, and 
 were preliminary to his disappearance in the empyrean. 
 The libretto and the music were progressing together, 
 but not quickly. He had to be alone now ; he could 
 not even bear her in the room with him. He may have 
 felt he lacked something as a companion, as a husband. 
 He made a sort of apology. Gerald wrote down the 
 exact words ; it was fortunate he was in the room. 
 
 " When I am alone the musical fibres within me vibrate,
 
 CONCERT PITCH 213 
 
 heterogeneous sounds form themselves into chords, and 
 it is then I hear the melody which reveals my inner self 
 to me. My heart in loud beats marks the impetuous 
 rhythms ; I become excited, overwhelmed. Afterwards, 
 before it is gone, I must write, play ; sometimes tears 
 gush out of my eyes as I write or play. ..." 
 
 They could not talk of money to him after that. 
 Manuella agreed with Gerald that it would be impossible. 
 
 Harston really lacked nothing. Manuella, women do 
 these things often, went without new clothes, ate spar- 
 ingly, eked out what little was left. Gerald paid the rent, 
 and was grateful for the opportunity. He, too, was living 
 for posterity, keeping his note-book faithfully. 
 
 "His time of privation. How I was privileged to pay 
 the rent of two rooms in Bedford Square whilst the im- 
 mortal work was in progress." 
 
 There came a day when she drew the last ten pounds 
 out of the bank. What was going to happen when that 
 was gone she did not know. This was the day the woman 
 who had charge of the baby brought it to the flat. She 
 was a married woman, with a husband out of work, and 
 he had had an offer from an emigration agency. That 
 was why she brought the child back to its mother. He 
 was now nearly four months old. 
 
 " He's a good baby, ma'am. I will say that for him, 
 although he was puny enough when I took him from you. 
 Such eyes he's got on him too; you wait till he opens 
 them. I'd keep him myself now, ma'am, if I was you, 
 if you'll excuse me saying so. It don't seem natural for 
 you to be giving him up. You never can tell with these 
 women that take children to nurse. I shouldn't like to 
 think of him neglected nor ill-treated. Feel his weight, 
 ma'am; he's doubled since I had him." 
 
 She gave the child to Manuella. 
 
 He seemed satisfied to go to her, and smiled into 
 her face smiled and gurgled. Quite a pang seized her, 
 a pang of tenderness ; this was the birth of mother-love. 
 She stooped over him and kissed him, his little cheeks 
 were soft.
 
 2i 4 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " How small he is ! Can't he do anything for himself ? " 
 
 The surprise of her tenderness made her speech in- 
 coherent. " He's like my brother Bertie used to be. 
 Aren't his arms fat?" She kissed them too, every 
 moment she held the child it became more certain that 
 it belonged in her arms. She held it closer, her heart 
 throbbing as the warmth of the little body stole through 
 her. Again she put her face down . . . miracle of mira- 
 cles, he had fallen asleep in her arms! 
 
 " You'll keep him yourself, ma'am ? " 
 
 " Shall I know what to do for him ? " The hesitation 
 was artificial. She knew she would not relinquish him 
 again. 
 
 " The Lord sends the knowledge when he sends the 
 baby. You'll do well enough. You'd have done all 
 right from the first if they'd have let you. I never believe 
 these stories doctors and nurses tell you about not being 
 able to nurse a child yourself. If you'd have kept him at 
 the breast he'd have sucked and sucked and brought the 
 milk along, bless him ! That stuff they give him in the 
 Home only chilled his blessed little stomach. I put him 
 on warm barley-water till I freed him of it. Now he gets 
 his milk with the barley-water no foods, no artificial 
 messes. An' you likes your bottle, don't you, my 
 beauty ! " 
 
 Manuella had learnt none of this talk, but the words 
 were like a native tongue to her. And all the time the 
 baby slept in her arms. She was told what it was went 
 into his bottle; how wonderful to think she would cook 
 for him ! The woman showed her how to make the food, 
 and stayed a long time talking. When the baby awoke 
 and cried, Manuella put the teat to its mouth, whispered 
 to herself that she was his " mother," his " mammy," and 
 was awed. The baby sucked greedily and fell asleep, 
 sucked spasmodically in its sleep, and slept again. His 
 eyes seemed to look at her, and then they half closed. 
 The warmth in her arms was sweet to her, a splendid 
 present that had been brought her unexpectedly. All the 
 time she was being told how to care for it.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 215 
 
 " You give a few drops of dill-water if he cries as if 
 he's got a pain." 
 
 "Dill-water?" 
 
 " Or peppermint. And don't you feed him too often ; 
 it's regular as does it." 
 
 " How often ? " 
 
 " Every three hours." 
 
 "Always the same thing?" 
 
 " More milk and less barley-water as he gets on. He 
 won't give you no trouble. I've never nursed a better 
 baby, once I got him right. You're a born mother; 
 anyone can see that by the way you hold him. Lovey, 
 dovey ! Look at 'im now ! The beauty ! Keep him 
 snuggling up; that's what they want most, lovin' of 
 them. You'll find out all about him, he'll almost tell you 
 himself." 
 
 Manuella paid her off presently, gave her a present she 
 could ill afford, and thanked her for all she had done. 
 Harston might come in at any moment ; Gerald, too. She 
 had to get supper ready. She was reluctant to put the 
 child down, but eventually she laid it on the bed. She 
 felt the warmth of its body through all her own body 
 whilst she grilled the steak and fried the potatoes. More 
 than once she went from the stove to the bedroom, light- 
 footed, to see what lay there. It still slept, and once 
 smiled as if in a happy dream. Then she kissed it again. 
 She knew she would be able to care for him. She had 
 learnt more difficult things since she had run away with 
 Harston Migotti. 
 
 When Gerald came upstairs, and Harston came in, she 
 gave them their supper. Harston was in good spirits, 
 full of a wonderful lyric. After supper he meant to add 
 a final polish ; he would not read it to them ; perhaps he 
 would play the music. 
 
 " This story is coming to me quite differently from 
 The Chariot Queen. The melodies and harmonies are 
 born with the words ; they seem to come together, al- 
 though the words are sometimes faint. But you shall 
 hear."
 
 2i6 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 All the evening he played, and she went backwards 
 and forwards to the bedroom, extraordinarily happy. 
 There was no change in their circumstances; only a 
 ten-pound note was between themselves and want, but 
 anxiety and trouble seemed to have been lifted from 
 her. 
 
 Harston played himself into such good humour, Gerald 
 was so extravagantly laudatory, that she took her cour- 
 age in both hands and told them what had happened. 
 
 " Come now and see him. He hasn't disturbed you, 
 has he ? I'm sure he never will. ..." 
 
 " But this isn't what they showed me ! " Harston ex- 
 claimed at the sight of the plump and sleeping child. 
 
 They all laughed, even Harston himself. 
 
 " Of course, he has grown. I see. So this is my 
 son!" 
 
 He watched it sleeping; Gerald read his mind more 
 easily than Manuella, even now. 
 
 " You might write a berceuse for him," he suggested. 
 
 " Ought his finger to be in his mouth ? " Harston 
 asked. 
 
 And none of them knew if it were right or wrong ; the 
 community of their ignorance drew them together. Hars- 
 ton spoke of the Master and Siegfried. 
 
 " I have never thought about children babies. It is 
 wonderful that I should have a son, and that this should 
 be he. What a quantity of hair he has, but so dark ; 
 he is not nearly as English as I." She had not imagined 
 he would have been so much interested. " Are they 
 musician's fingers ? " He put his own, tentatively, on the 
 little fist. And, behold, it opened, closing on the tentative 
 fingers. The conquest was complete. There was no 
 question about its staying with them. 
 
 When Harston went back to the piano, Manuella and 
 Gerald stayed and talked in whispers. 
 
 " But if it cries when he is composing?" 
 
 " He won't cry if he is properly looked after," she said 
 confidently. 
 
 " Trust you for that," Gerald answered.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 217 
 
 If the worst came to the worst there was his own bed- 
 room downstairs. 
 
 " You'll have to take it there. He might turn into 
 a Siegfried Wagner, and spread his fame. I shouldn't 
 be surprised. Anyway, it will be interesting to recall 
 what he said, and how surprised he was that it had 
 grown. It was less than an hour old when he first saw it. 
 Good-night. Don't forget you can use my room ! Listen ! 
 He has started the berceuse already. What a man ! " 
 
 Their voices woke the child ; it stirred in its sleep, and 
 started to cry. She gathered it up in her arms quickly. 
 More clearly than the cradle song Harston was essaying 
 in the next room she heard the beat of the little heart 
 against her own.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 TEN pounds between themselves and penury ten 
 pounds! The first week after the baby came six 
 pounds went. She would learn how to make clothes 
 for him, but at present she had to buy them. He must 
 be put into short clothes. She was so happy with her 
 new responsibility that she could not stop to think of 
 money. It was true she was a born mother, just as she 
 was a born housewife. It was as if she had come through 
 a great spiritual crisis. Now she knelt before her 
 motherhood as a Christian convert at his first commun- 
 ion. And the baby throve, sucked its thumb, gurgled, 
 smiled, and slept. She told Gerald it had an instinct 
 about its father. If it had to cry, and the best of babies 
 must cry sometimes, it cried when Harston was out, or 
 sleeping so soundly that nothing woke him. She could 
 slip out of bed, take the infant into the next room, hush its 
 crying, all without Harston hearing. The first week flew 
 like lightning ; every minute was occupied. Harston went 
 from his piano to his desk, from desk to piano, and his 
 inspiration never flagged. An agent in Berlin wrote to 
 ask about the rights in The Chariot Queen, and Gerald 
 was already inquiring about a translator for the libretto. 
 He said that the Germans were really music-lovers; 
 Harston would come into his own in Germany, the Berlin 
 Opera House was the very place. . . . 
 
 218
 
 CONCERT PITCH 219 
 
 " For the great English National Opera ? " Manuella 
 asked. But she was really too happy that first week to 
 be satirical. 
 
 A ring and two brooches remained to pawn. School- 
 girl trinkets both. It was fortunate that Sir Hubert 
 Wagner's presents to his daughter had been of good 
 quality. With another seventeen pounds in hand the 
 immediate future could be faced. 
 
 She saved and spared, chiefly on her own food ; work- 
 ing early and late. It was woman's work, not reckoned 
 by any schedule, nor controlled by any union, without 
 Thursday half-holidays, short days on Saturdays and 
 Sundays off. Just woman's work, seven days in every 
 week, fourteen hours a day, with an hour or two extra 
 taken from the night, when she walked the floor with 
 the baby, so that Harston should be undisturbed. 
 
 Harston was completely absorbed and content. He 
 had found out something new about himself. Whenever 
 he was not at his desk or at the piano he talked of his 
 discovery. He needed sympathy, an audience, and, al- 
 though since she had sung The Chariot Queen music so 
 badly that he was no longer in love with her, he told her 
 about it; because she was there. 
 
 " It is not what Wagner has done for operatic music 
 in Germany that I must do for England; rather what 
 Palestrina did for Church music in Italy. ..." 
 
 He would dilate upon this theme for hours, upon pure 
 melody and simplicity in harmonies, and more technical 
 matters, whilst Manuella wondered if the milk had come 
 to the boil, and whether she would have time to peel 
 the potatoes. 
 
 Whenever he stopped to say : " You agree with me, 
 of course ? " she brought herself back from the potatoes 
 or milk and answered : " I am sure you are quite 
 right." 
 
 While he went on talking she sometimes fell to won- 
 dering how long that seventeen pounds would last. Baby 
 ought to have a cot, a perambulator. 
 
 " If I am a poet, and there is no doubt that I am also
 
 220 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 a musician, that is surely enough. I was wrong in 
 elaborating the scenery. They would surely have heard 
 more clearly, understood my meaning better, if there 
 had been nothing for the eye. It is the ear, the ear and 
 the intelligence, to which I make my appeal. ..." 
 
 She herself ate little, she could easily go without meat 
 altogether. Two pounds a week was ample for the house- 
 keeping, even if baby had his meat-juice. A perambula- 
 tor would cost three pounds, a cot thirty shillings. Four 
 pounds ten shillings from seventeen pounds. . . . 
 
 " In Shakespeare's country I will write my opera for 
 production as Shakespeare wrote his plays. A bare stage, 
 a painted drop scene, no accessories. He had only his 
 words. I have my words, too, and my music shall be 
 my scenery, my accessories. ..." 
 
 Gerald could argue with him, did argue with him, in 
 the evenings, talking of Reinhardt and modern condi- 
 tions. Manuella never argued, it was so much simpler 
 to agree and go on thinking how long she could eke out 
 her money. 
 
 Before Gerald's arguments had prevailed and he al- 
 ways had the idea that Harston was not quite serious in 
 his intention of producing grand opera without scenery 
 the rent was due again. Gerald's resources were not in- 
 exhaustible; his salary was at their command, but it 
 was not a princely one. Those two old maids down- 
 stairs could not be left without the pittance upon which 
 they lived. What was to be done ? 
 
 Manuella's beauty now was the beauty of emaciation; 
 the perfection of line was there, with the noble young 
 head, fine brow, Greek nose, mouth a perfect bow, but 
 thin and without colour. There was no colour in her 
 face at all. Against the black coil of her hair it was like 
 fine ivory ; the curled lashes lay over eyes that no longer 
 sparkled ; they had a new depth, a new tenderness, but 
 they were rarely uplifted, they dwelt on humble things, 
 on things beneath them, on the baby on her knee, the 
 saucepan in which she stirred his food. She was so thin 
 that her clothes hung upon her. But she was only saving
 
 CONCERT PITCH 221 
 
 money, not making it, for all her privation. What was 
 to be done? 
 
 " I suppose you wouldn't apply to your people ? " 
 Gerald ventured. 
 
 "How can I?" 
 
 For herself it would be impossible. She would rather 
 starve ; she had already begun to think it was not so 
 difficult to starve as people said, if you used yourself to 
 it gradually. But there was baby, he ought to have a 
 pelisse, a hat or bonnet. 
 
 " You have not heard anything more from Berlin ? " 
 
 " I am getting the libretto translated." 
 
 " That will have to be paid for ? " 
 
 " I can get it done very inexpensively ; there is a man 
 who works for our firm. ..." 
 
 " Which means, I suppose, that you will pay for that, 
 too. You would think it too dreadful to talk to Harston, 
 to see if he would propose something? The season is 
 coming on, he could play. ..." 
 
 On that point Gerald was emphatic. 
 
 " Even if he would, he ought not to. You don't under- 
 stand. No, don't be angry ; I mean it is difficult for you 
 to realize that, although The Chariot Queen was a fail- 
 ure, it has given him a certain position; his name is 
 known. People, the right people, talk about him, ask 
 what he is doing. The composer and librettist of The 
 Chariot Queen cannot ask for an engagement as an ac- 
 companist ! There are some things that can't be done. 
 He could sell the score of The Chariot Queen, my own 
 people would buy it, but only outright. He ought not 
 to part with it like that; it isn't fair to him, or, in a 
 way, to you, or to the boy. There is bound to come a time 
 when everything he has written will be of value." 
 
 Manuella said desperately : 
 
 " But until then. ..." 
 
 " Madame Liebius will be back in less than three 
 weeks." 
 
 " And we are to sponge on her? " 
 
 " Your father has given nearly half a million to estab-
 
 222 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 lish the Church in South Africa. It was in The Daily 
 Telegraph yesterday. You know they are out there ? " 
 
 " No, I don't. I am not interested in them. Besides, 
 I don't read the papers, I haven't time. Is Bertie with 
 them ? " 
 
 " Your brother ? I don't know. No ! I think not. 
 I've heard something about him lately, what was it? 
 Oh ! of course. ..." He stopped short, glanced at her, 
 reddened. 
 
 " You may as well tell me. Is he in London ? What 
 is he doing ? " 
 
 " There is nothing very much to tell. It was while 
 we were engaging the chorus at the Palestrina, arrang- 
 ing the ballet, that I heard of a girl he was, well, sort 
 of engaged to. ... " 
 
 Manuella, although she had been married for eighteen 
 months and carried a baby in her arms, knew so little of 
 the world that he could not put it differently Perhaps 
 he thought her more ignorant than she was, but, in any 
 case, it was impossible for him to say that he understood 
 her brother was keeping Coralie Standing. She pressed 
 him, but he had little to add. She said slowly, presently : 
 
 " I might write to Bertie." 
 
 And, as she said it slowly, a flush of home-sickness 
 came upon her for Bertie! How fond she had been of 
 him! Bertie and she had been so much to each other. 
 Their young days together came back to her ; she put her 
 face down to the baby's, he was seldom out of her arms ; 
 there were tears on her lashes, her voice was unsteady : 
 
 " I might write to Albert. I suppose he is at Stone 
 House ? " 
 
 "Do! I'll find out if he's living at home. Anyway, 
 they are sure to know his address there." 
 
 She had had so much to think of that she had almost 
 forgotten Albert; he would not let her starve. He may 
 have disapproved of her marriage, taken sides with her 
 parents; her letter to him addressed to Gairoch had 
 come back unopened, but this, of course, was Lady 
 Wagner's doing. But if he knew she was hungry. . . .
 
 CONCERT PITCH 223 
 
 She dashed off a letter quickly. Gerald undertook it 
 should be delivered. 
 
 " DEAR BERTIE, 
 
 " I wonder whether you would come and see 
 me, or if you have been forbidden. I long so to see you ; 
 I've something to show you, something very like you. 
 We were awfully fond of each other, weren't we? I'm 
 in a sort of trouble, nothing to do with my marriage, 
 and I haven't got anyone else to turn to. But don't 
 come if you don't want. Tear this up if you like." 
 
 She found herself crying over the paper, thinking he 
 might tear it up and not wish to see her. But she 
 wouldn't be proud with him, not too proud. She added 
 quickly : 
 
 " I do hope you'll write or come. 
 
 " Your ever-loving only sister, 
 
 " MANUELLA."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THERE was good in Albert Wagner, a thin vein of 
 gold in the coarse quartz ; too unprofitable to work, 
 but still gold. He could not have received his sister's 
 letter before midday; at four o'clock he was with 
 her. 
 
 " Why on earth didn't you write to me before ? I've 
 often wondered where you were. I don't believe I've 
 ever been up so many stairs in my life. Why don't the 
 people put in a lift, or did I miss it? How de do!" 
 The last was to Harston, who was unfortunately at home. 
 
 Albert Wagner was a strange figure in this wainscoted, 
 music-strewn room. 
 
 "Your brother?" Harston asked in surprise, getting 
 up from the piano. He had heard nothing of the letter, 
 but spoke cordially, for he was glad Manuella should be 
 reconciled to her family. Nevertheless he quickly made 
 his escape, saying: 
 
 " You will like to talk to each other after this long 
 time." He made his escape, but not before Albert had 
 seen that he had long hair, wore a shabby velveteen coat, 
 no collar, and was unshaven. 
 
 " God ! what a bounder for her to have married ! " 
 was the note of Albert's expressive countenance. The 
 tone-poet was too sensitive to disregard the criticism of 
 his cordial insincerity, even if too abstracted to care. 
 
 Albert was habited in the finest of superfine garments. 
 
 224
 
 CONCERT PITCH 225 
 
 His well-cut, carefully pressed trousers were turned up 
 over his patent leather boots and light spats. He had 
 the latest thing in waistcoats, a black morning coat cut to 
 accentuate his waist, a grey necktie with a pearl pin, a 
 black pearl, almost priceless. The shining hat he guarded 
 in his hand had a narrow mourning band, not that 
 anyone was dead, but mourning bands were the dernier 
 cri in " Modes for Men " ; presently he placed it reluct- 
 antly on the piano. But when his hat was off, Manuella 
 could see his hair shone too. Brush and brilliantine had 
 been employed to make it lie fashionably flat above his 
 narrow forehead. His eyes looked weak, and the skin 
 about them was baggy. His face was blotched, and 
 above the weak chin the weak lips were pale and the 
 cheeks puffy. But no one could say he was not well 
 groomed. 
 
 When Harston left them alone together he said: 
 
 " I'm jolly glad to see you again, old girl." A fraternal 
 kiss almost broke her down, which surprised him. 
 
 " You aren't going to cry, are you ? " 
 
 " Don't be so absurd." But certainly she looked as if 
 she had been going to cry. He felt rather like it himself. 
 
 " All right ! Don't bite a fellow's head off. I say, 
 what's become of the rest of you. You're only rag and 
 bone." 
 
 " And a hank of hair ! Why don't you finish your 
 quotation ? " In quick question and answer they escaped 
 any exhibition of feeling. When they were both more 
 normal, Albert looked round the room : 
 
 "I say, isn't this jolly awful? Fancy the Governor 
 and Mater leaving you to this, after Stone House and 
 Gairoch. I call it thick a bit too thick. They aren't 
 over liberal to me, but this ..." 
 
 " I've been very happy here," Manuella interposed 
 quickly ; she did not like to hear her home disparaged. 
 She was half hysterical, extraordinarily moved at seeing 
 him. " I like these rooms. It isn't the rooms. ..." 
 He thought it " rum " ; he thought everything about 
 Jber rather rum ; her clothes and her bounder of a
 
 226 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 husband, and the room without pictures or ornaments. 
 He said " Poor old girl ! " and " It's rough luck," and 
 " She always was a pincher," and other similar phrases, 
 before they settled back into anything like their old 
 childish intimacy. 
 
 And then it was some time before she came to her 
 reason for sending for him. She was awkward about it, 
 for to ask Albert for help was a reversal of all their 
 relations. 
 
 " You said you had something to show me. ..." 
 
 After she fetched the baby things grew a little easier 
 between them. Baby was smiling and friendly, and Al- 
 bert saw the likeness she pointed out. 
 
 " He's a rippin' little chap. You are quite right ; 
 he is like me. I suppose that's why you're so fond of 
 him." For she was hiding her face in his soft hair, 
 speaking baby language to him. It was her own eyes she 
 wanted to hide from Albert, they were again wet. " You'll 
 help me with him," she wanted to say, but the words 
 would not come. 
 
 " I say, you don't mean you nurse and look after him 
 yourself. He's got a nurse, I suppose?" 
 
 " No." Her face was still hidden, her voice stifled. 
 " I like doing things for him myself." 
 
 " But when you go out. ..." 
 
 " I don't go out." 
 
 "Draw it mild." 
 
 " Well, not often." She faced him then, flushing. 
 There was no use hiding the truth or why she had sent 
 for him. 
 
 " We're awfully poor, you know." 
 
 She went on more quickly, and now it was he who 
 averted his face from that flushed one of hers, those wet 
 eyes. 
 
 " I can't afford a servant or ... or anything, until 
 the opera is finished. You say I'm thin ..." then she 
 hurried more, for it was dreadful to tell him she had not 
 enough to eat. Half a sob escaped her, changing into a 
 laugh. " Father has given away half a million, and if
 
 CONCERT PITCH 227 
 
 you don't help me, his grandson, in another four or five 
 days," she cuddled the baby to her, " won't have his 
 bottle filled. ..." Albert could not face her. 
 
 " It isn't true." 
 
 " It's truer than true." 
 
 " Not enough to eat ! I say ! " 
 
 His own voice was broken, he was confounded, he had 
 not known himself capable of so much emotion, he felt 
 like crying; it is possible he was crying; anyway, he did 
 not speak for a moment or two. 
 
 " You'll help us, won't you ? " 
 
 " Not enough to eat ! I can't believe it. Why didn't 
 you write before, or to the Governor? It's just like you 
 . . . you're such a fool. ..." 
 
 Albert began to bluster; he had to do something to 
 keep from crying, he was of course a weakling. 
 
 " It's your damned pride. ..." 
 
 " Well, I'd rather starve than ask her for anything. 
 She is enjoying all this newspaper gabble over that half 
 million father is giving to the Church in South Africa. 
 I did think of sending a picture to The Daily Mirror of 
 ' Strangers relieving Lady Wagner's stepdaughter.' " 
 
 It was sob and laughter, but Albert only heard the 
 laughter. 
 
 " Oh, shut up ; don't laugh ! I can't bear it. Mimi, 
 damn it ! " his eyes were quite red, " I've always been 
 fond of you, you might have written. ..." 
 
 He sank into a chair, and actually cried without dis- 
 guise ; positively she had to comfort him. She went over 
 to him, and roughened up his hair with her disengaged 
 hand in the old way. 
 
 " Don't cry, silly. I did write, I have written ; I 
 didn't starve. There's a lot of nourishment in porridge. 
 It isn't as bad as all that ; I can even give you a cup of 
 tea." 
 
 " You're such a damned fool. ..." that was by way of 
 endearment. He kissed her again roughly; his tears 
 were wet on her cheeks. She disengaged herself from 
 him, laughing, and crying, and protesting.
 
 228 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " You're crushing baby ; he'll start crying in a minute. 
 Don't, Bertie, don't. I can't stand it. ... " 
 
 It was not their way to be emotional with each other ; 
 Albert was soon ashamed of his tears. 
 
 " Of course something will have to be done. ..." 
 
 " It's only tiding us over the next few weeks or 
 months. It isn't as if there was any doubt about Hars- 
 ton's genius. The Chariot Queen will be produced in 
 Berlin; the new opera is finer than that." 
 
 " Do you mean that all you've got to look to is what 
 that fellow makes out of writing music ? " 
 
 " When baby is a little older I could give lessons or 
 demonstrations in cookery, or learn typing; there are 
 ever so many things I could do. It's only the next few 
 months. ..." She laughed again hysterically. " Half 
 a dozen solid meals, and the knowledge that baby 
 wouldn't have to go without his bottle, and I believe I 
 could make a living for us all. You don't know how 
 clever I am. I believe I can do anything but sing." 
 
 "Sing! Why the devil should you sing?" He had 
 not quite recovered himself; he took out his pocket- 
 book and emptied its contents on the table. " Of course 
 I shall see you through. How about this ? Count it, will 
 you ? They'll have to fork you out an allowance. ..." 
 
 Albert had nearly thirty pounds in his pocket-book, 
 quite a fortune. She would only take twenty of it. She 
 said it was all right now they were in touch with each 
 other again. 
 
 " Twenty pounds will last me two months. By then 
 something may have happened with the opera. ..." 
 
 They had tea together. He held the baby whilst she 
 made tea, and was quite clever in handling him, with the 
 assistance of various instructions she called out to him 
 from time to time as she got the cups and saucers. 
 
 It was whilst they were at tea she heard about all his 
 own debts and difficulties. His allowance of five thousand 
 a year he naturally exceeded ; he was overdrawn at his 
 bank, up to his ears in debt. His magnanimity in empty- 
 ing his pocket-book for her became obvious.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 229 
 
 " You don't know how they set about a fellow who's 
 supposed to have money." 
 
 She heard again of money-lenders, touts and racing 
 tipsters, of jewellers who pressed their wares. And 
 incoherently, elliptically, she was told of other expenses. 
 
 " A fellow can't live alone ; you know what I mean. 
 A fellow gets into a mess before he knows where he is. 
 You sent your letter to Coralie's flat." She did not stop 
 him to say that that was Gerald's doing. " I never 
 wanted the flat, I knew it was too expensive ; she took 
 it herself. And there are always dressmakers' bills and 
 things. . . . You can't keep expenses down if you are 
 the only son of a multi-millionaire. They say the Gover- 
 nor is going to get a peerage. I ought to have at least 
 another five thousand a year. ..." 
 
 She could read his life through his confidences. There 
 had been no good influence it in, no glimpse of higher 
 things than the gratification of his passions, appetites, 
 or vanity. His mother had wished him to make aris- 
 tocratic acquaintances, his father had been absorbed in 
 affairs. He had been a prey to unprincipled men and 
 women, all intent upon " getting a bit " from this scion 
 of the millionaire house. He was ashamed of the story 
 he had to tell as much ashamed of his own as he was 
 shocked at hers. He was not naturally a spendthrift, 
 nor even extravagant, and his tastes were domestic, al- 
 though he had no opportunity to indulge them in the 
 flat he shared with a greedy theatre girl. As he talked, 
 red-eyed and repentant, one could see that he was weak 
 rather than wicked. 
 
 " You know, in a way, this isn't so bad when you get 
 used to it the baby, and all that. It's better than 
 going from the ' Ritz ' to the ' Savoy,' from one place of 
 amusement to another, your hand in your pocket all the 
 time. Her damned car cost me eight hundred pounds, 
 and she goes out in it with other fellows. ..." 
 
 He did not go away until nearly seven o'clock, until 
 Gerald came and was introduced. Gerald seemed to 
 Albert one degree better than his brother-in-law, but only
 
 2 3 o CONCERT PITCH 
 
 one degree. He thought he looked like a city clerk, 
 which indeed he was, and that Manuella had made a 
 most awful mess of things. 
 
 By the time he found himself outside the house, he 
 remembered he had been forbidden to hold any com- 
 munication with his disgraced and disgraceful sister, and 
 that his stepmother had impressed it upon him. Before 
 he dined that night, at the " Berkeley," with a couple of 
 other fellows, he had begun to be uneasy at the con- 
 sequences of his action. He was up to his neck in 
 debt, and Loetitia was quite capable of cutting off 
 supplies. 
 
 When he was at Bedford Square it had been his inten- 
 tion to write to his parents on Manuella's behalf. Before 
 he had finished dressing for dinner he thought it would 
 be better to do what he could himself, on the strict q. t. 
 He remembered what a hole he would be in if they did 
 not settle up for him. He had that unsound spot in him, 
 that soft, inherent, gangrenous selfishness. 
 
 It was a curious coincidence that he should meet Lord 
 Lyssons that evening. He was dining at the " Berkeley," 
 and Waldo sat at the next table. At first he did not 
 know what to do; he looked away and felt awkward, but 
 when Lyssons nodded to him, he returned the greeting. 
 
 " I didn't know you were back," he said, later on, 
 when they were in the hall. 
 
 " Neither did I until yesterday. I wasn't, as a matter 
 of fact. How is everybody ? What's the news ? Where 
 are you off to ? Going my way ? " 
 
 Albert was flattered at Lord Lyssons' cordiality. He 
 was going to do what he did six evenings a week, and 
 twice on Wednesdays and Saturdays. He was going to 
 sit in a stall in the Gaiety and watch Coralie Standing 
 dance. Afterwards he would probably entertain her and 
 her friends to supper. Later still, he might adjourn to a 
 house in Bruton Street, where chemin de fer was played 
 with a cagnotte, but avoiding the police and the Gam- 
 ing Act under the pretence of being a private house. He 
 had already been robbed of over ten thousand pounds
 
 CONCERT PITCH 231 
 
 there, and had a foolish hope of getting it back. He did 
 not give the whole of the projected evening to Lord 
 Lyssons, but answered : 
 
 " I've got a stall at the Gaiety. I suppose you haven't 
 seen The Whispering Girl?" 
 
 " No. Is it very good? Do you think I could get a 
 stall?" 
 
 " I'm pretty pally with the management. If there's 
 one in the house they'd give it me." 
 
 " Then it will be a great thing for me to go there with 
 you?" 
 
 " I didn't say that." 
 
 Albert, too, could be sullen. Lord Lyssons apologized 
 for his frivolity. He shared a cab with Albert, and went 
 to the Gaiety. A stall was secured without apparent 
 difficulty. Albert pointed out Coralie. She wore a dia- 
 mond necklace which distinguished her from the other 
 chorus girls. Albert was not at all reticent ; Waldo was 
 apparently sympathetic. 
 
 He asked after many of their mutual acquaintances, 
 after Sir Hubert and Lady Wagner, the Sallusts, the 
 Banffs. 
 
 " I only got back last night, I haven't seen a soul. 
 ..." He asked after everyone but the one person of 
 whom he wished to hear. 
 
 " Your father has had a stroke of paralysis ; I am sorry 
 to hear that. The last I heard of him he was in South 
 Africa; some scheme about building churches." 
 
 " He gets about, but he isn't himself ; my mother man- 
 ages all his business affairs everything. They are still 
 in South Africa, sort of pilgrimage idea about it. No, 
 not expiation ; I don't think the Governor ever did any- 
 thing he shouldn't. But Lourdes, you know, and that 
 sort of thing ; he thinks he'll get his health back. I say, 
 come on to supper with us afterwards; there'll be a lot 
 of girls. I wish you would. I'll introduce you to Coralie. 
 She always says I don't know anyone. ..." 
 
 Waldo actually supped at Romano's with Bertie Wag- 
 ner, two touzled damsels with a last train to catch,
 
 232 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Coralie in her most bewitching mood, Elsie Bantock, 
 Major Dawson, and a youth with a narrow forehead, 
 projecting teeth and a Jewish name. 
 
 When Albert wrote to his stepmother, he chronicled 
 the incident in the way he thought would appeal to her. 
 
 " Such a curious thing, Lyssons has turned up again. 
 I dined and supped with him last night ; he has asked 
 me to drive down to Ranelagh with him to-morrow, 
 seems to have taken quite a fancy to me. I suppose you 
 don't mind. After all, it was Manuella threw him over, 
 not he her. If he does not resent it, I suppose we need 
 not. ..." 
 
 Afterwards his letters were full of this growing inti- 
 macy. Albert was amazingly flattered by Waldo's inter- 
 est in him. Waldo by this time knew all about Coralie 
 and the flat, the gaming hell in Bruton Street, and all the 
 imbroglio of his affairs. Waldo gave him good advice, 
 and Albert always meant to follow it. 
 
 " All right, I'll stop away. I lose every time I go to 
 the damned place. I believe they stack the cards ; I never 
 get a pass." 
 
 " My dear fellow " Albert had advanced to calling 
 Lord Lyssons " my dear fellow " " give up Coralie and 
 the flat ! I wish to God I could. She won't let me off ; 
 she knows the Governor's ' shaky.' ): 
 
 " I suppose you have promised to marry her if anything 
 happens to him ? " 
 
 " More or less." 
 
 " Principally more, I suppose. But I shouldn't do it 
 if I were you." 
 
 And then, at last, after a fortnight of Albert's society, 
 without hearing anything of Manuella, without being 
 able to ask, and yet hungry to hear, he said: 
 
 " You couldn't introduce her to your sister, you know." 
 
 " I don't know that. You should see the people my 
 sister's mixed up with. Chaps with long hair city 
 fellows. . ."
 
 CONCERT PITCH 233 
 
 He gave a short description of the stairs he had climbed 
 to get to her, and, seeing Lord Lyssons appeared inter- 
 ested he went on : 
 
 " I never understood about you and Manuella. It 
 isn't a delicate subject, is it?" Waldo shook his head 
 as Albert looked at him interrogatively. " I thought at 
 one time she was awfully gone on you. The mater said 
 something one day about your being ' eccentric,' or some- 
 thing like that, and she turned on her like a wild cat. I 
 don't believe she cared a bit about the chap she married ; 
 nobody could, you know. I believe the mater ragged her 
 into it. She was certainly gone on you at one time. 
 You don't mind me saying so, do you ? " 
 
 If the hand rolling the cigarette was not quite steady, 
 Albert was not the man to notice it. 
 
 " I hope she is happy ! " 
 
 " Happy ! She's damned miserable. They haven't got 
 a bob. ..." 
 
 The whole story came out. Albert was perhaps a little 
 vainglorious in telling it. He had got over his emotion 
 by now. 
 
 " I emptied my pocket-book the first time I went there. 
 I cried like a child. She hadn't had enough to eat ; she'd 
 gone to skin and bone. ..." Under his tan Waldo went 
 very pale. He lit the cigarette he had rolled. 
 
 " Poor, is she ? " 
 
 " Bally near starving! Of course, if the Governor was 
 anything like himself, if he wasn't under Steppie's 
 thumb ..." 
 
 " You think he doesn't know ? " 
 
 " Stands to reason. Why, it's a public scandal, a crying 
 scandal, that's what it is. Over half a million in churches, 
 and God knows what in charity, and party things. He 
 is going to get a peerage, and you don't get a peerage 
 for nothing, and his only daughter without a cent. She 
 says she's going to teach, or cook. ..." 
 
 " She is brave, then ? " 
 
 " Brave ! I believe you. She laughed when she told me ; 
 said porridge was sustaining if you got enough of it."
 
 234 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Waldo heard all the details, as he had heard all about 
 Coralie. Albert could keep nothing to himself. Why 
 had he asked if she were brave? Had he not known she 
 was, and of all her high courage ? He had left her when 
 he should have stayed ; understood too late. 
 
 " They are living in London ? " He went on with his 
 questions; he had to hear. 
 
 "Bedford Square." 
 
 " I wonder if she would like me to call upon her?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! " Albert, Loetitia's pupil, was ashamed lest 
 Lord Lyssons should see how his sister lived, and where. 
 
 " Oh, no ; I'm sure she wouldn't like it. No one goes 
 to see her. She'd hate it, I'm sure. She does all the 
 housework, minds the baby ! " 
 
 ' There is a baby, then? " 
 
 This conversation took place in Waldo's chambers in 
 the " Albany," where Albert had come up for a drink. 
 After he had made that inquiry, and been told he was 
 not to go and see her, Lord Lyssons busied himself with 
 the glasses, turning his back on his guest. 
 
 "Rather! quite a little ripper; it's like me got blue 
 eyes. I quite took to it." 
 
 " You go there often ? " 
 
 " Not so very often. I tell you it gives me the hump ; 
 although it is jolly enough in a way. But I don't want 
 to meet him, and there's another fellow, a city clerk sort 
 of chap, who lives in the same house. They are neither 
 of them over clean. I'm sure I don't know how Manuella 
 stands it." 
 
 " You send her money ? " 
 
 " Well, to tell the truth, I haven't sent her anything 
 since I emptied my pocket-book ... it isn't three weeks 
 ago. She said it would last her a couple of months." 
 
 '* You carry a lot about with you ? " 
 
 " It was over twenty pounds." 
 
 " A fortune ! " He could not help it ; but Albert was 
 not of a stock to understand satire. 
 
 " And her husband ; doesn't he earn money ? " 
 
 " He don't do a thing," Albert answered gloomily.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 235 
 
 " He is writing something, I don't know what. That 
 opera of his was a ghastly failure, ran a week ..." 
 
 Bertie could not tell him any more. The intermittent 
 trickle about his sister and her affairs dried up suddenly. 
 " Don't let's talk of it. I'm so damned sick of the whole 
 affair." 
 
 He went away soon afterwards. For all his promises, 
 the baccarat tables still allured him. Waldo, however, 
 found no difficulty in making other opportunities ; Albert 
 thought Lord Lyssons had taken a fancy to him, and, as 
 had been seen, he wrote this to his parents. He hardly 
 knew how it came about, some weeks later, that he found 
 himself writing to them about Manuella. Although 
 Waldo might have explained. 
 
 " I have said all along they ought to know. I wish you 
 would help me write me a draft, or dictate a letter. 
 But it mustn't come first-hand from me. I am not 
 supposed to see her, you know. And she says she'd 
 sooner starve than ask help of Steppie." 
 
 Lord Lyssons may not have actually dictated the letter 
 Lady Wagner eventually received, but it was certainly 
 written in the Albany Chambers: 
 
 " DEAR MATER AND DAD, 
 
 " I think, notwithstanding my promise that her 
 name is not to be mentioned, I ought to let you know 
 there was a line in one of the Radical papers last Sunday 
 about ' men who give half a million for the establishment 
 of churches, and let their own flesh and blood die of 
 starvation.' I thought you ought to know. There seems 
 to be no doubt that Manuella is shockingly hard up. 
 Her husband brought out an opera and so got himself 
 talked about. It wasn't a success, but it was supposed 
 to be clever and there was a lot about it in the papers, 
 and that his wife was the only daughter of Sir Hubert 
 Wagner. If the Governor's name is in the Birthday List, 
 there might be some nasty talk. A man at the theatre 
 the other night asked me if it was true there was going 
 to be a subscription got up for the Migottis, and wasn't
 
 236 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 she my sister? I felt rather awkward as you've for- 
 bidden me to do anything. They've got a baby and no 
 money at all. If you could see your way to make her 
 an allowance I should be in a position to stop all the talk, 
 say there was never any truth in it. It needn't be 
 much. ..." 
 
 The brain behind that disingenuous letter was certainly 
 a wise one. Albert himself read it aloud to Lyssons and 
 said with pride: 
 
 " That will touch her up, I bet ! " 
 
 Waldo said it was quite clever, and did him credit. 
 
 " You ought to have been in the Diplomatic Service." 
 
 " That is what Coralie's father was saying the other 
 night." 
 
 " An ambassador himself, perhaps." 
 
 " No, no, not exactly . . . he's . . . he's a waiter in 
 Soho." 
 
 The answer to Albert's letter came by cable, and was 
 to the family solicitor. He was to find the whereabouts 
 of Hubert Wagner's daughter, and pay her an allowance 
 of eight hundred a year. 
 
 Four weeks passed, however, before that happened. 
 In the meantime Manuella received by post a registered 
 packet, containing ten five-pound notes. Gerald believed 
 it came from an admirer of Harston Migotti's work. 
 Manuella had little doubt it was from Albert. The money 
 was still not exhausted when the news of her allowance 
 arrived.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE letter from the lawyers was very brief. They 
 had, of course, no difficulty in finding the Migottis' 
 address. 
 
 " We are instructed to pay to you quarterly the sum 
 of two hundred pounds, and shall be glad if you will 
 furnish us with the name of your bankers." 
 
 She had a little struggle with her pride before accept- 
 ing it. Had the second letter come before the first the 
 struggle would have been more severe. Certainly she 
 would never have penned that grateful, expansive letter 
 to her father. The second letter, four weeks later, ran : 
 
 " We are instructed to ask you not to communicate 
 with either Sir Hubert or Lady Wagner. The allowance 
 is a voluntary one, and will cease if there is any attempt 
 at molestation. . . . Lady Wagner trusts you will give 
 the same publicity to your improved circumstances as you 
 did to the poverty you brought upon yourself by leaving 
 your parents in ignorance of your whereabouts. ..." 
 
 Messrs. Loftus, Son, and Cleaver, being a high-class 
 and discreet house of law, translated Lady Wagner's in- 
 temperate letter to them as mildly as they were justified. 
 She seemed to think it was their fault that anything dero- 
 
 237
 
 238 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 gatory to the dignity of the family had been allowed to 
 get into the papers. They had not seen the paragraphs 
 to which she alluded. No one in the firm had seen them, 
 which is perhaps not surprising. They defended them- 
 selves in their reply. 
 
 Before the second letter came, Manuella had already 
 decided on moving from Bedford Square. 
 
 " We should be better in a house of our own. Don't 
 you think so, Harston, with a garden. ... ? " 
 
 Harston was glad, but not at all excited that she had 
 now an income. 
 
 " You would like a room of your very own, where 
 your papers would never be disturbed, where we should 
 not have to take all our meals." 
 
 He thought he would like that, and amplified the idea. 
 
 " It should be a big room, with a great window over- 
 looking green." 
 
 Gerald said Harston's tastes were very like Wagner's, 
 although he had subordinated them so wonderfully he 
 had the same luxurious ideas. 
 
 But Manuella had grown practical. 
 
 " We shan't be able to live in a palace on eight hun- 
 dred a year." 
 
 They were all, however, -agreed that it would be a good 
 thing to have a house of their own, with fewer stairs, and 
 a garden for the baby. Gerald would either live with 
 them, or near. 
 
 " I can't do without Gerald," Harston said affec- 
 tionately, and his future biographer was quite over- 
 whelmed. 
 
 In house-hunting it is unusual to find the ideal, and 
 certainly it is never found quickly. It was after many 
 fruitless and wearisome days that Manuella arrived at 
 the cul-de-sac out of Circus Road, St. John's Wood, and 
 in the first three minutes discovered she had been indeed 
 so fortunate. There was a large secluded garden, with 
 fine old trees, and an overgrown lawn. The house was of 
 less importance. It was on two floors and the rooms were 
 small. Built during the Victorian era, it had no archi-
 
 CONCERT PITCH 239 
 
 tectural pretensions. There was nothing even vaguely 
 reminiscent of Queen Anne; the Adam Brothers or 
 Mr. Gamier might never have been. But Manuella knew 
 nothing of architecture. That which fascinated her was 
 the walled seclusion of the generous garden. After that 
 she became aware of a big studio to which the drawing- 
 room had been sacrificed. She heard afterwards that 
 the house had been for many years in the possession of a 
 bachelor artist. There was no drawing-room. That fact, 
 and the smallness of the dark dining-room, with the in- 
 convenient little sitting-room, accounted for it having 
 been so long unoccupied. The studio ran right up to the 
 wall of the garden ; it was long and narrow, top-lighted. 
 It was inaccessible from the kitchen, or might have 
 served as a dining-room. In fact, from a house-agent's 
 point of view, it was a completely selfish room, only 
 suitable for its former occupant. But Manuella saw all 
 the possibilities in it. Here Harston could be uninter- 
 rupted ; he would be, as it were, cut off from the house- 
 hold. The small sitting-room was quite large enough 
 for her ; the dining-room could be made lighter. Upstairs 
 there were four bedrooms and a bath-room. Part of the 
 garden had been sacrificed to the studio, but enough 
 remained to make one forget how near it was to the 
 Edgware Road, and all the noise of London. 
 
 When she had finished her inspection of the house, she 
 stood under one of the old trees in the garden, a leafy 
 and luxuriant chestnut, and looked about her. She knew 
 already this was to be her new home. There was a 
 tangle of weeds in the flower-bed under the wall, over- 
 grown grass was on the small lawn. A broken plaster 
 figure of a Naiad lay in a stone basin that had once been 
 a fountain. There was barely a quarter of an acre alto- 
 gether, including the ground covered by the house and 
 studio ; but it seemed almost an estate to Manuella after 
 the rooms in Bedford Square. She was so eager to se- 
 cure it when she went back to the agent, that they put the 
 rent up five pounds, and made her sign an agreement, 
 there and then, which left her to pay for all the improve-
 
 2 4 o CONCERT PITCH 
 
 ments the lessor had been ready to make. Always im- 
 pulsive, she signed eagerly ; all that seemed to matter was 
 that no one else should see the house, and take it out of 
 her hands. When she had signed that most unfair agree- 
 ment, she forgot that she had ever had a trouble in the 
 world. Buckingham Palace could have given her no 
 more pleasure. And the rent was only sixty-five pounds 
 a year ; two servants would be enough. She had learnt 
 economy in the hardest school of all. Eight hundred 
 pounds a year was now a fortune to her, and she did not 
 mean to dissipate it. 
 
 Harston disengaged himself from his libretto that 
 evening on the demand of her excitement. It was, of 
 course, Paradise that she had discovered, of which she 
 had become the proprietor. He even teased her about it, 
 and was comparatively human and interested. 
 
 Of course his interest did not last out the evening; 
 he soon got back to Cartismandua and Caractacus, and 
 the entry of the captives into Rome. He had found the 
 name for the opera now, it was to be called // Traditore. 
 And he had come back to Gerald's way of thinking about 
 scenery. 
 
 " Those people who are writing about producing The 
 Chariot Queen want to know exactly how I had the set- 
 ting in my mind; they will perhaps want me to conduct 
 it. ... " 
 
 " Everything will be easy when we get to the new 
 house. It will bring us luck, I feel it will," Manuella 
 answered. 
 
 Gerald inquired about furniture, and was eager for her 
 to try the three years' hire system, but Manuella felt 
 that in her own home she must have her own furniture. 
 
 " We shall want so little. It is a tiny house, all but the 
 studio. What we have here will go into the studio." 
 
 " The less furniture there is in a music-room the better 
 for the acoustics." 
 
 " As if I didn't know that." She laughed at Gerald 
 for trying to teach her. 
 
 Albert came the next day. He knew all about the eight
 
 CONCERT PITCH 241 
 
 hundred a year, and took the entire credit for it. He heard 
 about the paradise in St. John's Wood, and promised to 
 help her to furnish it. He suggested Mellier's, in Albe- 
 marle Street, but Manuella thought old curiosity shops 
 in and about Tottenham Court Road would be more 
 suitable. 
 
 Albert, when he went away, forgot all about his prom- 
 ise ; he was just off to spend Easter in Monte Carlo. But 
 a number of things Manuella had not bought arrived 
 from time to time at the new house, and she never 
 doubted but that they were from him. Someone must 
 evidently have been up there, for everything fitted some 
 nook or recess. There came a pair of easy chairs covered 
 in chintz for the little sitting-room, a quaintly-shaped 
 sofa to match them, a Chinese vase made into an electric 
 lamp, and a few prints and water-colours. For the bed- 
 room there were two bow-fronted chests of drawers, 
 matching the tallboy from Bedford Square. Who but 
 Albert knew she had a tallboy in her bedroom? There 
 were rugs and a little Sheraton bookcase. It was won- 
 derful how clever Albert was in knowing what she 
 wanted ! 
 
 " Isn't he good ? " she said to Gerald. 
 
 She could not write and thank him, for he was at 
 Monte Carlo, and she did not know at which hotel. 
 
 By May the grass was cut in the garden. Harston 
 liked his big room, and said there was no doubt he could 
 write there. Two servants had been secured, and every- 
 thing was in order. 
 
 Gerald was to lodge with them ; Harston could not do 
 without him ; he was always ready to copy the growing 
 score, play the concerted pieces. 
 
 Manuella intended to become an expert gardener; 
 she bought seeds and books, and was planting herbaceous 
 borders, making a rock-garden and new flower-beds, as if 
 she had an acre to exploit instead of less than a quarter. 
 She put in everything the local florist sold her, and watched 
 daily for the results, anticipating the time when the 
 bare pergola would be a bower of roses. She was in such
 
 242 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 a hurry with her bulbs that some of them went in upside- 
 down. She consulted catalogues, and believed everything 
 she read in them. All her beauty came back to her : she 
 was flushed like one of the damask roses that she so opti- 
 mistically anticipated on her pergola. 
 
 Before the end of the summer quite a number of peo- 
 ple had had tea in the garden, admired the bare pergola 
 and the baby, and stayed to supper in the little dining- 
 room. Gerald said Harston was beginning to be known. 
 And all at once it seemed to be true. In Bedford Square, 
 where there was one room for Harston's work, and in 
 which all their meals were taken, it would have been 
 impossible to entertain, but here entertainment was easy. 
 Gerald Streatfield said earnestly that it was good for 
 Harston to see people, to disseminate talk about his 
 work ; and Manuella began to find pleasure in exercising 
 hospitality. She liked her suppers to be praised; she 
 began to be house-proud. 
 
 Of course, the majority of the people who came were 
 what Albert and his friends would call " long-haired 
 musicians." They treated Harston with respect and de- 
 ferred to his opinion. Gerald may have set the note, 
 but they easily were in time with it. With all the women 
 who came young singers, aspirants for the stage, even 
 Society ladies, it was not necessary for Gerald to set the 
 note. Manuella was astounded to see how much flattery 
 Harston could bear, and not only bear, but obviously 
 enjoy. He would play to them, listen to their bad sing- 
 ing and tell them where it was wrong, harshly or con- 
 temptuously. But his contempt for their voices was 
 tempered with compliments on their complexions. They 
 liked his candour, therefore, accepting him as a musical 
 Rochester. He could say what he liked. 
 
 Some of these ladies kissed his hands, and he kissed 
 theirs occasionally. That, of course, was owing to his 
 artistic temperament, to which everything abnormal in 
 him was attributed. A good deal of kissing seemed to 
 be going on, although Manuella might not have noticed it, 
 had Mrs. Des Vceux refrained from pointing it out.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 243 
 
 Mrs. Des Voeux was the wife of Oscar Des Vceux, the 
 well-known singing-master. His most famous pupil was 
 his half-sister, Madame Alma Orilia, a young opera 
 singer, whose first appearance in England in the previous 
 year had occasioned a veritable furore. 
 
 Manuella took a dislike to Mrs. Des Voeux the first 
 time she called upon her. 
 
 " What on earth do you find to do with yourself all 
 day in this out-of-the-world place? " Mrs. Des Voeux had 
 queried. 
 
 But Gerald, and even Harston, assured her that it was 
 a testimony to his growing reputation that the Des 
 Vceux should call upon them at all. 
 
 " Alma Orilia will be here this week or next." 
 
 Harston's fortune would be made, everything would be 
 easy, if Alma Orilia took a fancy to Harston Migotti and 
 would sing his music. 
 
 " For heaven's sake don't take a dislike to Mrs. Des 
 Voeux or offend her," Gerald urged. 
 
 Manuella subordinated her feelings, therefore, and put 
 up with Mrs. Des Vceux's society in the hopes that, when 
 Alma Orilia came over to England, she might be intro- 
 duced to Harston. All of them heard a great deal about 
 Alma Orilia ; she was Mrs. Des Vceux's favourite topic of 
 conversation. 
 
 " You will have to look after your husband, my dear, 
 if she does take a fancy to him," she said, with that 
 short, hard laugh of hers. " Alma is a regular man-eater ; 
 Juan has fought two duels already on her account. He 
 will never divorce her, because he is a Roman Catholic." 
 
 " Or because he is a gambler, and she makes many 
 thousands a year," someone interpolated in an under- 
 tone. 
 
 Mrs. Des Vceux spoke as if to have had lovers were a 
 feather in her sister-in-law's cap. Manuella hastily said, 
 of course, that she should not look after Harston, and 
 Mrs. Des Voeux laughed again. 
 
 " We shall see. All the wives say that at first." 
 
 In June the arrival of Alma Orilia was announced.
 
 244 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Soon after that, the Des Vceux gave their grand annual 
 concert and reception in Harley Street. Alma Orilia 
 was staying with them. Gerald brought home all the 
 musical gossip. She would sing at Covent Garden and 
 at two concerts otherwise, nowhere but at her brother's 
 house and perhaps in Seaford Place. 
 
 " She is in glorious voice this season, I'm told ; better, 
 if possible, than last. The King and Queen want to hear 
 her as Elsa; it has all been arranged." 
 
 The Migottis received an invitation to the Des Voeux's 
 party, and Gerald looked upon it as a royal command. 
 Manuella's first instinct was to refuse. 
 
 " But you must go," he exclaimed. " You must! " 
 
 " They don't want me. They make a fuss about 
 Harston, but I'm sure they don't care if I go or not." 
 
 She was overruled; in these days she was always 
 overruled in everything that did not touch her own 
 domestic kingdom. 
 
 Afterwards it seemed that all the rest had been but 
 an interlude; a new phase of life began for her on the 
 evening of Mrs. Des Voeux's party. She had thought 
 herself happy in her little home, with her garden and her 
 thriving baby, having grown used to Harston and her 
 detached attitude toward him. She had put the past 
 deliberately behind her, and tried to be happy. 
 
 But there are no happy endings to loveless marriages. 
 She had never loved Harston Migotti, but had run away 
 from love, as young girls do sometimes, and forced 
 her way ignorantly, wilfully, into a shadow-land where 
 duty became the one bright star. She had hitched her 
 waggon to it, but the couplings were not to hold securely, 
 nor without jar.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 EVERYONE knows the Des Voeux's house in Harley 
 Street. To-night, when Manuella and Harston 
 Migotti drove up in their taxi-cab, the string of car- 
 riages and motor-cars was half-way up the Marylebone 
 Road; it was like a gala night at the Opera House. 
 
 The hall was full, the rooms where they left their wraps 
 were overcrowded ; the stentorian hired waiter called out 
 their names between others more important and better 
 known. 
 
 " Lady Christobel Carruthers and Count Feresties ; 
 Miss Stanton ; Mr. Patrick Stuart. Her Grace the Duch- 
 ess of Malmesbury, and Lady Violet Braid, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Migotti, the Countess of Chichester. ..." 
 
 The ugliness of the large bare double drawing-room, 
 with its hideous wall-paper, was concealed by the shifting 
 figures and groups of fashionable people; attention was 
 distracted by the medley of bare shoulders and chains of 
 pearls, exquisite coronets, dresses from Paris ateliers, 
 of soft lace and soft stuffs glowing with embroideries ; 
 jargon from May fair, long hair from Bohemia, artificial 
 manner from Stageland, foreign tongues from every- 
 where. Here were the people who rented opera-boxes, 
 and those who made opera possible ; the great ladies who 
 took their two-guinea singing lessons from Oscar des 
 Voeux, and the artistes who owed him everything, and 
 
 245
 
 246 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 paid him nothing; the great Russian dancer, the prima- 
 donna of musical comedy, everybody. 
 
 Manuella, after the perfunctory greeting from her 
 hostess, found herself only watching. She was conscious 
 of isolation; Harston's friends were her acquaintances, 
 the Stone House acquaintances were dummy figures 
 bowing ; she felt curiously alone, although she recognized 
 so many faces. 
 
 For a long time, or it seemed a long time to her, she 
 remained by herself. Harston had soon left her ; he was 
 surrounded by women, his hair seemed astonishingly 
 long, and Manuella, perhaps a little bitterly, thought he 
 was like Gilbert's Bunthorne. She herself was not flirta- 
 tious, but there was no other word that seemed to her to 
 fit Harston's manner with women. She felt contempt 
 for it, yet it hurt her pride in some way, probably be- 
 cause it lowered him in her eyes. She always wished to 
 look upon him as a genius, but paying compliments and 
 receiving extravagant ones, bowing over hands and kiss- 
 ing them, belittled him. In this attitude he was not 
 Wagner, or Beethoven, or Mozart only Bunthorne. 
 
 " Mr. Graham wishes me to present him to you." 
 
 She was startled out of her thoughts, roused from 
 watching her husband, by her hostess, who was in a 
 hurry to get back to her more important guests. More 
 important than Manuella, not than Peter Graham; few 
 people in the room were more important than he. 
 
 Manuella Wagner had been accounted a beauty at her 
 first drawing-room. In the two years that had passed 
 since then promise had become fulfilment. At eighteen 
 she had not come to her full height ; now she was tall 
 and slender as a young ash tree. Her hair was not 
 fashionably arranged ; the dark abundance of it, parted 
 in the middle, was twisted into a great soft coil low down 
 on her slender neck. Her face had little colour, but a 
 porcelain bloom, a transparency behind which glowed 
 the white flame of her contempt when Brema Tietgens, 
 who had been in The Chariot Queen, flopped to the 
 ground in a curtsey before Harston, and he raised her,
 
 CONCERT PITCH 247 
 
 kissed her hand, and accepted her ridiculous homage. 
 The contempt burned darker in her dark eyes, the fire of 
 it was caught in the thick, curled lashes. The bow of 
 her mouth was pomegranate red. There was no woman 
 at all in that brilliant assembly who compared with her 
 in looks. So thought Peter Graham when he asked for 
 that introduction. 
 
 Peter Graham, a bachelor of about forty, wealthy and 
 reputed of Jewish origin, was a well-known amateur 
 violinist. He had the reputation of being a lady-killer; 
 he would have repudiated the coarseness of the expres- 
 sion, but never the innuendo. Mr. Graham lived in Hert- 
 ford Street, where he possessed an unrivalled collection 
 of old Italian stringed instruments and a music-room 
 acoustically perfect. He gave quartet and other parties of 
 great distinction. Chamber music, and his collection of 
 violins, held all of his heart that he could spare from wo- 
 men. Without ever having been in the Divorce Court it 
 was always admitted that he was a born co-respondent. 
 
 Peter Graham was of a slender and elegant figure, 
 bearing his forty odd years as gracefully as a dancer 
 carries a bouquet ; there was really an air of chivalry 
 about him. It was true that he was bald, extraordinarily 
 bald for so young a man, but the expanse of forehead 
 gave value to his dark expressive eyes; his dark mous- 
 tache had grey in it and he wore a goatee, now, too, get- 
 ting grey. His thin skin was like a woman's. There was 
 something of the foreigner in his manner, in his elegance, 
 in the slight burr of his r's. But not Albert Wagner, nor 
 any sartorial critic, could have questioned his clothes. 
 His sleeve links were cut antique gems, a rare and ex- 
 quisite intaglio was the ring that he wore on the little 
 finger of his slender hand, the buttons of his white waist- 
 coat were old enamels. The pearls in his shirt were quite 
 small. He had not, however, an original mind, and after 
 Mrs. Des Voeux moved away he played the well-known 
 opening gambit. 
 
 " I was saying to Mrs. Des Voeux that I am quite sure 
 we must have met somewhere."
 
 248 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Manuella could not remember the occasion, but was 
 interested in trying to recall it. He realized her ingen- 
 uousness, and it completed the conquest her beauty had 
 begun. 
 
 " If we have not met before, I shall hope, at least, 
 this will be the first of many times." 
 
 Manuella hoped so too, she could do no less. Other 
 banal courtesies were exchanged. 
 
 " Alma Orilia is here, isn't she ? Is she going to sing, 
 do you know ? " Manuella asked him presently. 
 
 "You are interested in Alma Orilia?" 
 
 " We want her to hear my husband's music, to sing, 
 perhaps, in his opera." 
 
 " His opera ! " Peter Graham had not caught her 
 name, and he connected her with no husband, she looked 
 like a girl. 
 
 " Harston Migotti. He wrote The Chariot Queen," 
 Manuella explained. 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course. Yes, she is here. Would you 
 like me to present her to you? We are old friends." 
 
 " Not to me, to my husband. But Mr. Des Voeux will 
 do that, he has promised." 
 
 Peter Graham had a fine taste, the feast he saw before 
 him tickled it. 
 
 " You sang the title role in your husband's opera, 
 did you not? It was unfortunate I was abroad at the 
 time it was produced. I might have been able to have 
 been of some use to you." 
 
 It was true that he might have been of use to them. 
 Peter Graham had sufficient wealth and influence to have 
 dressed the house on the first night with the right people, 
 to have said the right word before the Press said theirs. 
 And neither O'Neill nor Otterstein would have refused 
 The Chariot Queen consideration if Peter Graham had 
 endorsed it. 
 
 " But perhaps it is not too late now. May I open the 
 matter to Alma ? " 
 
 " But how kind ! " 
 
 " Not at all. I will speak to her at once, she will not
 
 CONCERT PITCH 249 
 
 sing until later, until the room is quite full. Which is 
 your husband ? Oh ! " 
 
 The exclamation was due to the fact that Des Vceux 
 was before him with the introduction. 
 
 " That is Madame Orilia with Oscar Des Vceux ; I 
 suppose that is your husband to whom he is talking 
 now ? " 
 
 " Is she really as good as they say? " 
 
 " I should say quite. Tell me, are you going to sing 
 to-night ? " 
 
 " I have given up singing. I have never been trained. 
 I only sang because at the last moment Madame Stella 
 Lily threw them over, and there was no one else." 
 
 "You liked the life?" 
 
 " I hated it." 
 
 " You are quite right, if I may say so, if you don't 
 mind my saying so. Public life for a woman, stage life, 
 brushes off the bloom. I knew without your telling me 
 that you did not like it." 
 
 " How did you know ? " 
 
 " I have an instinct." He went on to talk about his 
 instincts, implying they were rarely at fault where a 
 beautiful woman was concerned. 
 
 " Will you come down to supper with me? " 
 
 Peter Graham confessed to the artistic temperament. 
 Already he knew he was about to fall in love, was 
 conscious of the preliminary thrill, the sense of ad- 
 venture. 
 
 Supper at the Des Vceux's party, like the soup at the 
 famous dinner-party Heine describes, was conspicuous 
 by its absence. In the dining-room, to which he piloted 
 her, there were traces of " light refreshments "; empty 
 dishes that had once held sandwiches and a few cakes. 
 
 But, standing against the buffet, no longer Bunthorne 
 but himself, was Harston, deep in conversation with, as 
 Manuella quickly decided, one of the ugliest women she 
 had ever seen. 
 
 " Alma, Madame Migotti wishes to be presented to 
 you," Peter Graham was eager to carry out this beautiful
 
 250 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 girl's first request. Manuella named Harston to him, 
 and Peter had the right word, the appropriate word. 
 
 Under her heavy lids, the great soprano looked at the 
 composer's wife. She knew all about the composer, her 
 brother had told her, but nothing about his wife. And 
 Des Vceux had omitted to mention about Harston Mi- 
 gotti that he was of great physical attraction, astonish- 
 ingly handsome. 
 
 " I am so glad to meet you," Manuella began im- 
 pulsively. But that she and Alma Orilia took an im- 
 mediate dislike to each other was obvious from the first 
 moment. Manuella wanted to say that she had heard 
 of her marvellous voice, and was longing to hear her 
 sing, she thought she would add something about Hars- 
 ton's music, and ask her to come to Circus Road. But 
 she did nothing of the sort. Alma Orilia was never a 
 favourite with women, and she looked at this one almost 
 insolently, responded coldly, turning away and continu- 
 ing her conversation with the musician as if the inter- 
 ruption had been ill-timed and ill-bred. Harston, too, 
 or so it seemed to Manuella, resented it. 
 
 " My wife is unused to Society." 
 
 She actually heard him saying that as she moved 
 away. Unused to Society ! But why, and since when ? 
 She flushed, and Peter, who, whether or not his knowl- 
 edge of women was as profound as he imagined, certainly 
 understood Alma, knew she had administered a snub, and 
 looked curiously at Harston. 
 
 ' Your husband is very good-looking." 
 
 " So Madame Orilia seems to think." That she had 
 flushed angrily, and given vent to the quick retort, gave 
 him an opportunity to exhibit his tact. 
 
 " She is intolerant of feminine beauty ; you ought to 
 feel flattered." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't care ; she can be as rude to me as she 
 likes, so long as she will sing in // Traditore." 
 
 " I think you may leave that to me," he said confi- 
 dently. " And now, tell me ..." 
 
 He wanted to know all about her, what she did with
 
 CONCERT PITCH 251 
 
 her life. She was only half caught, although it was so 
 long since she had been the objective of any man's at- 
 tractions. She did not even hear all he said to her, 
 or anything of what he implied. She was conscious all 
 the time that her husband never left Alma Orilia's side, 
 and that presently, when the singer mounted the platform, 
 it was he, and not Oscar Des Voeux, who went with her. 
 
 " He is surely not going to play her accompaniment ! " 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 ' Yes, I think your husband is going to play her 
 accompaniment. You don't mind, do you ? I thought you 
 said. ..." 
 
 " Of course I don't mind," Manuella answered hastily, 
 " only it seems so strange." 
 
 Peter Graham read the symptoms more accurately, 
 and certainly more quickly, than she read them herself. 
 She was going to be jealous of Alma. What he knew 
 even better was that Alma would give her plenty of oc- 
 casion for it. Alma was the very devil if she took it into 
 her head to wish to spite a woman, or take a man from 
 her. Peter had the mind that enabled him to read Alma's, 
 and he had read it when he introduced them. Harston 
 Migotti had attracted and Manuella's good looks vexed 
 her. Manuella would not have thought it possible that 
 she could be jealous of Harston, seeing that she had never 
 loved him, but Peter Graham knew better. 
 
 Now in the hush that followed her appearance on the 
 platform Alma Orilia stood silent, whilst Harston's fin- 
 gers touched the keys. There was a little applause before 
 she began; he played the opening prelude to the sound 
 of it. 
 
 Alma Orilia, then almost at the beginning of her ca- 
 reer, already famous, and, before the end of this story, 
 notorious, was in her twenty-seventh year, of a superb 
 and sensual ugliness, more compelling than beauty. She 
 was dark, so dark that it would seem impossible she could 
 be of European birth. The heavy lids drooped over her 
 eyes. Her lips were full, cheek-bones high, the bushy 
 brows nearly met. Her bust was pronounced, and her
 
 252 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 neck thick. But under the drooping lids the eyes were 
 like jewels, the thick lips that parted when she sang or 
 smiled showed white and even teeth. 
 
 " Madame Orilia will sing an A and B," Oscar Des 
 Vceux announced briefly. 
 
 The A was of extreme simplicity. It was Spohr's 
 arrangement of " Rose wie bist du so schon " ; the song 
 Richard Wagner chronicles as having been sung to him 
 by his niece Johanna, when she was fifteen, which led 
 him to prophesy her artistic future. For the B she gave 
 the Elsa song. 
 
 Manuella, listening, spell-bound, against her will, re- 
 membered that her own voice had once been likened to 
 velvet. She realized now that, if the analogy held, hers 
 was but a poor cotton-backed variety. This rich singing, 
 these deep, organ-like notes and fluty upper ones were 
 satin lined and silken-fibred, grandly woven. There was 
 absolute silence while Alma Orilia sang, followed by a 
 tumult of applause and congratulation. All the duchesses 
 and countesses wished for introductions ; but from every 
 introduction she turned to her accompanist, to Harston ; 
 there seemed to be no one else to whom she cared to talk 
 for any length of time. ^ 
 
 Manuella, rousing herself fredn what she felt was an 
 unreasoning irritation at the conspicuousness of this con- 
 duct, realized that Mr. Graham was asking her if she 
 would dine with him one night in Hertford Street. " You 
 and your husband. I will get up a small party, is there 
 anyone you would care to meet? I should so like to 
 see you in my house; I have a few things there that 
 might interest you." 
 
 She said she would like very much to come. When 
 he had taken his leave, the room was already more than 
 half empty. The crux of the entertainment had been 
 Alma Orilia's singing, and, when it was over, it was 
 merely a question as to who could get away first. Man- 
 uella wanted to go, too, but Harston made no attempt at 
 leave-taking. 
 
 She went over to him and said :
 
 CONCERT PITCH 253 
 
 " It is very late." 
 
 " But we have not nearly finished our talk." 
 
 Alma Orilia treated her as if she had been a child, 
 interrupting important affairs. If she did not actually 
 say, " Go away," her manner said it, and not too cour- 
 teously. Manuella had not the perfect temper to meet 
 this treatment. She stood her ground. Mrs. Des Voeux 
 was yawning ostentatiously ; a few artistes lingered talk- 
 ing to Oscar. 
 
 " Harston, I'm tired, I want to go." 
 
 He rose, he could do no less; he had not noticed the 
 antagonism between the two women. 
 
 " But, of course, we are very late. ..." 
 
 Alma was furious that Manuella had carried her point, 
 it was a small thing, but the famous prima-donna could 
 not bear opposition even in small things. 
 
 " You must call and see me, we must talk more." 
 
 She did not include his wife in the invitation. 
 
 "May I?" 
 
 His eagerness mollified her; she saw, too, that it an- 
 noyed Manuella. 
 
 " What a hateful woman ! " was her first sentence 
 when she and Harston were alone in the cab. 
 
 " Hateful ? You are dreaming. Hateful ? I never 
 met a more delightful person." 
 
 " I suppose she buttered you up all the time." 
 
 " She wants to see The Chariot Queen score." 
 
 " To kiss your hand, and call you ' Maestro ' ! " 
 
 " I don't know what has come to you. You are not 
 jealous, surely you are not jealous? " 
 
 Her pride mounted, and repudiated the charge. 
 
 " Jealous ! She is the ugliest woman I've ever seen. 
 If I were going to be jealous, it wouldn't be of that." 
 
 He laughed, and put an arm about her. 
 
 " My little wife of the hearth ; but of course you are 
 jealous." 
 
 He was in high good humour; the whole evening he 
 had been recognized, flattered, talked about, and it was 
 almost certain, if suitable arrangements could be made, if
 
 254 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 she liked the music and of that he had no doubt that 
 Alma Orilia would create the part of- Queen Cartisman- 
 dua in // Traditore. He was injudicious, but ever since 
 she had sung so badly in The Chariot Queen, his wife 
 had become inconsiderable in his eyes ; she could take care 
 of the house and play with the baby. 
 
 " What a Boadicea she would have made ! But the 
 Cartismandua music is better, it is altogether a better 
 role. She has a superb presence, the voice of the century, 
 I should say quite the voice of the century ; such volume, 
 such extraordinary range, such tone, and what amazing 
 flexibility and expression ! And she herself, she has 
 temperament, dramatic power, intensity. ..." 
 
 " Was Boadicea a negress ? " Manuella asked flip- 
 pantly. " I should think the only thing Alma Orilia 
 would play perfectly, looking the part, would be the old 
 woman with the bandana in On the Road to Mandalay." 
 
 " So it is true, the little one is jealous," he laughed. 
 " But there is no cause ; it is only to hear her sing my 
 music I go to her to-morrow morning. Some one must 
 sing my music." 
 
 " I don't care who sings it as long as I don't." 
 
 He shrugged his big shoulders. 
 
 " If you had only never attempted it ! " 
 
 " I didn't do it to please myself." 
 
 He answered more seriously. 
 
 " That is of the past ; of the present is Alma Orilia 
 and Queen Cartismandua. Already she is interested." 
 
 " In you, not in your music." 
 
 " That is as it may be ! You think she has fallen in 
 love with me ? Well ! and then, if it is so, how good 
 it would be ! She would not be the first ..." 
 
 " Me! I suppose you mean." 
 
 " I mean nothing, nothing but that if I interest her 
 she will sing in my opera." 
 
 Manuella turned a disgusted shoulder to him, remain- 
 ing obstinately silent to his eulogies of Alma Orilia. It 
 was obvious the prima-donna had flattered his vanity. In 
 return, he credited her with capacities and intentions,
 
 CONCERT PITCH 255 
 
 a range of parts beyond any woman's possibilities. She 
 had got into his head like wine. 
 
 " How can you say she is ugly ! With those eyes in 
 which you see emotions rise, that superb throat from 
 which the voice gushes like clear water from a well. . . ." 
 
 When, at length, the cab stopped before their door, he 
 got out before she did. He had been brought up in 
 Germany, where little attentions and courtesies to women 
 are no part of a man's daily life. She followed him, 
 thinking that, if he had been Mr. Graham, he would have 
 waited for her, and paid the cab instead of leaving her 
 to do it. She was loyal to him ; she had surely kept her 
 vows and made him a good wife, but the time had passed 
 when she would not criticize him. 
 
 He went straight to the music-room without waiting to 
 say more to her even "Good-night"; she heard him 
 playing far into the small hours.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE next few days Harston was rarely at home, and, 
 when he was, he talked continually about Alma 
 Orilia. Manuella found herself in a perpetual ill-temper, 
 which Gerald's enthusiasm was quite unable to assuage. 
 
 She was in the garden when Albert's letter was brought 
 to her. Her bad temper had made her oblivious of the 
 fact that it was ten days since she had seen or heard 
 anything of Albert, who was usually a constant visitor. 
 All the morning she had been rolling the little lawn, and 
 unnecessarily weeding the flower-beds, tying up the tall, 
 flowerless stalks of that elusive herbaceous border, syring- 
 ing the roses against the green-fly that had not yet made 
 its appearance. Manuella, so far, had not found' floricul- 
 ture as easy as housewifery, but she was very persevering. 
 
 Albert's letter changed the current of her thoughts. 
 For some reason or another, probably at Lord Lyssons' 
 instigation, he had never mentioned Waldo's name to her ; 
 she did not even know he had returned to England. All 
 the colour left her face when she read Albert's letter, but 
 is was not on Albert's account; she hardly took in the 
 sense of what he wrote, she was so startled at seeing 
 Waldo's name on the page. 
 
 " I am off to South Africa, rather in a hurry. Waldo 
 advises it; you remember Lord Lyssons? Whatever 
 has happened wasn't my fault, I was driven into it. 
 
 256
 
 CONCERT PITCH 257 
 
 If you want a pal whilst I'm away, write Lyssons ; he's a 
 real good sort, I find ; anyway, he's done me a good turn 
 now. He will tell you all about it. ... " 
 
 It was startling, incomprehensible. Waldo! he was 
 back in England, then ! She was to see him, write to 
 him ! The ground of that little garden seemed uneven ; 
 it appeared to rise and be unstable beneath her feet. Her 
 lips trembled; she put down the gardening tools, and 
 went into the house. Waldo ! 
 
 Harston and Alma Orilia, Mr. Peter Graham, from 
 whom she had had an invitation, roses, even a visit, ceased 
 to exist. She had put the thought of Waldo so resolutely 
 from her mind. At first it had been difficult, almost 
 more than difficult ; he came to her in dreams, in wake- 
 ful hours, when she was most unhappy, when she was 
 a little happier. The work of the flat, the adventure of 
 the theatre, the birth of the baby, however, had helped 
 her to forget. But Albert's letter brought it all back 
 the dull, aching pain of it, the memory and the knowl- 
 edge. She had thought she would never see him again 
 nor hear of him ; she had even hoped it. 
 
 "What shall I do?" That was the cry of her heart; 
 she had a sickness of longing for him, a moment of for- 
 getfulness of everything else. 
 
 Of course, when she had time to collect herself, she 
 knew she would do nothing. But, after that, all the quiet 
 of her life seemed to have gone. The knowledge that he 
 was in London haunted her ; everything was altered 
 although nothing had changed. 
 
 Alma Orilia's triumph over her, had the prima-donna 
 but known it, became a very poor and tawdry thing. 
 Alma imagined her as a rival, thought the two of them 
 were contending for Harston Migotti's affections ; took 
 pains to let her know that Harston spent his mornings 
 with her, and the evenings too, when she was not singing 
 at Covent Garden. She was really succeeding with him, 
 establishing an influence, but what she wanted was that 
 his wife should know it. Manuella did know it but,
 
 258 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 after Albert's letter came, and she knew that Lord 
 Lyssons was in London, she ceased to care; at least, it 
 became of little importance. 
 
 Gerald, taking quick advantage of her change of mood, 
 reminded her she owed Mrs. Des Voeux a visit, and was 
 not justified in omitting it because Alma Orilia was 
 staying there. 
 
 Gerald's note-book was accumulating new material. 
 If there should be an intrigue between Harston and the 
 prima-donna, it would be of immense value to the bio- 
 graphy. He wished he could have discussed it with 
 Manuella ; he knew that almost everyone was talking of 
 their sudden intimacy. Gerald was eager for more detail, 
 and wished to probe his hero's mind. Harston only spoke 
 of Alma Orilia as an artiste, a superb artiste. Gerald 
 wanted to know more. 
 
 Although social convention was regarded less in this 
 Bohemian world than at Stone House, Gerald argued that 
 there were certain obligations necessary to fulfill. 
 
 " I don't want to meet that woman." 
 
 " It is very unlikely she will be at home." 
 
 Gerald would have appreciated her confidence, but 
 failed in obtaining it. He could not have conceived how 
 little Harston's vagaries possessed Manuella just now. 
 Somewhere, some day, she would meet Waldo; it might 
 even be to-day ! Her dislike of Alma Orilia became per- 
 functory, occupying the back instead of the foreground of 
 her mind. 
 
 She went to pay that visit to the Des Voeux, walking 
 from Circus Road to Harley Street, and all the way her 
 mind was full of the possibility that she might meet 
 Waldo ; every tall figure in the distance, or on the other 
 side of the road, set her heart beating, or brought the 
 colour into her cheeks. She arrived at Harley Street, 
 however, without adventure. She hoped to escape with 
 the mere formality of card-leaving, but happened, unfor- 
 tunately, upon Mrs. Des Voeux's " At Home " day, and 
 was following her name into the drawing-room before 
 she had time to realize it.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 259 
 
 Seen by daylight, and without the large company that 
 had mitigated, without disguising, its essential ugliness, 
 this large modernized house, ill-thought out, slovenly in 
 its lack of decorative scheme, furnished too cheaply for 
 its size, bare of beautiful things, gave her a preliminary 
 chill. The carpet on the staircase was Brussels, of a 
 design that but served to accentuate its crude colouring ; 
 the walls were papered with an abomination of terra- 
 cotta chrysanthemums above a white painted dado. 
 
 The drawing-room carpet repeated the atrocities of the 
 staircase. An even worse portrait of Oscar Des Vceux 
 than the one in the dining room hung over the mantel- 
 piece, on which were also an ormolu clock under a glass 
 shade, two light brown, possibly bronze, figures, holding 
 up candelabra that could only have come from Vienna, 
 and two yellow cats, hideously misshapen, in bastard 
 china, presumably Japanese. 
 
 There were several people in the room to whom the 
 advent of a new victim appeared as a relief. One or two 
 got up to go at once, and whilst they were saying their 
 farewells, Manuella had time to wonder why she had 
 come, and to wish she had been less punctilious. 
 
 Her hostess greeted her civilly. Having secured 
 Harston Migotti as an intimate habitue of the house, it 
 was unnecessary to pay much attention to his wife. Alma 
 Orilia, gorgeously arrayed in the bright colours she 
 affected, resented the visit, and the girl's self-possession, 
 and showed it in her own way. 
 
 " I saw your husband this morning. He did not say 
 you were calling." 
 
 " Probably he didn't know." 
 
 " You do not tell each other everything. Hem?" 
 
 Manuella laughed. She had left off being out of 
 temper, and now thought it impossible Harston could be 
 attracted by this ugly woman. 
 
 " Oh, yes, we do, everything of importance." 
 
 " How ? Everything of importance ! It is not im- 
 portant, then, that you come to see me ? " 
 
 She was already red with anger. It was insufferable
 
 26o CONCERT PITCH 
 
 that this wife of Harston Migotti should not resent that 
 her husband was with her so constantly. Mrs. Des Vceux 
 dashed into the conversation with her shrill laugh. 
 
 " If Oscar paid as much attention to any woman as 
 your husband pays to Alma, I should be simply mad 
 with jealousy. He is never out of the house." 
 
 A diversion was made by the entry of two new guests. 
 
 " Mrs. Straus. Mrs. Warner." 
 
 If they had been announced even five minutes later 
 Manuella might have escaped; but, as it was, she kept 
 her seat reluctantly. 
 
 " We had such a charming evening at your house last 
 week," chorussed Mrs. Straus and Mrs. Warner, two 
 ill-dressed ladies from some suburb that made them incon- 
 siderable. Mrs. Des Vceux smiled abstractedly, gave a 
 limp hand, and said : 
 
 " Oh, yes," as if she were tired of admitting it. Bait- 
 ing Manuella was more to her taste than entertaining 
 them. 
 
 " Mrs. Russell Marston." 
 
 A streak of vivid personality, with black eyes, black 
 hair, and foreign accent, hung with pearls, picturesquely 
 dressed, made a diversion, filling the room with scent 
 and an overpowering good-nature. She was kissing 
 Alma, greeting everybody, accepting tea, before Manuella 
 had time to wonder who she was. 
 
 " You are the wife of Harston Migotti ? " she said to 
 Manuella. " You know Russell is delighted with his 
 suite." 
 
 Russell Marston was a great conductor, the greatest, 
 perhaps, since Richter. Manuella had not even known 
 Harston had submitted him a suite. " He is so glad you 
 are going to sing the Boadicea song at the concert," she 
 went on, to Alma. 
 
 " The Boadicea song ! " 
 
 Manuella could not refrain from the exclamation, or 
 the sudden flush of heightened colour. 
 
 Mrs. Des Vceux said ill-naturedly, with an assumption 
 of carelessness :
 
 CONCERT PITCH 261 
 
 " I don't think Mrs. Migotti has heard Alma is singing 
 the Invocation song at Albert Hall." 
 
 " You do not tell each other everything," interpolated 
 Alma, with a smile of indescribable malice. 
 
 " It is your song, is it not ? You sang it when The 
 Chariot Queen was produced?" Lulu Marston asked. 
 She took in quickly that there were undercurrents here, 
 that there was antagonism, and she wished to assuage it. 
 
 " From what I have heard, I should not say she sang 
 it," Alma Orilia said, with another laugh. 
 
 " But, my dear, we have not all your wonderful voice." 
 
 " I sang it because there was no one else," Manuella 
 said simply, rising to go. This singer, whatever Harston 
 might say, was an ill-bred woman, objectionable in every 
 way. She was welcome to sing the song, or any other; 
 but it was unnecessary to stay and be insulted by her. 
 
 " I don't suppose you will go to the concert," Mrs. Des 
 Vceux said, as she said good-bye to her. " I should not, 
 if I were you. ..." 
 
 " Oh ! I shall go if I get a seat," she said carelessly. 
 " My husband is sure to want me to be there," she added, 
 resenting the attitude of both women, but holding her 
 head high, and showing little sign of it. 
 
 " Would you care to come to my box ? " Mrs. Marston 
 asked. She did not understand exactly what was going 
 on, but was the most good-hearted, good-natured of 
 erratic women, and had none of the littlenesses of her 
 sex. "If you have not a seat, will you come to my box? 
 I can call for you in the motor, if you like, or send it for 
 you. Where is it you live?" 
 
 " I really shouldn't go," Mrs. Des Vceux said, with 
 emphasis. " You will hate to hear the Boadicea song 
 sung by anyone else. ..." 
 
 " Thank you, I should like it very much," Manuella 
 answered, without heeding the advice. " I live in the 
 Circus Road. Don't bother to send for me, only give me 
 the number of the box." 
 
 " Twenty-seven. But it is no bother." Lulu Marston 
 was almost as impulsive as Manuella ; she took a sudden
 
 262 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 fancy to the girl. She could afford to admire another 
 woman's beauty, having sufficient of her own. 
 
 Mrs. Straus and Mrs. Warner, having been ignored 
 long enough, made their adieux and went out with 
 Manuella. Directly they went, Alma and Mrs. Des Voeux 
 began to talk at once to Lulu Marston about the airs the 
 composer's wife gave herself, and her bad manners. 
 
 Peter Graham had imprudently admired Manuella to 
 Mrs. Des Vceux ; Alma had her own reason for disliking 
 her. Neither of them had a good word for the girl, and 
 Lulu found it difficult to defend her on so insufficient an 
 acquaintance, although she neither altered her opinion nor 
 forgot the promise. 
 
 Manuella upbraided Harston, when she got home, for 
 concealing from her that Alma Orilia would sing the 
 " Invocation " song at the Albert Hall concert, and that 
 he had sent Russell Marston a suite for the orchestra. 
 Harston found it difficult to explain his silence. Gerald 
 tried to throw oil upon the troubled waters. He, too, it 
 appeared, had known about it. 
 
 " He thought you might be hurt." 
 
 " Yes ; that is what I thought, that you would be 
 hurt." 
 
 " You didn't suppose I should be less hurt hearing it 
 from her than from you." 
 
 " I had no idea you were going there to-day." 
 
 " So she told me." 
 
 Harston had to acknowledge that Alma had asked him 
 to keep it from his wife's knowledge. 
 
 " You see, the idea is that, if she makes a success with 
 the song, she will be more ready to create the role of 
 Cartismandua in // Traditore. You know how important 
 that would be," Gerald urged. 
 
 But now Manuella resented his interference between 
 her and her husband. Before the day of the concert there 
 were several little scenes. Gerald was so sympathetic 
 toward both of them, so curious and communicative, that 
 he got upon her nerves. To get rid of him became 
 urgent, imperative.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 263 
 
 " Baby ought to have a day as well as a night nursery ; 
 the house is small, I should like it to myself." 
 
 She did not say exactly this, but practically that was 
 what it amounted to. When a man, not without a con- 
 science, and even a heart, is deceiving his wife, he is quick 
 to do her small favours. He made a slight objection. 
 
 " But Gerald is so useful to me. ..." 
 
 " You are so seldom at home," was the quick retort. 
 
 Gerald went back to the rooms in Bedford Square, 
 and gave Harston an additional reason for continual ab- 
 sences. 
 
 She had expected to hear again from Albert, but no 
 letter came. When the days went by, and she heard 
 from neither him nor Waldo, she had an unreasonable 
 anger against Lord Lyssons. He ought to have come or 
 written; he might have known she would be anxious 
 about Albert. 
 
 She was very restless, and, it must be confessed, a little 
 quarrelsome. She felt Harston was keeping things back 
 from her, intriguing against her with Alma Orilia. She 
 could not forgive herself for caring so little, and resenting 
 it so much. Peace fled from that little house ; there were 
 scenes and recriminations. It was worse, not better, when 
 Gerald had gone. 
 
 " You will not make a scene at the concert? " Harston 
 asked her. 
 
 " That depends how I feel. I shall do just as I like," 
 she answered. 
 
 It was obvious he was ill at ease ; he had been amazed 
 at her exhibitions of temper, and was now half afraid of 
 her. His conscience was not clear, but his work was not 
 suffering, because it was practically complete. The score 
 of // Traditore was in the printer's hands. He knew it 
 depended upon himself whether Alma Orilia created the 
 title role or not ; she made little secret of his attraction 
 for her. Notwithstanding all her gifts she was a mere 
 animal of a woman. 
 
 He went off early on the day of the concert, unable to 
 obtain any assurance from his wife. He could only report
 
 264 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 to Alma, who was full of interest, that he did not know 
 what she would do; she was quite unaccountable. 
 
 True to her promise, Mrs. Russell Marston called in 
 her motor for Manuella, and Manuella had no hesitation 
 in going. She had not the remotest intention of making 
 any scene. Mrs. Russell Marston, whose own story will 
 be written one day, wore beneath the most elaborate 
 toilettes one of the warmest of human hearts. Behind 
 the plumed and extravagant hats that no one but 
 herself could have worn so successfully, but that suited 
 her exotic beauty so well, was a fine and rare under- 
 standing. She knew all about Manuella and Alma Orilia 
 now, and all her sympathy was with the girl. Musical 
 London was talking about Harston Migotti and Alma 
 Orilia. It was rumoured that Juan Orilia was on his 
 way to England. Lulu thought it would be good that 
 Manuella should show by her presence at the concert that 
 the stories afloat had little foundation. 
 
 In the motor she questioned Manuella, but in a way that 
 could not hurt her feelings. 
 
 " You wanted to hear her, did you not ? You will be 
 glad if she does justice to your husband's great music. 
 Russell is delighted with it; he thinks she is going to 
 make a big success with the song. I want you to 
 applaud." 
 
 " I shall applaud if she sings well. It was good of you 
 to invite me. Do people think I mind her singing the 
 song because I sang it so badly myself? It isn't my 
 song, as she says; it is Harston's. It put me in such 
 a rage that Harston or anyone should think I could be 
 jealous." 
 
 " I know," Lulu said soothingly. " I know ; I want 
 you to sit well in front, to be among the first to applaud." 
 She took Manuella's hand, pressed it in her impulsive 
 way. " You must come and dine with me one day, 
 Russell wants to meet you. Don't mind what anybody 
 says." 
 
 They were early in arriving at the Albert Hall, but 
 already the house was very full.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 265 
 
 " Russell will be pleased, he hates an empty house." 
 
 " He won't have that to-day." 
 
 The box was a large one and Lulu had the habit of 
 entertaining her friends there. Among almost the first 
 to arrive was Mr. Peter Graham. He had sent Manuella 
 roses, and she and Harston were dining with him the 
 next day. 
 
 Peter had arrived at an age when his emotions were his 
 servants, and not his masters. His first and most 
 empresse greetings were for Lulu, but, when he sat down, 
 it was beside Manuella. 
 
 Other men crowded into the box. Lulu Marston was 
 one of the most popular women in London. She enjoyed 
 the perpetual devotion she received, and never over- 
 rated its quality. She could play the greatest pastmaster 
 in flirtation to a standstill at his own game, and, never 
 granting the last favour, could afford to be liberal with 
 smaller ones. Under cover of Lulu's talk, Peter spoke 
 low to Manuella. She thanked him for the flowers he had 
 sent her. She had the most curious sense of expectation, 
 as if it were drama at which she was assisting. Mr. 
 Graham filled up the interval, he interested her no more 
 than that. She had no idea she was being honoured by 
 his attentions, that Lulu was stage-managing it. Harston 
 Migotti could not neglect nor ignore his wife when she 
 was under her protection and Peter Graham was in 
 attendance. Lulu believed Peter was playing her game ; 
 she had no idea she was playing his when she asked him 
 to come this afternoon. She thought Peter Graham 
 was devoted to her. He was, but had been only awaiting 
 the opportunity to see Manuella again. Now he talked 
 to her in a low voice, and she heeded him as little as one 
 heeds a curtain-raiser. And yet she had no idea what her 
 expectancy portended. 
 
 The tuning of instruments, the rustle of music-sheets 
 was over, the audience waiting. Then appeared the con- 
 ductor. If Lulu Marston was a streak of vivid person- 
 ality, what is to be said of Russell ? He was electric ; a 
 breath went through the house when he raised his baton,
 
 266 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 a breath that seemed not to expire until he laid his 
 baton down again after the first number had been played, 
 faced the audience, bowed, and smiled. He did not 
 conduct the orchestra, he played with it, all the strings 
 were in his hands, the souls of the musicians and the 
 hearts of the audience were his instruments, and he 
 drew from them exquisite harmony. When it was over, 
 Manuella turned to Lulu, her eyes glowing. 
 
 " How wonderful he is ! " 
 
 " Is this the first time you have heard Russell con- 
 duct?" 
 
 Peter Graham had not spoken ; he had been quite con- 
 tent to lean back and watch her whilst she listened. 
 Contour and colour were equally satisfying. He had 
 wanted to see her in the daylight, and found she gained 
 rather than lost by it ; her eyes and lashes were glorious, 
 the thin red curve of her vibrant mouth gave impetus to 
 his imagination. 
 
 Perhaps if he had not been gazing at her just in that 
 way, Lord Lyssons would again have put off his ap- 
 proach. Ever since Albert went away hurriedly, at his 
 instigation, he had meant to see Manuella, to explain the 
 circumstance. But he knew he would find it difficult to 
 betray no feeling at their first meeting; so he procrasti- 
 nated, hoping some accident would bring it about. He 
 went wherever he thought she might go. When he saw 
 the announcement that Alma Orilia would sing the song 
 from The Chariot Queen, he got a seat for the concert, 
 although music had always been a dead language to him, 
 and, since she had married Migotti, it was not only dead, 
 but decayed, and stank in his nostrils. 
 
 He saw Manuella come into the house, and kept his 
 seat, watching, nevertheless, and in two minds as to 
 whether he should go to her. But, when he noticed that 
 Peter Graham watched her too, and the manner of his 
 regard, he got up abruptly. 
 
 Manuella had gone out day after day expecting to meet 
 him ; she would look at every tall figure, feel the colour 
 rising in her cheeks, her heart leaping, look away, and
 
 CONCERT PITCH 267 
 
 then again, to find only disappointment. But to-day 
 she did not expect to meet him, certainly not at the 
 Albert Hall. Her heart nearly stopped when she heard 
 his voice ; then it raced on. No one else knew him. 
 
 " May I intrude ? " 
 
 " Come in." Lulu welcomed him, but Manuella was 
 rigid in her seat, presenting an obstinate back. 
 
 " I thought I recognized. ..." there was a slight hesi- 
 tation. ..." Madame Migotti." 
 
 " She is here. Manuella. ..." 
 
 She had to turn round then, but could not command 
 her voice to speak, so she only bowed. And he was 
 little less formal. Lulu's quick eyes saw beneath the 
 greeting. 
 
 " Won't you sit down? I am sure Mr. Graham doesn't 
 want to sit out the ' Eroica,' he must know every note 
 of it. Mr. Graham. ..." She waited for Manuella 
 to name the new-comer. 
 
 " Lord Lyssons." 
 
 Waldo took Peter's gracefully-vacated chair. Russell's 
 baton was again uplifted. In this box, at least, no one 
 would speak until the next piece was over. 
 
 Waldo sat through Beethoven's glorious symphony 
 without moving. Manuella, in a chaos of emotion, was 
 super-conscious of him. Not all Russell Marston's elec- 
 tricity or magnetism held her now. It seemed the 
 longest piece to which she had ever listened; but, when 
 it was over, it was as if it had only just begun. Still she 
 could not turn round. Then Waldo said, quite easily, 
 she thought, and with the old flippancy : 
 
 " It is so difficult to talk to your back." 
 
 When she faced him, although she was pale, he 
 said: 
 
 ' That's better. Don't you want to hear about Albert ?" 
 
 ' You might have let me know before." 
 
 ' So I might." 
 
 ' Why didn't you ? " 
 
 ' I wonder." 
 
 Their eyes met, and the blood rose in her cheeks ; his
 
 268 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 glass dropped out, and he had difficulty in replacing it. 
 
 " May I have my seat back ? The next is the great 
 song." 
 
 Peter had the air of a man of the world, the pleasant 
 smile. Lord Lyssons yielded his place to him, stand- 
 ing up at the back of the box, however. As he was 
 here, he thought he might stay, he must have another 
 word with her. 
 
 The great moment had arrived, the moment when 
 Alma Orilia was to sing the " Invocation " song from 
 The Chariot Queen, and Manuella was to show she was 
 not jealous, to lean forward and applaud. It seemed 
 inconceivably unimportant. At first, until after the second 
 verse had begun, she heard nothing, nothing but her own 
 loud heart-beats; she was conscious of nothing but her 
 fears lest Waldo, too, should hear them. 
 
 But the rest of the audience was more alive to the 
 occasion. 
 
 Alma Orilia was as ill-dressed as most singers at after- 
 noon concerts. She wore red silk, and the amplitude 
 of her bust was accentuated by the badly-disposed lace 
 with which the bodice was trimmed. Her hat was large, 
 a lace brim shading her face; a big bird of paradise 
 perched upon the side jarred upon the taste. She was so 
 dark that it was difficult to believe she was of European 
 blood. Amongst the audience who had no prejudice 
 against paradise wings were men and women, too to 
 whom even a suspicion of black blood is prejudicial to 
 sympathy. Yet the first words of the first verse had not 
 swung into the air before those who disliked dead birds 
 as ornaments, and those who were prejudiced against 
 the coloured races, were oblivious of both. 
 
 The song is now, of course, hackneyed, too well-known 
 to need description, but the effect of it that afternoon, 
 heard for the first time with the accompaniment, of a 
 really fine orchestra, Russell Marston conducting, Alma 
 Orilia singing, was little short of wonderful. These 
 Sunday concert audiences are genuine musical connois- 
 seurs, musical enthusiasts, but, above all things, musical
 
 CONCERT PITCH 269 
 
 critics, difficult to move, not given to tumultuous 
 applause; captious rather, and with classical cultivated 
 taste, perhaps a little narrow. This was difficult music, 
 torn from its context. But a difficulty to Russell Marston 
 was always an inspiration. He was more than electrical, 
 he was inspired. The great voice rolled, and the orchestra 
 swayed with it, rising and falling. 
 
 Fear not, isle of blowing woodland, isle of silvery parapets, 
 
 Tho' the Roman eagle shadow thee, tho' the gathering enemy 
 
 narrow thee, 
 Thou shalt wax and he shall dwindle, thou shalt be the mighty one 
 
 yet! 
 
 Never, perhaps, at a Sunday concert at the Albert Hall 
 had such applause been heard. Manuella had not to be 
 prompted, although Lulu was prepared to remind her. 
 She leaned forward, clapping with all her might in a flush 
 of whole-hearted admiration that her generosity could 
 not withhold. She might dislike the woman, but she had 
 to admire the artist. 
 
 " You behaved splendidly, my dear, splendidly," Lulu 
 told her enthusiastically. " Everyone could see there is 
 nothing in the gossip." Lulu had a little lost her head 
 or would not have been so outspoken. " No one ap- 
 plauded her more than you did." 
 
 A chorus of congratulations followed, charming things 
 were said about Harston's music, Russell Marston's con- 
 ducting, Alma Orilia's glorious voice. Lulu said it was 
 impossible to stay for another number, it would be anti- 
 climax. She was already standing up to go, collect- 
 ing her bag, purse, muff, veil, talking to everyone at 
 once. 
 
 " Are you coming? " she asked Manuella. 
 
 " What has there been gossip about ? " 
 
 It was Waldo who asked it. Peter was finding her 
 wrap, offering her his motor, criticizing the performance, 
 frying to say the things that would please her. 
 
 " If she only looked Boadicea as well as she sang it," 
 he said.
 
 2 7 o CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Manuella answered Waldo, hurriedly: 
 
 " About her, and my husband." 
 
 She did not know whether to accept Lulu Marston's 
 offer, or Peter's. She really wanted to stay where she 
 was, to sit out the remainder of the concert, keeping 
 Waldo with her. But Peter was an adept at petits soins; 
 he was holding her coat, everyone in the box was stand- 
 ing up : 
 
 " I'll get the motor round in a minute. . . . " 
 
 " If you are going in Madame Migotti's direction. . . ." 
 There were half a dozen candidates for the honour of 
 accompanying Lulu, and she was always in a hurry, full 
 up with engagements. 
 
 " I think I would rather wait. . . . Harston may come 
 up, he knows I am here," Manuella said irresolutely to 
 Mr. Graham. 
 
 " I will send round and tell him, ask him to join us." 
 Peter was never at fault. 
 
 But Harston might be seeing Alma Orilia home, and 
 send her a humiliating message to that effect. The 
 thought came quickly. 
 
 " No, don't do that. Perhaps I had better not wait." 
 
 Again Waldo interposed: 
 
 " Why not walk home ? " 
 
 " Walk ? " Peter was able to assure her that it was 
 raining. He had no doubt she would prefer his society, 
 and his motor, to that of this eccentric looking person 
 whose clothes were so obviously of last year's cut, made 
 by a second-rate tailor. 
 
 " I think I should like to walk." 
 
 " Perhaps you had better go in the motor. ..." 
 
 Waldo was always unaccountable. Maybe he did not 
 want her to get wet, but it was possible, too, that he was 
 not, even now, in complete command of himself. 
 
 " I will call upon you if I may. ..." 
 
 " Curious fellow, your friend," Peter Graham said, 
 when they drove off together. He had got the car up 
 quickly, handed her in, wrapped the furs carefully round 
 her. " That was an idea of his ! to walk home ! Who is
 
 CONCERT PITCH 271 
 
 he? I don't seem to remember having met him. Have 
 you known him long?" 
 
 " He is the Earl of Lyssons. He is a friend of my 
 brother's." 
 
 She did not know why she should say this, why she 
 wished to explain, to be disingenuous. 
 
 He had asked if he might call upon her. All the way 
 home she was wondering when he would come. Peter 
 Graham had not even the reward of her attention in 
 return for his pertinacity. But it was of little conse- 
 quence, his vanity put her abstraction down to nervous- 
 ness. There was no doubt, he thought, he was beginning 
 to affect her; she could not talk to him with ease.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 SHE had not long to wait. Waldo came the very next 
 day, almost before she expected him, though un- 
 consciously she expected him every moment of the 
 time. Quite early in the morning, a huge box of roses 
 arrived, each rose pink and perfect on its long stem. 
 She spent an hour arranging them in china vases, silver 
 bowls and tall glasses. At four o'clock in the afternoon, 
 when Lord Lyssons came, the little room was full of 
 scent and colour. He seemed amazingly tall, and more 
 like Don Quixote than ever. He saw that she still looked 
 like a girl, although some quality had been added, some 
 depth or tenderness. As yet he scarcely knew in what 
 way she had altered, although he knew so well, as men do 
 know these things, that he cared for her more than ever. 
 Something Lulu Marston had said or suggested gave him 
 the clue. If unhappiness lay in wait for her, she might 
 have need of him. He had nothing now in his mind 
 but that she was young and friendless, and her brother 
 Albert away. 
 
 At first they talked only of Albert. If he was moved 
 at seeing her no sign was apparent. His whimsical 
 sententiousness, whatever the depth or intensity of h'- 
 feelings, was not in abeyance, his sense of humour was 
 never at fault. On the surface, at least, she was more 
 nervous than he, talking quickly to hide it. 
 
 With abruptness she said: 
 
 272
 
 CONCERT PITCH 273 
 
 " You are going to tell me about Albert. I can't make 
 out why he didn't come and say good-bye? What made 
 him decide so suddenly? Was he sent for?" 
 
 " Some people might express it that way. I suppose 
 you've never heard of a judgment summons?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Well, Albert had." 
 
 " You mean he had been spending too much money? " 
 
 " You have guessed it at once, or nearly guessed it. 
 May I sit down?" 
 
 " I am so sorry, he was so generous, more than gener- 
 ous to me. He furnished this house almost completely." 
 
 Waldo looked round him with interest, as if it were 
 the first time he had seen the furniture. She went 
 on: 
 
 " He always said he had nothing to do with it, pre- 
 tended he didn't know where the things came from." 
 
 " Good by stealth sort of thing." 
 
 "Of course, I know he did -not want to be thanked ; 
 he has been so good to me. Why didn't he tell me he 
 was in trouble?" 
 
 " He told me." 
 
 " It wasn't anything, anything to do. ... I mean, I 
 know there was someone. ..." 
 
 " There was certainly a lady in the case." 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 " From whom I suggested an immediate separation." 
 
 " But perhaps she cared for him, Albert believed she 
 cared for him." The vivid flush made him look the other 
 way. But he need not have troubled, for she, too, had 
 turned her head. 
 
 " She cared a good deal for his cheque-book, and a 
 little for his prospects. I should not worry about her if 
 I were you. I don't think her heart was broken, when 
 they told her he had gone away." 
 
 " Did she try to prevent him ? I suppose he said 
 'Good-bye' to her?" 
 
 " No ! His lawyer did that ; said it awfully well, I 
 believe, and . . . inexpensively. That is enough about
 
 274 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Albert, isn't it? You've got a baby, haven't you? Why 
 not produce him just, just to change the subject." 
 
 He had asked whether he might sit down, but he was 
 again standing. 
 
 " It seems impossible you are married." 
 
 He stumbled on, it was difficult to be talking calmly 
 to her. He saw now that she did not look happy, that 
 was the chief alteration he found in her. Not maturity 
 nor wisdom, but, lurking in her eyes' dark depths, was 
 that which told him all was not well with her. 
 
 " Produce your offspring. I suppose he will have to 
 have his pinafore taken off, and his hair brushed up. . . ." 
 
 She smiled for the first time since he had come. 
 
 " He doesn't wear a pinafore, and his hair curls natu- 
 rally, it never has to be brushed up for company. I am 
 going to fetch him myself. I shan't be two seconds ; I'll 
 bring him just as he is." 
 
 She was back before he had time to miss her, bearing 
 the child in her arms. Waldo really liked babies, an un- 
 usual trait in a man ; so he took him from her, and as he 
 said, made a careful inspection. Any excuse served to 
 conceal his feelings. The baby was not like his mother ; 
 he had Harston's big head and fair hair, Bertie's blue 
 eyes. It was a curious experience to be dangling her 
 child on his knee. To him she was still only a girl. If 
 she had looked happy, if Lulu Marston had not let fall 
 that unguarded word, if Mr. Peter Graham had not sat 
 by her side with an unmistakable expression, he, Waldo, 
 would have gone, never to come back ; he would have 
 stayed away from her at all costs. //, if, iff But he 
 had sent Bertie to South Africa out of the imbroglio 
 of his affairs. Someone must be here to stand by 
 her. 
 
 The baby made itself at home on Waldo's knee, gurgled 
 at the eye-glass, and made inefficient darts to possess 
 himself of it. Waldo talked to him in his characteristic 
 way. The incoherencies that passed for talk, and were 
 the preliminary to it, the " mum mum " and " nan nan," 
 encouraged his absurdities. Screwing his glass into his
 
 CONCERT PITCH 275 
 
 eye, and looking down at the child seriously, Lord 
 Lyssons said : 
 
 " I have no doubt there is not a word you are saying, 
 young fellow, with which I'm not absolutely in agreement. 
 You don't say it very well, but I think I grasp your mean- 
 ing. You are jolly glad to be in the world at all, and you 
 have made up your mind to laugh your way through it. 
 If I poke at you with my finger you will laugh." The baby 
 certainly did, and seemed to like the tickling. " If my 
 glass drops out," which it had done during the tickling 
 process, " you will laugh again, although I can't see half 
 a yard before me without it. No ! don't grab at it ... 
 it will hurt your little fingers. As for putting it in your 
 mouth, it is not to be thought of. Here, take this, jamb 
 my watch in your mouth ; that won't hurt you. Gums 
 hot, eh? Well, never mind, here's my finger; it's softer 
 than the watch, but that's not saying much, is it? Bite 
 down on it, that's good. He is pretty strong, isn't he ? " 
 
 She offered once or twice to take the child from him, 
 but he would not give it up. Harston talked a great 
 deal about the baby, but never to it. He had written 
 a berceuse, not dandled his son on his knee. 
 
 Into this picture of domesticity sailed Mrs. Oscar Des 
 Vceux. Manuella had omitted to deny herself to visitors. 
 She was not expecting anyone but Waldo, yet many came 
 that afternoon. Mrs. Oscar Des Vceux almost shrieked 
 at the sight of the baby, and begged that he might be 
 sent away at once. 
 
 " I have the same idiosyncrasy about children that 
 Lord Roberts has about cats. I simply cannot bear them 
 in the room with me." 
 
 She seemed quite proud of it, and Waldo sympatheti- 
 cally interested himself in her symptoms, after Manuella 
 introduced them, asking for details. But this occupied 
 Mrs. Des Vceux for a comparatively short time. What 
 she had come for was to find out how Manuella had borne 
 Alma's triumph of yesterday, what she thought of it. 
 
 " It must have been hard for you to hear what another 
 woman could do with the song."
 
 276 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " It wasn't hard at all." Manuella was surprised at 
 that view of it. " I only wish I could have sung it as 
 she did ; but, of course, I couldn't, and I am glad Harston 
 has found someone who can." 
 
 " Oh, my dear, it is all very well to carry it off like 
 that, and, of course, it is very brave of you; I daresay 
 I should have done the same thing myself. But every- 
 body is talking about them. ... I suppose you have 
 heard about it ? " she asked Waldo. 
 
 " No," he answered laconically, and Manuella flushed 
 angrily. 
 
 : ' There is nothing for Lord Lyssons to hear." 
 
 "Nothing! Well, I'm sure I don't know what you 
 call nothing. My husband is fearfully upset; you know 
 she has left us and taken a flat. I told her I really 
 couldn't have him in Harley Street from morning till 
 night. I hear he is never out of the flat." 
 
 " I don't want to hear. ..." 
 
 " I can quite understand that. But I thought if we put 
 our heads together. ..." 
 
 Waldo tried to create a diversion, but Mrs. Des Vceux 
 would talk of nothing but the growing scandal of Harston 
 Migotti's devotion to Alma Orilia. 
 
 " Not that that is the way I should have put it myself. 
 For my part, I should say the boot is just as much, or 
 more, on the other leg." 
 
 " Extraordinary ! " interpolated Waldo. 
 
 " I beg your pardon." 
 
 " I was only thinking what an extraordinary position 
 that must have been for the boot, to be just as much or 
 more. ..." 
 
 Mrs. Des Voeux could not understand his treating the 
 matter so lightly. 
 
 " She runs after him, I mean," she explained. " Of 
 course, in a way, it's all for his advantage. Not that 
 Juan is likely to put up with it. Juan lets her do what 
 she likes, up to a point. ..." 
 
 Manuella could not bear that Waldo should hear her 
 husband was neglecting her and running after another
 
 CONCERT PITCH 277 
 
 woman. But Mrs. Des Voeux would talk of nothing else, 
 commiserating her, saying she had been warned, advising 
 her what to do. Waldo made no attempt to go, although 
 now Manuella wished he would. 
 
 Gerald, always at home in the house, although no 
 longer staying there, arrived in the midst of it. Mrs. Des 
 Vceux's indiscretion included him, and he was understood 
 to say something about the artistic temperament. He had 
 rushed up in a taxi to find Harston, and when he heard 
 he was not there, and had not been home since ten in the 
 morning, he left again immediately. " I'll be bound he 
 knows where to find him," Mrs. Des Voeux said, with her 
 shrill laugh, getting up to go. Manuella asked her if 
 she wanted a cab sent for. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, no. I don't trust myself to chance in 
 this neighbourhood, I kept mine. Then I'm to tell Oscar 
 you won't do anything; you are quite satisfied they 
 should be the talk of the town ? " 
 
 She was scarcely out of the house, Waldo had hardly 
 had time to ask who was the Tommy Traddles who 
 popped in and went out again, before there was another 
 interruption. 
 
 Manuella was explaining : 
 
 " It was Gerald Streatfield, Harston's great friend ; 
 they play together ; he copies the scores, helps in all sorts 
 of ways." 
 
 " I suppose it was he who sent you all those 
 roses." 
 
 " Who ? Gerald ? Oh, no ! They came from Mr. 
 Graham." 
 
 It was the very moment the servant announced : 
 
 " Mr. Graham." 
 
 Peter came in, most perfectly dressed in morning coat 
 and grey trousers, grey tie, suede gloves. 
 
 " I have only rushed in for a moment." 
 
 Waldo, Manuella herself, thought he, too, would say 
 something about Harston and Alma Orilia. He bowed 
 over her hand, kissed it. That slight roll in his r's ex- 
 cused his manners, which were too good, just as his
 
 278 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 movements were too graceful, and his clothes too decora- 
 tive, for a well-bred Englishman. 
 
 " I found myself in the neighbourhood, I hope you do 
 not mind. It is about to-morrow night. I want to know 
 if your husband would care to play. I don't want to ask 
 him formally. ..." 
 
 " Harston is not at home." 
 
 She made him welcome too welcome, Waldo thought. 
 But all these roses were from him, and it was the second 
 time he had sent her flowers. He had " r-rushed " in for 
 a moment, but he stayed quite ten minutes, thoroughly 
 charming, telling them the guests he was expecting 
 to-morrow night. 
 
 " If you would care to join us, I should be very pleased. 
 I don't know if you care for music? " 
 
 Manuella was surprised when Waldo, after an im- 
 perceptible moment of hesitation, accepted the invita- 
 tion. 
 
 " I shall be delighted." 
 
 She, at least, knew he was not musical. 
 
 Peter Graham apologized for asking him only for the 
 evening, not for dinner. 
 
 " My house is small. ..." He apologized for the 
 smallness of his house. When he went away he again 
 kissed Manuella's hand, said how he was looking forward 
 to seeing her, and that she need not trouble to let him 
 know whether her husband would play or not. 
 
 When the door closed behind him, Waldo, still main- 
 taining his place on the hearthrug, asked her if she 
 expected many more visitors. 
 
 " You have quite a lot of nice new friends. ..." 
 
 " Mrs. Des Voeux isn't a friend of mine." 
 
 After that he was silent, silent quite a long time. 
 Manuella was afraid he would begin to speak about Alma 
 and Harston. She would tell him that she did not care ; 
 she would not have him pity her. But, of course, Lord 
 Lyssons did nothing of the sort. He stood with his 
 back to the fire and warmed his coat-tails. When he 
 spoke it was of the weather.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 279 
 
 " It is perfectly ridiculous to have a fire on such a hot 
 day." 
 
 " Well, there's nothing to make you stand before it." 
 
 " I am protecting you from its heat." 
 
 " I don't want protecting." 
 
 " No, no ; of course not." He seemed a little ab- 
 stracted. 
 
 " Nice fellow, Peter Graham," he began again. " Sym- 
 pathetic manner. Does he always kiss your hand and 
 send you flowers? You were always fond of flowers, I 
 remember." 
 
 " Always." 
 
 She remembered how well she had been kept supplied 
 the rare orchids, and afterwards, when she had expressed 
 a preference, the great pink peonies. From that day to 
 this no one had sent her flowers. " No one has sent me 
 flowers since then," she said involuntarily. 
 
 What he wanted to answer was that no one but himself 
 should send her flowers. What he actually said was : 
 
 " Well, now he has begun, he will go on. You have 
 only to tell him you like it, I am sure. Graham is sure 
 to do the right thing ; I should think he knows the game 
 backwards." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean." 
 
 " Of course you don't ; how should you ? " And then, 
 inconsequently, he continued : 
 
 " You know that kid of yours ought to have something 
 to cut his grinders on. I'd better see about it for you. 
 What's the little beggar's name? I ought to have been 
 his godfather." 
 
 " He hasn't been christened. We always call him baby. 
 I meant to ask Albert." She was a little confused, as if 
 she had been guilty of carelessness, but, in reality, 
 Harston was the culprit. The christening had been put 
 off again and again, in order that his work should be 
 uninterrupted. 
 
 " He is registered Albert." 
 
 "Well, call him Albert Waldo. Why not? I should 
 like to have an interest in him."
 
 2 8o CONCERT PITCH 
 
 He went away soon after that. He had not said one 
 word to her of all he had in his head. He thought she 
 might need a friend, and he wanted her to know he would 
 be that friend. Not only to her, but also to her child. 
 He was so filled with tenderness for her, and fear, that he 
 had not a word to say. For it was obvious to him that 
 her husband was engrossed with another woman, and that 
 this man, Graham, at least, was ready to rush into the 
 breach. He would have to wait until he was more used 
 to seeing her before he could tell her anything. Now he 
 only wanted to tell her that he was her friend, that she 
 was to trust to him. He knew she did not want him to 
 speak to her about her husband, to know she was being 
 neglected, and gossiped about. Her pride and her sensi- 
 tiveness were known to him, as well as her impulsiveness 
 and capacity for folly. He did not mean to let her out 
 of his sight again ; but for the moment speech was para- 
 lysed in him.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 SINCE Waldo was to be at Peter Graham's party, 
 it was for Waldo Manuella dressed. She had the 
 talent of clothes; Peter Graham appreciated it in her; 
 it was part of her attraction for him. 
 
 To-night the pliant satin fell in long, graceful lines ; 
 the lace crossed transparently over the pale perfection of 
 her shoulders, revealing the slender throat and suggesting 
 the small rounded breasts. Her hair was without orna- 
 ment, coiled low and simply on her small and regal head. 
 
 When she entered the drawing-room in Hertford 
 Street, her host experienced a genuine emotion. He ad- 
 vanced to meet her, and showed at once that she was the 
 guest of the evening, although there might be others more 
 celebrated. It was a small party; she had hardly time 
 to recognize faces she had seen in illustrated papers when 
 dinner was announced. 
 
 In the beautiful small dining-room, at the round table, 
 with its exquisite napery, old glass and Queen Anne 
 silver, she became aware that her neighbour was a 
 Cabinet Minister, and her vis-a-vis the most famous and 
 popular lawyer who had ever followed a forensic by a 
 parliamentary success. The newest and most defensible 
 of peers was at the other end of the table. There were 
 only twelve guests at the dinner-table, and none of them 
 was unknown. 
 
 281
 
 282 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 The dinner was quite short ; Manuella was without the 
 experience to know how exquisitely it was thought out 
 and served, or how carefully selected were the wines. 
 But she could not escape knowing that the setting had 
 been prepared for her. For she was seated at the right 
 hand of her host and his eyes and words were eloquent. 
 Of course, she enjoyed this attention; she was young 
 and beautiful to-night, glowing with expectancy. She 
 had forgotten for the moment that Harston's conduct 
 with Alma Orilia was exposing her to insulting sympathy. 
 Her host's eyes told her she was looking well, if her glass 
 had not told it her before. And it was so Waldo would 
 see her. 
 
 Peter Graham had built his own house, and, like every- 
 thing he did, it showed evidence of an exquisite taste. 
 The music-room led out of the dining-room, although it 
 was on a lower level. It was approached by steps from 
 a balcony, and on the balcony Manuella stood by her 
 host's side whilst he was receiving his guests. The long 
 room below was sombre and dignified, with panelling of 
 cedar-wood and silver, lit by electric lights. There were 
 deep recesses in the walls, where, on shelves, behind 
 reticulated glass, on velvet cushions, she could dimly see 
 the great collection of musical stringed instruments he 
 told her he had spent the best part of his life in getting 
 together. Here were the masterpieces of Stradivarius, 
 Guanarius and Amati; the viols and violas de Gamba. 
 Peter Graham's evening guests were as distinguished as 
 this small perfect music-room on which they were looking 
 down, and all the house, which he promised to show her 
 presently. But there was only one to whose coming she 
 looked forward. 
 
 Waldo was very late ; at one time she thought he would 
 not come at all. It was not until the evening was far 
 advanced, and she had left the balcony, and was with 
 the other guests in the music-room, that she became 
 aware he was present. The moment was inauspicious. 
 Alma Orilia was on the platform, and Harston at the 
 piano. She was supremely conscious of comment. Had
 
 CONCERT PITCH 283 
 
 she not been, her host's apology would have made her so. 
 
 " I wish I had not asked her to-night. I did so want 
 you to be perfectly happy in my house, to be able to look 
 back to this evening. ..." 
 
 Waldo did not make his way to her side immediately. 
 
 By the time he came the song was over, and Harston 
 had disappeared with the singer. 
 
 " I am so sorry," Mr. Graham began again. 
 
 " There is not the least occasion. ..." He had to 
 leave her with the sentence unfinished to greet some fresh 
 arrival. 
 
 Waldo sauntered up ; he cannot be said to have shown 
 any alacrity. It was either his leisureliness or because 
 Mr. Graham had thought it necessary to express his 
 regret, that sent her spirits down. 
 
 " You like this sort of thing ? " Waldo asked. 
 
 " We lived a very quiet life when we were first mar- 
 ried," she answered evasively. 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 He knew all about that quiet life from Albert. And 
 now the man, the man to whom she had sacrificed herself, 
 for whom she had worked, was openly neglecting her for 
 another woman. He would have given anything to have 
 been able to ask her if she was hurt, if he could not 
 comfort her. He did, of course, nothing of the sort. 
 After a few seconds' silence he said : 
 
 " And how is my young godson ? Did he get those 
 corals I sent him up?" 
 
 "And the teething band, and the baby comforter? 
 Yes, they all came, and I meant to write and thank you. 
 But I knew I was going to meet you here to-night." 
 
 " Were you glad ? " the words escaped him. " As if 
 you could say you were not ! " he finished. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 That curious pain she had so long ago, and had almost 
 forgotten, the pain which only Waldo had ever given 
 her, was stirring within her like a couchant animal wak- 
 ing. In consciousness of it, and her shyness, she turned 
 gladly to her host, again by her side.
 
 284 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " You won't care about the next number. I want to 
 show you my prints. Will you come ? " 
 
 She went upstairs with him, through the dining-room 
 again, across the hall to the morning- room. They were 
 quite alone there, and now she was talking gaily, easily. 
 To anyone but Waldo she could talk easily. She excited 
 Peter Graham's imagination; he had meant the evening 
 to be momentous, and now he thought it might be even 
 more momentous than he had dared to hope. He could 
 not gauge the instability of her mood, any more than he 
 could know what provoked it. He only knew she was 
 glad to come away with him. 
 
 " You collect prints as well as musical instruments ? " 
 she looked round her with admiration. 
 
 They were alone in a room that was little more than 
 a cabinet of old colour-prints. Hung low and crowded 
 on the panelled walls, they were appropriate with the 
 Chelsea china, chintz curtains, Chippendale furniture. 
 She exclaimed at the charm of the scheme, and he drew 
 her attention to one or two of the gems of the collection. 
 
 " You see so quickly, so wonderfully," he said. 
 
 " Do I ? I know I am awfully ignorant. But the 
 whole room seems so right, so harmonious. Why is one 
 so much happier in the right surroundings ? " 
 
 " You feel happy here ? " He wondered if she meant 
 it for an opening. Yesterday he thought she had read 
 no page in the grammar of philandering. To-night he 
 was beginning to believe she could write verses in the 
 language ; little wonder his pulses began to throb. 
 
 ' You feel happy here ; with me ? " 
 
 'And the prints." 
 
 ' Don't laugh at me," he said in a lower voice. 
 
 ' I was not laughing." 
 
 ' You don't know what it is to me to see you here, 
 among the things I love. ..." 
 
 Peter saw the path before him quite clearly ; he had 
 traversed it so many times. Never, of course, with such 
 a companion. The last was always the only one with 
 Peter Graham. He began at the beginning:
 
 CONCERT PITCH 285 
 
 " Don't you feel that in some way we are en rapport? " 
 His blurred r's made the speech's effect. " That we have 
 the same tastes? Have you also that sudden indefinable 
 feeling of intimacy, as if we had known each other a 
 long time ? " 
 
 She hesitated, she said she was not sure if she felt 
 intimate with him ; blushed when she said it. It had 
 only been for a moment she had been an advanced scholar, 
 written verses in the new language he was teaching her; 
 now she was a tyro again, unsophisticated. He loved 
 teaching. He played the violin, but it was only in illicit 
 love he was a master. And he guarded his own emo- 
 tions, nursing them until they were so delicate that every 
 word fluttered them. 
 
 Manuella's experience in being made love to was 
 exceedingly limited. Harston was but an impetuous 
 amateur, and Lord Lyssons even less gifted. Now she 
 was in the hands of a master. At dinner she had been 
 conscious that he thought her beautiful; now he made 
 her aware that she was full of undiscovered possibilities, 
 unrevealed charms. He went easily from that to her 
 husband's infatuation for the singer, or of the singer 
 for him. His delicacy in approaching the matter at all 
 was only exceeded by his tact in conveying sympathy 
 without actually opening the subject. 
 
 " You must not let it distress you. If you cared, if 
 you authorized me, I would write to her husband, to 
 Juan Orilia . . . though, of course, you can hold 
 your own without anybody's help. But if they should 
 take any step . . . inimical . . . inimical to your inter- 
 ests. ..." 
 
 He was telling her that she had a friend in him. She 
 was quickly responsive to kindness, and thanked him 
 impulsively. 
 
 " I don't really care, only I hate people discussing 
 me." She denied and acknowledged in a breath. 
 
 " I understand ; I quite understand." 
 
 Waldo, who had missed them, interrupted most un- 
 expectedly, walking into the room as if it were natural
 
 286 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 for him to be there. He saw that she was agitated, and 
 mistook the cause. 
 
 " And this is the famous collection of prints ? " 
 
 If Peter Graham was surprised to find they were no 
 longer alone, he had the talent to disguise it. He greeted 
 Lord Lyssons warmly, as if he had no other aim than to 
 show the engravings. 
 
 " You are interested in prints ? I have one of your 
 great-grandmother by Bartolozzi in colours, after Kauff- 
 mann ; and first states of both the Sir Joshuas." He 
 reminded Manuella : " You admired them very much." 
 Manuella was silent now, the manner of a few moments 
 ago completely changed. A man would have been a 
 fool not to have noticed the change in her, and Peter 
 Graham was not exactly a fool. Peter thought Manuella 
 was resenting Lord Lyssons's intrusion, which, however, 
 he attributed to a genuine enthusiasm for prints. 
 
 " The fourth Countess of Lyssons was accounted a 
 great beauty in her day, and all the fashionable portrait 
 painters tried their hands on her. I have the mezzotint 
 by John Jones after Romney." 
 
 " The beauty has not proved hereditary." 
 
 Peter Graham's wit was not quick. 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know. Lady Carruthers is a cousin of 
 yours, isn't she ? She was a very lovely woman. I knew 
 her daughter." 
 
 Waldo said he was fortunate. 
 
 " If you will accept a print from me, I have also a 
 second state of the Jones mezzotint which is practically 
 equal to the first. It is very rare in either state, and is 
 not described by Chaloner Smith. I was going to give it 
 to the British Museum, as they haven't a copy, but if 
 you " 
 
 Peter Graham knew all about his own collection, which 
 distinguished him from the majority of wealthy col- 
 lectors. Lord Lyssons expressed his gratitude suitably 
 but declined the print. 
 
 " I'm afraid I must go now." 
 
 Peter Graham had his reputation as a host to sustain.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 287 
 
 Lord Lyssons seemed absorbed in the walls, as if he 
 would linger over them. " You will excuse me ; I see 
 you are an enthusiast. I wish I could remain with you. 
 There is a catalogue." 
 
 When he had left the room Lord Lyssons said to 
 Manuella : 
 
 " I did not know you took such an interest in prints." 
 
 " Nor I that you did," she answered hastily. 
 
 " You seemed to have got quite excited over them." 
 He was eyeing her curiously. 
 
 " It was not about the prints." 
 
 " I imagined not." 
 
 Mr. Graham hurried back to tell them supper was 
 served. " I had no idea it was so late. Will you bring 
 Mrs. Migotti to the supper-room ? " 
 
 He remembered now that it was in her sitting-room he 
 had met Lord Lyssons ; the fellow was unattractive, ill- 
 dressed, still . . . there was no use pressing a tete-a- 
 tete on her. 
 
 " There is a seat reserved for Madame Migotti at the 
 top of the table. I will be there almost as soon as you 
 are. Prince Kapotsky is just going, I must see him 
 off." 
 
 " Are you hungry ? " Waldo asked Manuella, when Mr. 
 Graham hurried away again. 
 
 " Starving." 
 
 " Come along, then." 
 
 That is what it was, hunger of the heart. If both of 
 them were conscious of it, were they both in hopes 
 of keeping it from the other. They were very silent, 
 seeming to have nothing to say as they went into the 
 supper-room. 
 
 She sat silently, too, through supper, and Peter 
 Graham, again beside her, thought again that his words 
 and himself had affected her, and was well satisfied. He 
 had eyes for no one but her, his deferential manner made 
 her conspicuous. 
 
 Lord Lyssons was not a man of strong prejudices ; he 
 had travelled too much, and seen too many people. But,
 
 288 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 watching them both, he allowed a hard word or two to 
 escape him. 
 
 " These damned Jews," he said to himself, " they can 
 buy the earth ! " 
 
 And then he was ashamed again, for Manuella was not 
 to be bought. That she was to be wooed he hardly 
 believed ; that she had to be protected he instinctively 
 knew. He suspected it at Albert Hall, and to-night he 
 knew. Their host was making little secret of his feelings, 
 Harston Migotti was inseparable from Alma Orilia. 
 Lord Lyssons heard Harston say hurriedly to his wife, 
 after supper was over and the guests dispersing: 
 
 " Don't wait for me. Alma wants me to see her 
 home. ..." 
 
 He was perhaps a little ashamed, repeating a lesson. 
 Alma had sent him to say it, and was watching the effect. 
 She looked insolently triumphant. In some things Peter 
 was quicker than Waldo, and he knew women better, 
 women like Alma Orilia. 
 
 " I am hoping Madame Migotti will not leave us just 
 yet," he said to Harston. " You can rely upon me to 
 see her into the motor. I told it to come back for her." 
 
 " Graham will look after her." That was what Harston 
 reported to his exacting mistress. 
 
 And when the time came, Peter was better than his 
 word. He would not let her go up to the cloak-room, but 
 sent for her wraps, seeing her afterwards to the car, 
 staying at the door of it bareheaded, talking earnestly. 
 
 When Waldo was being helped into his own coat in the 
 hall he heard a laughing comment on his attention : 
 
 " Peter never alters. Co-respondents are born, not 
 made. He has got hold of a beauty this time. Lucky 
 fellow ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 TWO days later, at twelve o'clock in the morning, 
 Peter Graham was in the sitting-room at Circus 
 Road, extraordinarily pale and agitated, and Manuella 
 was standing listening to him, little less pale than he. 
 Her lips were trembling, her eyes startled, and she was 
 at first incredulous. 
 
 " That I should be the one to bring you such news ! " 
 he ejaculated. 
 
 " You say Madame Orilia told you herself that they 
 were going away together ? " 
 
 " Her words were, ' You can tell her that we have left 
 for Genoa.' " 
 
 " Had anything happened ? Was there any reason 
 why she should have sent me such a message, and sent 
 it by you ? " 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " I happened to be in the Buckingham Palace Road. 
 She pulled down the window of her brougham and called 
 to me. ... " 
 
 " I want to know exactly what she said. Was Harston 
 with her?" 
 
 " Yes ; he was beside her. She said, ' Go and tell her 
 we have gone.' It seems, that night at my house, some- 
 one heard you say Alma Orilia might sing your husband's 
 music, but . . . What you said was repeated to her. She 
 is revengeful, bitter. ..." 
 
 289
 
 2 9 o CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " What I said was that she was quite welcome to sing 
 his music and even to make love to him, but that she 
 would never get any further; she was too ugly to be 
 wicked." 
 
 A sort of dry sob escaped her as she repeated her own 
 words, it was true she had said them, and to Mrs. Des 
 Voeux. 
 
 " She got it into her head you despised her as a rival, 
 thought because she was plain. ..." 
 
 "Ugly!" 
 
 " Because she was ugly, you would be able to hold 
 him, keep him ... I don't know what she thought ; 
 she was jealous of you, furious you were not jealous of 
 her. I don't think he wanted to go ; he looked miserable. 
 ' Tell Manuella,' he said, ' tell her I will come back. . . .' " 
 
 " How dare he ? how dare he ? I won't have him 
 back ! " 
 
 " I am sure everything was decided hurriedly. 
 He explained it to me as well as he was able. 
 Stollmont is to be at Genoa on Saturday; they want to 
 catch him there. If they can see him before he makes 
 any other arrangements they may get him to put on 
 // Traditore before anything else." 
 
 " Harston wanted to make me believe they have only 
 gone to see Stollmont ? " 
 
 " He said the letter only came this morning ... he 
 had not heard of it before he went out. He sent young 
 Streatfield up for his clothes, didn't he ? " 
 
 " Yes. Gerald told me he was called away on business." 
 
 " She won't be able to hold him ; how would it be 
 possible after . . . after you? Tell me what I can do 
 to help you. You ought to get away, not wait until people 
 come." 
 
 " To condole with me ? " She was almost beyond 
 speech with her contempt and indignation, the hurt to her 
 pride. 
 
 " Everybody will be sorry for you and condemn him. 
 She will have done herself no good. I believe her hus- 
 band said he would kill her the next time it happened."
 
 CONCERT PITCH 291 
 
 She sat down suddenly on the sofa, her courage 
 collapsing. Peter Graham began half a dozen sentences 
 without finishing them; they seemed to have in them 
 more r's than any other letter. He, too, was obviously 
 labouring under deep emotion. Through her own fury 
 she became conscious of it, and supposed he was sorry for 
 her. The other night he had said there was something in 
 common between them, and he had shown his interest in 
 her. He came over now and sat beside her. 
 
 " You know how distressed I am." She saw that there 
 were even tears in his eyes, she spoke hurriedly when she 
 saw them. 
 
 " I know." 
 
 Not grief, but anger, held her ; she knew she had kept 
 her vows, been a good wife, lived in repression, thought 
 of nothing but her husband. 
 
 " How can I help it ? To see you so beautiful, and . . . 
 and wronged. ..." 
 
 He took her hand, held it to his lips. She forgot he 
 was there. Harston had left her! And with that 
 woman ! 
 
 She went very pale, and he thought she was going to 
 faint. " What would Waldo sayf " That was the sud- 
 den thought that paled her cheek. 
 
 Peter Graham was sitting very close to her, and she 
 could not bear him so near. 
 
 " I wish you would get up." He rose at once. 
 
 "Shall I go?" 
 
 There was silence again in the room, the clock ticked, 
 a cinder from the fire dropped into the grate. Again a 
 sudden passion of resentment seized her, a quick impulse 
 of ungovernable anger, it died down, however, as quickly 
 as it came. 
 
 " You don't mind me saying that I think you should 
 get away," Peter Graham went on : ' The news will be 
 all over London by to-night. Then the comments, the 
 sympathy ; newspaper paragraphs perhaps. ..." 
 
 " How can I get away ? " 
 
 " Let me think."
 
 292 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 He seemed to be thinking. 
 
 " It is impossible for me to go away." 
 
 " You will have them all up here, questioning, condol- 
 ing. It will be unbearable for you." 
 
 She, too, was thinking how unbearable sympathy 
 would be. 
 
 " Oscar will want you to do nothing. His wife will 
 urge you to take proceedings. ..." 
 
 " I shan't do anything she advises ; she will gloat over 
 it, talk to everyone. ..." 
 
 " You must get away." 
 
 Now he spoke with decision. 
 
 " That is the only possible thing. Why not go South ? " 
 It seemed an inspiration, as if it had come to him 
 suddenly. 
 
 " I am not going myself this year," he hurried on. " I 
 cannot leave London. Take my villa, I have a little 
 villa between Monte Carlo and Mentone. ..." 
 
 He painted its deficiencies, deprecated, whilst describ- 
 ing, the charms of its isolation. It was in a garden, 
 yellow with lemon-trees and mimosa, hanging over the 
 blue tideless sea. 
 
 " I will lend it you, if you will allow me, or let it to 
 you. You will be quite alone there, and can make up 
 your mind at leisure what you are going to do. There is 
 no sunnier spot in the world, but there is always shade 
 in the garden and on the verandah. It is very quiet, 
 out of the sound and sight of tramcars and motors 
 practically on a promontory." 
 
 She had told him to go away, but now in the eagerness 
 of his speech he came over to her again. 
 
 " You don't know how I should like to feel I could be 
 of use to you." He spoke emotionally. 
 
 " I know." 
 
 She believed that he liked her and therefore offered 
 her this sign of friendship, that he understood it would 
 be impossible for her to stay here to be sympathized with, 
 to bear the comments and curiosity of their friends. In 
 her eyes he was almost elderly, at the age of friendship.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 293 
 
 She did not mean to accept his offer, or rather she was 
 not sure what to do. So much would depend upon 
 Waldo. . . . When she thought of what Waldo would 
 say or do she flushed again and Peter Graham interpreted 
 the flush in his own way. He was already beginning to 
 thank her fervidly when Lord Lyssons was announced. 
 No one could have guessed Waldo's sensations on seeing 
 Peter Graham here, traces of emotion in his face, storm 
 of emotion in hers. 
 
 All he said was : 
 
 "Hope I don't intrude?" 
 
 Peter answered hurriedly : 
 
 " I am just going," and made his escape, imagining he 
 had achieved all his purpose. 
 
 Manuella followed him to the door, saying something 
 in a low voice. 
 
 Waldo remained standing on the hearthrug, his back 
 to the fire, pulling himself together. He phrased it to 
 himself : 
 
 " Pull yourself together, old man ; that damned Jew 
 has got hold of her in some way, appealing to her feel- 
 ings. You have got to look after her; don't go think- 
 ing for yourself, and how you'd like to wring his neck; 
 say the right thing for once." 
 
 What Manuella had whispered to Peter Graham was: 
 
 " Don't say anything before Lord Lyssons." 
 
 It was only an impulse, but if he had not already heard, 
 she wanted to tell him herself, and when they were by 
 themselves. In the hall she thanked Graham for coming 
 to her, and for the offer of his villa. She was touched 
 by the way in which he responded that he had done 
 nothing, and wished he could do everything. 
 
 When she came back to Waldo she was still convinced 
 of Graham's kindness, but it had become of little moment. 
 What would happen when she told Lord Lyssons that 
 her husband had deserted her? How was she going to 
 tell him? 
 
 She came back into the room with these two questions 
 paramount. For the moment she forgot to be angry
 
 294 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 with Harston, contemptuous of Alma Orilia. What 
 would Waldo say ? That was the beginning and end. 
 
 What Waldo said was : 
 
 " Have you really been able to part with him? Awful 
 wrench, I suppose. Sweet fellow! isn't he? I would 
 not have interrupted for anything if I had known. May 
 I have a cigarette? " 
 
 She was quite taken aback by his manner, quickly in 
 arms against it. 
 
 " Of course you can smoke. Mr. Graham only 
 came . . . only came to tell me. ..." 
 
 " Oh ! I can guess what he came to tell you. Where 
 do you keep your matches ? " He was searching the 
 mantelpiece. She found the box on the table and handed 
 it to him. 
 
 " Thanks, fine cigarettes, these Lucanas. I suppose 
 Mr. Graham does not smoke; that sort of fellow never 
 does." 
 
 " Why are you talking like that about Mr. Graham ? 
 He is the kindest man in the world ; he only came up 
 here this morning, because because. ..." 
 
 " I say, spare me what he came up here this morning 
 for; I came up myself for the same reason." 
 
 He meant they had both come to see her. But what 
 she thought he meant was that he, too, had heard heard 
 that Harston had left England with Alma Orilia! She 
 waited for his next words hung upon them. His 
 sympathy would be sweet, but from him she wanted 
 more than sympathy. He went on smoking; found the 
 cigarette was not so much to his liking as he thought, 
 although that may not have been the fault of the 
 cigarette, made another observation about it, and then 
 pitched it into the fire. 
 
 " I suppose he imagines himself in love with you." 
 
 She stared at him in utter surprise, speechless. 
 
 "Who? What?" 
 
 " He has probably a lascivious and beastly imagination. 
 You are impulsive and practically unprotected. ..." 
 
 The he did know.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 295 
 
 " Practically unprotected," he repeated. " Albert isn't 
 here, although, of course, he ought to be." 
 
 " I don't want Albert. I don't want anybody." 
 
 " You have never been able to take care of yourself. 
 You are like a child playing with matches; you don't 
 know your danger." 
 
 Her nerves were fretted, fretted almost to breaking- 
 point. What she had wanted and expected from him 
 was . . . was . . . she did not word it, but " com- 
 forting " was the word. Instead, he was blaming her be- 
 cause Harston had left her, because she had been unable 
 to take care of him or of herself. She had never been 
 able to bear injustice; her hot heart swelled in resentment. 
 
 " It isn't true. I have taken care of myself and of 
 him too." 
 
 She was speaking of Harston. He was thinking of 
 Peter Graham, whom he had found there at twelve o'clock 
 in the morning, the signs of spent emotion in his pallor 
 and dark eyes reflected in hers. 
 
 " For the moment, I daresay.'' 
 
 For all his cool words and manner Waldo was hardly 
 less agitated than she. " I suppose he has only left you 
 for a time. I know the kind of fellow he is." 
 
 " He is not coming back at all." 
 
 " Don't you believe it. He will make an appeal to you ; 
 I shouldn't wonder if he wept. You are as soft as a 
 lobster without its shell. I shall find you drying his 
 tears. ..." 
 
 " I shall do what I think right." 
 
 " You have the heart of a child and the knowledge of 
 the world of a field-mouse. ..." 
 
 " I wish you had not come here at all," she burst out, 
 bitterly and utterly disappointed and unnerved. 
 
 " Of course you do." 
 
 He was labouring under an excess of feeling, accom- 
 panied by an utter incapacity to express it. That Peter 
 Graham should be making love to her was an unspeakable 
 outrage; that she should defend him, be his advocate, 
 was intolerable. In the misunderstanding, both of them
 
 296 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 lost their temper, and said absurd things. What they 
 were he was never quite sure, nor was she. There was 
 something about "orientalism " that she did not in the 
 least understand but resented the more passionately, and 
 more about her childishness. 
 
 " You only came here to say unkind things to me." 
 He did not know anything about the trouble she was 
 in, of Harston's defection or her sensitiveness about it. 
 " You are trying to make me lose my temper." 
 " Well, it has never been a difficult job, has it? " 
 She burst into tears and went on incoherently to up- 
 braid him for what he had said and left unsaid. The 
 storm of her anger played about him like forked light- 
 ning. He seemed to see in its flashes -the justification 
 for the jealousy that was shaking him. 
 
 She rushed out of the room when her fury had abated, 
 and he waited a long time for her to come back. But 
 when she did not come back he went away. He was 
 not surprised that she was angry with him for having 
 pointed out that Peter Graham was making love to her; 
 when he thought it over he was rather glad. To him 
 she was so much more than beautiful or attractive. He 
 saw her young soul white behind her lovely eyes, and 
 that all her spirit shone. He knew her loyalty and 
 courage, the fearlessness with which she would face 
 danger. He had but meant to warn her.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE full force of her loneliness broke upon her that 
 afternoon, when Waldo had left her without a 
 word of comfort, and she had nothing to do but think. 
 She sat over the fire and thought about her life. From 
 beginning to end it had been a failure; she thought 
 it would have been far better had she died with her 
 mother. Her cruel childhood came back to her, her 
 stepmother's dislike, her father's indifference, her own 
 fits of temper. Perhaps it was true, too, that she had 
 had a bad influence on Albert. There was nothing 
 good or strong about him, and he had left England 
 under a cloud. She began to cry presently, thinking 
 how alone she was what a muddle she had made of 
 everything. 
 
 She went up into the nursery later, and carried the 
 baby off to take his first sleep in her arms, unheeding the 
 nurse's remonstrances. 
 
 If he cuddled down with his curly head against her 
 heart, she might find solace. But baby, too, disappointed 
 her this evening. He had a slight cold and was fidgety ; 
 perhaps he missed his bed. She took him back to nurse, 
 feeling cross with him, as she had been with Waldo. 
 But already she was sorry she had lost her temper 
 with Waldo, and was wondering if indeed he knew, if 
 he understood. 
 
 How long the evening seemed! And all her days, 
 297
 
 298 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 she supposed, would be the same. She could settle 
 neither to needlework nor to reading. Were all her 
 days and evenings to be like this? It was not true 
 that it was her own fault, and that she could not take 
 care of herself. She had taken care not only of herself, 
 but of Harston, been a good wife to him; prayed for 
 help, subordinated herself, her baby, everything, to his 
 well-being. That he had left her like this was a punish- 
 ment, nevertheless ; a punishment, because, notwithstand- 
 ing all that she had done, she had not loved him; he 
 must have realized some lack in her. She went to bed 
 early, feeling very forlorn, crying herself to sleep. Her 
 last thought was that, when her stepmother heard of her 
 position, she would exclaim with satisfaction : " I always 
 said no one would live in the same house with her." 
 
 She did not know how long she had been asleep, but 
 she woke with a start. 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, do wake ! do come ! Oh, ma'am, he's 
 so bad. ..." 
 
 She was out of bed in a second, her heart thumping. 
 
 "I'm coming. What is it? Wait!" 
 
 She was at the door in her nightgown, not staying to 
 put on a dressing-gown, get her slippers, or turn up 
 the light. 
 
 " What is it ? what's the matter ? " 
 
 " It's the croup, I think." 
 
 Now she was flying along the narrow passage. The 
 nursery door was open ; a night-light burned. Cook was 
 sitting with the choking, struggling baby, a strange figure 
 of a cook, fat and unwieldy in her cotton dress put on 
 hastily, unbuttoned over her nightgown, a grey wisp 
 of hair falling over her flaccid cheeks, but a good kind 
 old cookie for all that, crying and distraught. 
 
 " It's the croup, that's what it is, the croup. Oh, the 
 poor dear ! " 
 
 In a moment Manuella had caught him up, and he was 
 gasping and fighting for breath in his mummy's arms. 
 She was questioning, exclaiming, crying with him. He 
 could not get his breath, was almost black in the face.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 299 
 
 She did not know what to do, none of them knew what 
 to do. It was maddening to be so helpless. 
 
 " I've heard that a hot bath ... get a hot bath." 
 
 " Or a sponge of hot water to the back of the neck . . ." 
 
 " For God's sake get a sponge." 
 
 " And there's ipecac. Poor dear ! if he could bring it 
 up, if we could get him to be sick. ..." 
 
 They were doing all they knew. Nurse had called 
 cook first; they had hesitated to send for mistress, 
 " knowing she was in trouble." Manuella hated them for 
 knowing it. 
 
 In any emergency the finer faculties emerge. There 
 was now no memory of trouble save this. She knew 
 little of illness, but mother-instinct guided her, and soon 
 the bath was ready. The hot sponge proved valuable; 
 a weak mixture of mustard and water served in place of 
 the absent ipecacuanha. By the time cook had dressed 
 hurriedly, and gone out to seek a doctor, his services were 
 less urgently needed. 
 
 When she tardily returned with a sleepy and unwilling 
 person retrieved from a neighbouring dispensary, baby 
 was no longer nearly black in the face and struggling for 
 breath ; he was very white and exhausted, he seemed 
 to have shrunk beyond recognition, to have fallen in at 
 the temples and to be but a simulacrum of himself, but he 
 was no longer engaged in that terrible fight. He was 
 drowsy, inclined to sleep. 
 
 This local doctor in the stress of his own fight for a 
 living had forgotten what little science he ever had. A 
 man experienced in filling death-certificates, capable of 
 vaccinating, or seeing a maternity case through if there 
 should be no complications. " Never interfere with 
 Nature," was his easy maxim. To do him justice, we 
 must admit he rarely made the attempt. He hated 
 coming out at night ; nothing short of cookie's dynamic 
 energy would have dragged him from his bed. But she 
 rang and rang, and shouted up the tube that led to his 
 bedroom. He was overtired with the many hours' work 
 that he had done so perfunctorily; the work itself had
 
 300 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 lost interest for him, so long had he prescribed the same 
 formulae, given the same medicines. It mattered so little 
 from which cask he drew the ingredients. When the 
 day's work was over he drank whisky and water hot, 
 and slept heavily. 
 
 Now, here he was, a little fuddled, and coarsely jocular. 
 
 " You know my charge is ten. shillings if I am called 
 out of bed in the middle of the night," was the first 
 greeting. When he was able to realize that it was not a 
 club patient, but a lady who sat before him with an 
 exhausted baby on her lap, he tried to pull himself to- 
 gether, to be of some use. He was not a villain, not 
 even a drunkard, he was only tired and worn out from 
 working under impossible conditions to make a living for 
 his own wife and children. He approved all that had 
 been done. But Manuella, realizing quickly what manner 
 of doctor had been brought to her, would not let him 
 approach the child for examination, lest he should disturb 
 the quiet into which the little sufferer had fallen. Im- 
 petuously she bade him stay where he was. 
 
 Because she was so beautiful in the blue dressing-gown 
 they had thrown round her, he was amenable, staring at 
 her, hardly seeing the patient. From his safe distance he 
 asked the history of the illness. Manuella, cuddling the 
 boy, trying to answer the doctor's conventional ques- 
 tions, remembered how little heed she had paid to baby's 
 fretting, or his symptoms of a cold. In her selfishness 
 she had thought of nothing but her own troubles. 
 
 " I didn't notice ; tell him, nurse. But it is over now, 
 the attack has quite passed ; he has fallen asleep. I won't 
 have him awakened." 
 
 This dispensary doctor had rough methods. 
 
 " Another attack will be coming on again, when he 
 has gathered the strength for it. From the look of him, 
 he hasn't much stamina. ..." 
 
 She looked up indignantly. " He has never had a day's 
 illness." 
 
 " He may pull through, but it's always a toss-up with 
 the first attack of croup. Twelve months old ? Teething,
 
 CONCERT PITCH 301 
 
 too, I suppose? There is nothing to be done. I'm sure 
 I don't know why I was dragged out of bed. Nature, you 
 know ; you'll have to leave him to Nature. Keep hot 
 water going; don't give him anything but milk." 
 
 He was really trying to remember all he knew about 
 croup. He seemed to remember that the Madonna was 
 fair; but in her blue dressing-gown this young woman 
 looked like the Madonna. He could not classify her. 
 His patients were mostly drawn from one of two classes, 
 and she was not of either. He would know more if he 
 saw her husband, a man is generally more easy to classify 
 than a woman 
 
 " Where is your husband? What is he? " 
 
 There is not much time to be tactful or delicate in a 
 dispensary practice. 
 
 " He ought to be here, you know." 
 
 Her heart ran coM when he had spoken of another 
 attack. She held the child always closer in her arms, 
 feeling his frailty, anguished lest he should be again 
 convulsed. 
 
 " Her husband's abroad," answered cook to the doc- 
 tor's question, whilst Manuella only held the child more 
 closely, and thought wildly how she was to save him. 
 
 "Oh, abroad, is he?" 
 
 The doctor wondered whether she was married. He 
 saw a good deal of irregular life in the course of his 
 cheap practice. He was sorry for her, but it was three 
 or four o'clock now, and he wanted his bed. 
 
 " Well, I shouldn't worry about him any more until it 
 comes on. Put him back in his cot and cover him up. 
 I'll send you round some medicine in the morning. I 
 daresay I'll manage to see him in the course of the day." 
 
 He could never have imagined how she resented his 
 staying there and everything he said, how anxious she 
 was that he should be gone. She hated the man. This 
 was no healer, no helper. 
 
 When the front door slammed behind him the sense of 
 hurry came upon her the need for immediate action. If 
 it were true another attack was threatening she must
 
 302 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 be ready to meet it. Her heart almost broke in tender- 
 ness over the baby. 
 
 ' There must be something to be done, something that 
 dreadful man doesn't know," she said desperately. It 
 was now she wanted a friend's help. What did pride or 
 anything matter? Waldo had said if she ever needed a 
 friend she was to call upon him ; she was desperate in her 
 need. The baby started in her arms, cried, coughed. 
 
 " Go to the nearest telephone office. Find Lord Lys- 
 sons' number ; he lives somewhere in the ' Albany.' Tell 
 him baby is ill, and I want the name and address of that 
 doctor he sent to me once. He must come quickly ..." 
 her voice broke. 
 
 That it was the doctor, and not Lord Lyssons, who was 
 needed quickly, cookie might have misunderstood. She 
 was very fat and had exhausted her intelligence on the 
 hot water and mustard. She got her message through, 
 not to Lord Lyssons, who at five in the morning was not 
 yet awake, but to his sleepy valet, who delivered it muti- 
 lated, but fairly intelligible, an hour or two later. How 
 exhaustively Waldo cursed that considerate valet goes 
 without saying. He dressed in record time, and was 
 thundering at Tom Shorter's door before that eminent 
 physician was out of bed. 
 
 Meanwhile, back at home, cookie had the blinds up and 
 fires going, the house in order, and breakfast on the way. 
 Manuella was able to lay the child down, although re- 
 luctantly, whilst she dressed. She drank her coffee 
 watching, her eyes on the cot, every sound or stir, almost 
 every laboured uneven breath, bringing her heart to a 
 standstill, driving the last faint colour from her face. 
 Cook had got her message through to that little doctor 
 who was a healer, but how long he was in coming how 
 long ! Before he came she was agonized again with that 
 choking cry and cough to which the baby awoke. She 
 was quicker this time with her remedies, but could not 
 but see how frail he had so suddenly grown, and shrunken 
 about the ten-Hes. his eyes dull. She was holding him 
 in his bath when they came in, but she was very near the
 
 CONCERT PITCH 303 
 
 end of her own powers of endurance. The baby suffered, 
 struggled, gasped for breath and choked ; she found it 
 unbearable to see him suffer. 
 
 The two men came together into the room. Dr. 
 Shorter, without a moment's hesitation, took the child 
 from her, lifting it out of the useless bath, wrapping it 
 in the blanket, taking immediate charge. 
 
 " She's about at the end of her tether. You look after 
 her," he said to Waldo. " Lay her on the floor quickly, 
 she's going to faint." 
 
 He mastered the whole situation; all they had to do 
 was to carry out his instructions, get the things for which 
 he asked, constitute themselves his lay helpers. Man- 
 uella's attack of faintness lasted a very few seconds. The 
 strain had suddenly become insupportable, the swaying 
 room grew black before her eyes. The floor and the 
 draught from the open door, with the knowledge that the 
 child was in safe hands, revived her. She would have 
 held on if the little doctor had not taken the baby from 
 her arms. She said so, and afterwards Dr. Shorter told 
 her it was probably true. In quite a few minutes the 
 faintness had gone; she was up, and the readiest of his 
 helpers. It was extraordinary how the little man brought 
 calm with him, and confidence ... if not confidence, at 
 least hope. 
 
 Waldo went backwards and forwards to the chemist ; 
 the weakness had to be fought as well as the croup. All 
 Tom Shorter's energies were in the fight now, for it came 
 to a fight, a fight to the finish. He was not going to let 
 the child go, but it needed all he knew, every feint and 
 dodge to keep him here; probably no other man would 
 have succeeded. 
 
 Waldo, going backwards and forwards to the chemist, 
 backwards and forwards to the telephone, for they must 
 know in Harley Street what it was detained the consult- 
 ant from his full waiting-room, tried to keep Manuella's 
 courage going. All his mind was in that small nursery, 
 concentrated on the girl (she would always be a girl to 
 him) with the tragic face, who was watching her dying
 
 304 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 baby. He thought it was dying, although he kept telling 
 her the contrary. 
 
 " You . . . you wouldn't like a parson ? " he asked 
 her, abruptly when Tom Shorter gave the first in- 
 jection of strychnine, the oxygen beginning to fail of 
 effect. 
 
 For the moment she failed to grasp his meaning, look- 
 ing at him with those sombre, unseeing eyes. He went 
 on hurriedly : " I don't know how you feel about it, it 
 can't do any harm. He ... he hasn't been christened, 
 you know ..." 
 
 She tried to collect her thoughts. 
 
 " I think I had better fetch one. Shall I ? It can't 
 do any harm." 
 
 If she found the baby's sufferings insupportable, he 
 was feeling hers no less acutely. He did not know what 
 to say, and none of the hesitant words that came to him 
 were the words he wanted. 
 
 He wanted to ask Tom Shorter whether it would not 
 be as well to have the baby christened at once, but he 
 could not speak to him without Manuella hearing. He 
 lowered his voice as much as possible. 
 
 Dr. Shorter had no opinion of religious ceremonies, and 
 shared the average scientist's neglect of observances, but 
 his reply was quite unhesitating: 
 
 " You will have to hurry." 
 
 The paroxysms of coughing were under control, the 
 forehead sweating; the child retained the injected nour- 
 ishment. But it was blue about the lips, the extremities 
 were cold ; no one but Tom Shorter would have held on 
 to his work. 
 
 Lord Lyssons was quicker and more successful with a 
 clergyman than cook had been with a doctor. The 
 athletic curate he captured was eager for his job, and 
 hardly waited to hear it explained. 
 
 "Christen a dying baby? Certainly. Half a jiff! 
 Can you wait until I change my clothes ? " He had 
 been training a local division of the Boy Scouts when 
 Waldo encountered him, and was hurrying home.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 305 
 
 " I'm afraid there's no time to be lost." 
 
 The athletic curate was as reverent in his flannels as he 
 would have been in black. The brief ceremony lost 
 nothing in his reading. It was not a new scene for him 
 the dying child, the half-unconscious mother, even the 
 little doctor, who said, under his breath : " Cut it as 
 short as you can, and don't stand where I can't watch 
 him." When he had baptized the baby he said to 
 Waldo: 
 
 " May I say the prayers for the dying ? " Before he 
 had been answered he was down on his knees. Then 
 Waldo moved over and stood by Manuella. " It can't 
 do any harm," he said again apologetically. 
 
 It was strange to see him kneeling too, presently, side 
 by side with the young clergyman. She had no stub- 
 bornness of unfaith to conquer, only indifference, and 
 after a moment's hesitation she knelt with them. 
 
 There was silence in the disordered nursery no sound 
 now but the fervent prayer. Dr. Shorter thought, per- 
 haps a little contemptuously, that it might have been a 
 scene out of a novel by Hall Caine. During the prayer he 
 sterilized the tube and prepared another injection. He 
 never doubted it was that last injection, and not the 
 prayer, that brought the pulse back and set the heart 
 beating again. The young clergyman said a word of 
 sympathy to Manuella, who seemed as if she had not 
 heard, and Lyssons followed him out of the room, return- 
 ing quickly. 
 
 " Seen him off the premises? Now just keep absolutely 
 quiet for five minutes if you can." But the five minutes 
 were not up, and Manuella had not stirred, when he said, 
 in a voice of triumph : " Come over here." 
 
 It was to Manuella the doctor spoke, and she obeyed 
 him quickly. " Put your finger there, on his pulse. 
 What do you think of that? He has come back, he'll 
 pull through now. Another minute and he'll open his 
 eyes. . . . Good Heavens ! what's the woman crying 
 for?" 
 
 She broke down then, but not until afterwards did she
 
 3 o6 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 know Waldo's arms were about her, and that it was on 
 his shoulder she was crying. 
 
 Tom Shorter was so proud of what he had achieved 
 that he wanted an audience. That was his fault, if he 
 had a fault. After he had fought death at close quarters, 
 such close quarters as this had been, and won his battle, 
 he was apt to look round the arena for applause. Waldo 
 would have applauded, but he had his arms about 
 Manuella. 
 
 " Oh ! my sweet, don't cry. I'm holding you ; it is all 
 right, the little chap is going to stay with us." He hardly 
 knew whether he said the words or thought them. 
 " Thank God you sent for me ! How can I let you go 
 again ? " That, at least, he did not say, although he held 
 her against his breast, laid his face on her hair. The 
 tension was but for a moment ; she disengaged herself 
 quickly and dried her eyes. What had come to them 
 had always been there. 
 
 There was still much to be done. Dr. Shorter insisted 
 upon a trained nurse being sent for at once, one of his 
 own choosing; he paid not the slightest attention to 
 Manuella's protest that she was quite able to nurse the 
 child herself with Mary's help and cook's. 
 
 " There is some bronchitis, the distance between the 
 bronchial tubes and the lungs isn't worth speaking about. 
 We might have pneumonia to fight. He has got to be 
 watched every hour, and it needs a trained eye." 
 
 As he talked, he was putting up his case of drugs, 
 clearing up matters generally, giving instructions. When 
 he was saying good-bye to Manuella, almost casually, he 
 asked, as the dispensary doctor had done : 
 
 " Where is his father ? If I were you I should send for 
 him. There must be a certain amount of anxiety for the 
 next few days. Where is he ? " 
 
 Perhaps the moment when she cried on Waldo's shoul- 
 der had not escaped him, although he was occupied with 
 the baby. What was Lord Lyssons doing here? Dr. 
 Shorter was a trained observer with an excellent mem- 
 ory. She flushed when he repeated :
 
 CONCERT PITCH 307 
 
 " Send for your husband," and started to answer, but 
 shut her lips. 
 
 " Anything wrong between them ? " Dr. Shorter asked 
 Waldo as they went downstairs. 
 
 " Nothing that I know of," the other answered in- 
 differently. But, of course, he was not indifferent. 
 
 He went straight back to the nursery when the doctor 
 left. The baby was sleeping, and Manuella was for t 1 e 
 moment seated idly by his cot, looking forlorn. He 
 beckoned her out of the room. 
 
 " He is all right for the present, Shorter is more than 
 satisfied. Nurse will call out to you if he wakes. Come 
 down and see about getting me some lunch ; I missed my 
 breakfast on your account, you know." 
 
 He put a gentle, familiar arm through hers, made her 
 go downstairs with him and sit in the dining-room whilst 
 he ate, making her eat with him. Afterwards in the 
 sitting-room he forgot to be whimsical. She looked so 
 young, so unhappy ; it was so long since he had held her 
 in his arms, and they ached for her. He did not know 
 how it was he found himself on the sofa, holding her. 
 
 He really loved her in the best way, in the only way, 
 in every way; but she had been in trouble, had sent for 
 him, clung to him. His own courage was a little broken, 
 and he held her close. 
 
 "It has been hard?" 
 
 " I thought you were not sorry. ..." 
 
 " Not sorry ! My God ! I don't know how I have borne 
 it. ... " Silence fell between them. 
 
 She was overwrought, lonely ; the tenderness in his 
 voice moved her, she had loved him always. The move- 
 ment came from her, she knew it afterwards, but his re- 
 sponse was quick. Now their lips came together, and 
 clung . . . and again she was ashamed, hiding her face. 
 
 " I only want to be comforted." 
 
 Her voice was stifled. 
 
 " I only wnnt to cherish you." 
 
 Silence n^ain. 
 
 " Why difln't you comfort me yesterday?"
 
 3 o8 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " Yesterday, to-day, every day I will do so." 
 
 What was he saying ? He only knew that his arms held 
 her, his lips still throbbed from meeting hers, her head 
 was on his shoulder, and his face among her hair, against 
 her soft cheek. 
 
 "Did I disappoint you yesterday?" 
 
 " I was very unhappy." 
 
 " Because I scolded you did I scold you ? Dear heart, 
 I was only trying to take care of you." 
 
 " How did you know ? " 
 
 " Know what ? That I wanted to take care of you ? 
 Since I met you on the boat, your hair flying in the wind, 
 your eyes glowing. ..." 
 
 " I mean about Harston." 
 
 " What about Harston ? He didn't exist." 
 
 " You know he has left me." 
 
 " What! Left you, left you ? " 
 
 His arms fell from her, their startled faces gazed at 
 each other. 
 
 " But didn't you know it yesterday?" 
 
 "It isn't true, it isn't possible?" 
 
 " That is why. ..." 
 
 She would have sought the shelter of his shoulder 
 again, but he got up abruptly. 
 
 " He went away yesterday with Alma Orilia. She sent 
 Mr. Graham to tell me. I thought you knew." 
 
 " You thought I knew ? " 
 
 " You said ..." 
 
 But both of them had forgotten what he said, they 
 only remembered that she had lost her temper over 
 it. 
 
 He walked up and down the room whilst she told him 
 told him every word Peter Graham had said to her. Then 
 fighting for his self-command, he began questioning her, 
 even cross-questioning her. 
 
 " But if this is true . . . ? " 
 
 He could not help his spirit leaping to it. She belonged 
 to him by every right the right of love and his tender- 
 ness for her. He told her so, held her to him again,
 
 CONCERT PITCH 309 
 
 looked deep into her eyes, behind which he saw the white 
 soul shining. 
 
 " If this is true . . . ! " 
 
 And then, all at once, because at the bottom of his 
 heart lay his chivalry, he left off thinking of himself and 
 began to think only of her. What was best? He saw 
 quickly, and unhappily he saw clearly. They might 
 wade knee-deep in mud, he and she, and all of them, 
 and in the end find themselves swimming in cleaner water. 
 He was her guardian as well as her lover. Again he put 
 her away from him. 
 
 "Let me think." 
 
 They were the same words Peter Graham had used. 
 
 " No, let us leave off thinking." 
 
 She was so near him that his arm went about her 
 perforce. 
 
 " It has made me feel free." 
 
 " And freedom for you means my tyranny." 
 
 " You used to treat me like a child. I have grown so 
 tired of being treated like a woman. Take care of me a 
 little. I am lonely without you. ..." 
 
 " Dear heart, you will always be a child." 
 
 " I wasn't a child when . . . when ..." 
 
 " Tell me." 
 
 " When you kissed me . . . that evening. It seems 
 centuries ago, when you said you . . . you always 
 kissed girls." 
 
 " Did I say that ? Do you want to hear ? Never in 
 my life have I kissed a woman or girl as I kissed 
 you that night, as I kiss you now. You believe 
 it?" 
 
 " I want to believe it." 
 
 " It all went wrong between us. Fool that I was ! " 
 
 " But it is coming right now. Harston never cared for 
 me, only for his music. Nor I for him. Now that he has 
 left me ..." 
 
 Again he loosened his arms about her. 
 
 There are so many ways of love, and in all of them he 
 loved her. And now he knew that she cared for him, he
 
 310 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 wanted to take care of her more perfectly. No one else 
 could do it, for no one else understood her. If it were 
 true that her husband had left her, a way out might be 
 found, a muddy way for slender feet, and one he could 
 not easily see her treading. 
 
 And her story had left his mind unconvinced. 
 
 " You have not had a word from him ? " 
 
 " Only the message Mr. Graham brought me." 
 
 " That he would come back ..." 
 
 She was hurt by his change of tone, almost more than 
 hurt. 
 
 He hardly knew how to go on. 
 
 " You hadn't had a row ? " 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 His speech slowed down, his mind seemed now to be 
 keeping better pace with it, and took a strengthened leap 
 toward the truth. 
 
 " I can't believe he has left you, not like this, not in 
 this way. It's incredible." 
 
 She could not follow the working of his mind; she 
 was wounded, silenced, thrown back upon herself, her 
 confidence rejected. 
 
 " Wasn't the new opera ready ? Didn't he say they 
 were to meet some one about it ? " 
 
 " He said they were going to meet Stollmont in Genoa. 
 But, of course, that was only an excuse." 
 
 " If ... if he had not gone with her, not in the 
 way you think, but only about his opera? You say that 
 young fellow, Tommy Traddles, when he came for his 
 things, said it was business." He was speaking slowly, 
 thinking and speaking at the same time. 
 
 " Gerald would say anything Harston told him." 
 
 She felt that he was trying to make excuses for Hars- 
 ton, imagined that, because he was no longer kissing her, 
 his sympathy had ebbed ; and she was, as always, quickly 
 resentful. 
 
 Waldo, so full of his love and care for her, never 
 doubted that she understood. He said he had to think, 
 and could do so better alone. She had had a disturbed
 
 CONCERT PITCH 311 
 
 night, looked pale and worn, she had better go upstairs 
 and lie down, and deny herself to visitors. He went away 
 quite soon; not kissing her again, nor even touching her 
 hand. 
 
 The next day and the next visitors came to that little 
 house in Circus Road, everyone came but Lord Lyssons. 
 There came Peter Graham, full of concern at the baby's 
 illness, extraordinarily tactful, and staying less than five 
 minutes ; Oscar Des Vceux with his wife, full of chagrin, 
 explanation and curiosity ; Lulu Marston, warm-hearted, 
 quite incredulous, full of sympathy and quotations from 
 Russell. 
 
 " Russell says I am not to let you stay alone here, 
 thinking all sorts of absurd things. He is quite sure it 
 is all a mistake. And Russell is never wrong. He says 
 you are to come to us on a long visit. Now, just go and 
 put your things on. I've got the motor. You'll feel 
 as different as possible when you are up at Gloucester 
 Terrace." 
 
 Lulu had on the biggest hat Manuella had ever seen, 
 with more ospreys, a veil that was neither on nor off, 
 a dress of the fashion of the year after next, all the scents 
 of the Levant. But her heart was even richer than her 
 clothes. She caught the girl in her arms, kissed her 
 cheeks, said not one word that could hurt her, but found 
 all the right ones. If it had been Harston who was 
 responsible for all Manuella's trouble, she might have 
 gone with Lulu, been warmed by a rare friendship, made 
 whole in the fine atmosphere she created. But it was not 
 Harston and Alma Orilia, it was of Waldo and his imag- 
 inary defection, that her heart was full. 
 
 For, after that time when he had held her in his arms, 
 and said he would cherish her always, told her he had 
 never kissed anyone else and never would, Waldo stayed 
 away. That is to say, he came when other people were 
 there came in, and went away again, saying only in- 
 consequent things ; he talked of going abroad as soon as 
 Dr. Snorter pronounced baby out of danger, ignored all 
 that had happened between them.
 
 312 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Before the end of the week, like a flower after rain, 
 her head was upraised, proud on the stalk of her neck, and 
 she met him as if his kiss had never warmed her lips nor 
 her head drooped on his shoulder, as if she had never 
 needed comforting, nor had comfort from him. 
 
 She went about her household duties. The hospital 
 nurse wanted a great deal of attention; there were long 
 hours when she went out walking, recreated or slept, 
 all according to the regulations of the Institute, most 
 religiously kept. Then Manuella took her place in the 
 nursery. 
 
 When Waldo would have spoken to her, and given her 
 the result of his deep thinking, she was ensconced behind 
 her defences, inaccessible. The day Dr. Shorter said 
 he would come no more, because baby was no longer 
 convalescent but well, was the day Waldo started for 
 Rome. He knew he must confront Harston, if necessary 
 Alma Orilia. This was not a case for lawyers, not yet, 
 it needed delicate handling, clear explanation ; they must 
 know where they all stood.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 HE did not dream she would resent his going, never 
 guessing his destination. He had made up his 
 mind slowly, never thinking hers was not marching with 
 it. The telegram he sent her only said : " Going abroad ; 
 destination uncertain." 
 
 He had meanwhile been making inquiries, using all the 
 means at his disposal, locating not Harston and Alma, 
 but Stollmont. Genoa? Milan? Naples? Rome? 
 Nobody knew, save that the impresario had left America, 
 and would be found at one or the other city. When 
 he read in the papers that Stollmont's first production 
 would be the new opera by the composer of The Chariot 
 Queen, and that Alma Orilia would create the title 
 role, he knew his quest was ended. 
 
 To Manuella, the telegram was like a blow in the face. 
 And she wanted to strike back. That is one explana- 
 tion of what followed. The other is that the devil, 
 always lurking for opportunity, could not let this one 
 pass. 
 
 Dr. Shorter paid his last visit. 
 
 " The child is really quite well. All you have to do is 
 to keep him so. We've a trying winter in front of us; 
 he would really be safer in a warmer climate. ..." 
 
 Dr. Shorter did not stay for question or answer, he was 
 
 313
 
 314 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 always outrageously overworked. And all he could do 
 here was done. 
 
 " Get him out of London if possible," he said as he 
 shook hands with her, noting that she looked wan and 
 unhappy, thinking the prescription would do for both 
 of them. 
 
 Peter Graham, coming in opportunely, heard that Dr. 
 Shorter advised a warmer climate. To urge the Riviera 
 scheme again upon her was therefore clearly his duty. 
 She became aware that, if Waldo was unreliable, and 
 not there for her to lean upon, Mr. Graham's kindness 
 towards her had not flagged. 
 
 Dr. Shorter was scarcely out of the house, certainly not 
 back in Harley Street, before it was decided that the 
 advice he had given should be taken. He had said noth- 
 ing about the Riviera, nor a long journey abroad; but 
 Peter Graham, and under his guidance, Manuella, took it 
 for granted. " Out of London " could only be " out of 
 England " ; " a warmer climate " implied the South. The 
 villa was ready. 
 
 Some misgiving Manuella may have felt about the 
 long journey, for she went up to discuss it with the hos- 
 pital nurse. At Peter Graham's suggestion she sent the 
 nurse down to him, that he might give her details. When 
 she returned to the nursery the nurse said she had no 
 doubt, no doubt at all, that it would be to the child's 
 advantage. 
 
 " It isn't, of course, as if you were taking him alone, 
 or with an inexperienced person. I shall wrap him up 
 well for the journey, keep flannel or wool over his face, 
 and shelter him from draughts." 
 
 The hospital nurse liked the idea of getting away from 
 London in November, with the prospect of a long engage- 
 ment ; she had never been on the Riviera. She and Peter 
 played, perhaps unconsciously, perhaps not, into each 
 other's hands. All was to be hurry ; baby must be " got 
 away before the fogs came ; " " there was no reason for 
 delay." 
 
 Manuella's hurt feelings, characteristic impulsiveness,
 
 CONCERT PITCH 315 
 
 and passionate anxiety for the child, were all worked 
 upon. Peter Graham made all the arrangements, or 
 helped with them. He was indefatigable in helping; 
 accentuating her fears, scenting fog like a hound with a 
 hare. 
 
 Once Manuella made up her mind that, if Waldo or 
 Harston should come back leisurely they should not 
 find her there waiting for them, she was all anxiety to be 
 gone. But each day, secretly, owning it not even to her- 
 self, she watched the post for a letter. And each day, 
 when no letter came from Waldo, she felt his neglect 
 more acutely. Her hands trembled with indignation 
 when she thought of the words he had said to her, and 
 at the remembrance of her own admissions her cheeks 
 burned. Her breath was caught in her throat, and shame 
 was as a living thing when she thought how she had 
 thrown herself into his arms, asked him for comfort, 
 almost offered herself to him. Now she had to show 
 him she could think and act for herself. She could not 
 sleep, she could not rest until she started, leaving no 
 clue behind. 
 
 Peter Graham's villa presented itself to her as a refuge, 
 a hiding-place from everybody, from everything; from 
 pity and love and pain. 
 
 She was as a young wounded animal, only wanting to 
 hide. For Peter Graham she cared nothing. If he was 
 unaware of it, that was because his vanity stood like a 
 concrete thing between himself and his intelligence ; which 
 at its best was but as a musician's intelligence, of crotchet 
 and quaver proportions and limited gradations. He had 
 never failed with a woman, ergo, he never would. He 
 would make her no protestations, no scene of passion in 
 her husband's house, in these inappropriate surroundings. 
 He would await his and her mood, spend time and a 
 wealth of ingenuity in leading her into the mood and the 
 surroundings. He was no hot youth, but a gourmet in 
 love, all that was most sensitive in his jaded palate 
 anticipated the end. There was not a man living knew 
 better than he how to overcome a woman's virtue.
 
 316 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 To him Manuella's virtue was the ultimate charm, so 
 that it was a yielding charm to him, to him only. And he 
 had no doubts. 
 
 There was not one of Manuella's beauties that escaped 
 him. He realized how well she was formed, the graceful 
 line from hip to ankle, the small bust and slender arms, 
 the dainty, delicate ears, the ivory skin with its warm 
 underflush, easily provoked. He knew much more about 
 her externally than Waldo did, although Waldo had been 
 her fiance. But he knew less perhaps about her strength, 
 or her courage, or her loyalty. 
 
 Cook and the baby's nurse were dismissed, the house 
 dismantled and closed, the key left with the agent, and 
 no address given. Manuella and the baby, with the 
 hospital nurse, were on the way to Paris before Waldo 
 had been gone a week on his quest. 
 
 Peter Graham sent his motor car to take them to 
 Folkestone. The sea was calm, and already at Boulogne 
 it seemed as if she had left half her troubles behind her. 
 Travelling on the Continent was like renewing her youth. 
 So much of it had been passed abroad, she had been happy 
 in continental schools, far happier than under Loetitia's 
 surveillance. There came to her again that sense of 
 escape she had always had when out of reach of her step- 
 mother's cold and disapproving eyes. Then she had only 
 been unhappy in leaving Bertie behind; Bertie, whom 
 she had always mothered. To-day she cuddled her baby 
 in her arms, and there was no feeling that she had left 
 behind her a fellow-prisoner in bondage. Every trouble 
 was taken off her hands by the admirable courier Peter 
 Graham's forethought had provided. They were not 
 travelling by the train de luxe, so she had not the dis- 
 comforts of that overrated method to overcome. Peter 
 told her that the man would pay for everything, and 
 give her an account at the end of the journey. She was 
 only practical in strata, so to speak, and was quite 
 content with the arrangement. Having stipulated for 
 economy, she rested content that it was being consid- 
 ered.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 317 
 
 When she found herself in one of the garden suites 
 at the " Ritz " she had no thought of extravagance to 
 mar her enjoyment of its luxurious quiet. When, the 
 next day, she was ensconced in a reserved compartment 
 in the Cote d'Azur, she looked upon it as a happy 
 coincidence that in a compartment for six people only 
 two should be travelling. At every stoppage tea or fruit 
 was brought to her ; she was advised to leave the carriage 
 and take a turn on the platform, or told to retain her seat, 
 as the case might be. The courier was an excellent 
 specimen of his class, and had been well-instructed. The 
 nurse was equally competent, and the baby slept a great 
 part of the day. 
 
 At Mentone they found a swift car waiting for 
 them ; there was no delay for luggage to be cleared. 
 All possible fatigue of travelling had been spared 
 her. 
 
 They arrived at Mentone too late to see anything of 
 the villa, but a simple supper was served to them by a 
 deft Swiss who seemed to understand how little Manuella 
 wanted but bed. 
 
 Manuella's room was large, and, for a French bed- 
 room, luxurious. There were French windows and a 
 balcony, she could see that, and hear the soft murmur 
 of the sea beneath it; her unhappiness seemed to float 
 away on the sound. 
 
 She woke up after eight hours' dreamless sleep to find 
 the sun streaming into her room. From the open jalousies 
 of the windows she saw the blue of the Mediterranean. 
 Then, getting out of bed, in her peignoir, her hair float- 
 ing, she stepped on to the balcony. Beyond the lemon 
 and orange trees lay brown rocks, blue sea, and streaks 
 of clear green. 
 
 The sun shone on the water. In the garden, although 
 it was November, yellow roses grew amid the palms 
 and oleanders ; mimosa scented the air, and in the green 
 of a great low camellia bush hundreds of buds showed 
 pink and promising. But it was the sea that held her, 
 the blue and tideless sea, embayed in the mountains.
 
 3i8 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 The sun dazzled her, and after she had taken in her 
 surroundings, she stepped back into her room, to dress, 
 to visit the baby, to ring for breakfast, to feel herself 
 renewed, and more ready to face the future than she had 
 thought possible forty-eight hours earlier. 
 
 The next few days were days of rest, days when to rise 
 each morning in the sunshine was almost enough for 
 happiness. She had thought happiness was something 
 that was over for her, but she found it again here, or 
 such a simulacrum that she took heart, and thought it 
 was real. 
 
 The villa had a history. Built by an English noble- 
 man, shared with a pale and wonderful woman and 
 her complaisant husband, it was called Homage de 
 Soleil, but came quickly to be known as the Villa 
 Macquereau. 
 
 Peter Graham bought the freehold for a song when the 
 English nobleman married and the French artist was 
 found asphyxiated with gas fumes. Although of ornate 
 architecture and limited accommodation, there were some 
 of the comforts of an English home, including three bath- 
 rooms and a big music-room. The music-room had been 
 a studio but was easily adapted. 
 
 Peter Graham kept two servants always there, a Swiss 
 manservant and his wife, bringing with him, on his own 
 visits, what was necessary to complete the household 
 for his comfort. Knowing the simplicity of Manuella's 
 tastes, he thought that, for the moment, the two would 
 be sufficient for her. All his plans were carefully laid. 
 She had spoken of expense, and he meant her to think 
 she was living economically. 
 
 For a few days she sat about on the balcony or in the 
 garden, in the continual sunshine, playing with the baby, 
 seeing gladly the brown come into his cheeks, and the blue 
 deepen in his eyes, noticing his willing tongue commenc- 
 ing to articulate, proud of his efforts to walk, although as 
 yet they were but tentative. 
 
 Naturally, she wrote and thanked Mr. Graham for all 
 his kindness, asked for her accounts, praised his courier
 
 CONCERT PITCH 319 
 
 and his villa, told him how the baby had already gained 
 weight and strength. 
 
 She was neither surprised nor startled that his reply 
 was headed " Hotel de Paris, Monte Carlo." She was 
 glad rather, a little tired of being alone, glad of anything 
 that would prevent her thinking always of Waldo and 
 wishing he were with her. 
 
 "I have come south, after all, I caught a bad cold 
 the day you left and my doctor insisted. May I drive 
 over this afternoon ? I should so like to see how you are 
 getting on." 
 
 " Of course. How can you ask? You will find me at 
 home at any time." 
 
 When Peter came, she was on the verandah in the 
 long, cushioned lounge-chair; she had not expected him 
 so early, and may even have been dozing. The idle, 
 sunny days conduced to somnolency. She sprang up 
 hastily, but he had a swift vision of her sleeping there 
 and it mounted to his head a little. He was less calcu- 
 lated in his warmth, and his r's were more pronounced. 
 
 " But how well you are looking ! " This was true. 
 " How glad I am to see you here." 
 
 " Here in my house " was what he meant although he 
 did not word it ; but she saw what was in his mind, and, 
 perhaps for the first time, some slight misgiving touched 
 her. That was why she began to express her thanks 
 quickly. 
 
 " I have been well ever since I came here. So has 
 the boy. It was so kind of you to lend me the villa, 
 perhaps I oughtn't to have accepted it. We are so 
 comfortable, everything seems different. But if we in- 
 convenience you here? Why should you have to be at 
 an hotel ? " The question rushed out as soon as it pre- 
 sented itself to her. 
 
 Peter had no difficulty in reassuring her. He said 
 hastily that he never used the villa when he was " alone
 
 320 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 in Monte Carlo." The relative truth of this made him 
 smile. 
 
 " They are used to me at the ' Paris.' " 
 
 He spoke of the good food at the hotel, and the sub- 
 terranean passage to the Casino and the Sporting Club. 
 It was unnecessary to tell her that he avoided the one 
 and was rarely at the other. The Monte Carlo of news- 
 papers and novelists had no attraction for Peter Graham. 
 He did not care to gamble in the fcetid air of the over- 
 crowded rooms amid the Germans whose guttural accents, 
 hideous clothes, and worse manners jarred his sensi- 
 bilities. If he wanted to gamble, although gambling was 
 not among his foibles, Nice suited him better. 
 
 Until he bought the villa he had sometimes spent a 
 month or six weeks at Nice or Cannes. After he bought 
 the villa he generally arranged his winter accordingly. 
 He had never lived there alone. This winter he wanted 
 Manuella to play hostess to him ; he had never wanted 
 anything so much in his life. He knew it whilst he was 
 expressing his satisfaction with the Hotel de Paris. At 
 the " Paris " there were German officers with slashed, 
 spoiled faces, women whose profession was written on 
 their expensive clothes, illustrated in their flashing 
 jewellery, colour-printed in their many-scentednesses and 
 easiness of approach. Manuella Migotti, in her white 
 dress, here, in this quiet hidden pleasaunce, was infinitely 
 more to his taste. He asked her if she would give him 
 luncheon and all the afternoon he lingered with her in 
 that garden by the sea. 
 
 The first day was one of many. He proceeded to his 
 objective very slowly; there seemed no occasion for 
 hurry. Her address was unknown and she would have 
 no letters. There came no other visitors. No one knew 
 where she was hiding from gossip and the ignominy of 
 being a deserted wife. He did not go into details even to 
 himself. It was enough that she was here, and so was 
 he. Always she was grateful to him, glad that he should 
 come, greeting him without guile. By subtle indefinite 
 hints and innuendoes, by an attitude of solicitous and
 
 CONCERT PITCH 321 
 
 sympathetic wonderment that such a state of affairs 
 should come about, he kept before her the remembrance 
 that her husband had deserted her, and that she was alone 
 in the world. 
 
 At first he sat with her on the verandah, lounged with 
 her in the garden. But, before many days had gone by, 
 he ventured to suggest that, since she was here, it was a 
 pity she should not see some of the beauties of the 
 Riviera. 
 
 " I am very happy where I am, I don't want to go out." 
 She was difficult to persuade, but that made the task 
 better worth accomplishing. It appeared he had his 
 motor with him, and that, up to now, he had only 
 gone from the Hotel de Paris to the villa and back 
 again. 
 
 " I want you to go up La Turbie. If you would 
 rather go by yourself, I shall be quite satisfied to remain 
 here until you come back and tell me what you think of 
 the view. I don't want to be in your way, but really I 
 think you should go out sometimes and see what there is 
 to be seen." 
 
 She went at his persuasion to La Turbie, lunching with 
 him at the hotel that hangs half-way up the mountain, 
 going on afterwards to see the golf links laid amid the 
 snow. It was thoroughly enjoyable. He said nothing 
 to startle or alarm her, and when he suggested the next 
 excursion to the Reserve at Beaulieu, she accepted at 
 once. There they lunched on the balcony, looked down 
 on the brown rocks, where the sea, patchily brown or 
 blue, reflected now the rocks and now the sky. 
 
 It was, indeed, only the first step that counted, and 
 quite soon these excursions were of daily occurrence. 
 Daily the motor came up to the villa at twelve or at four. 
 Peter Graham knew exactly what he was doing, and that 
 everybody was seeing them together. They went to 
 Cap Martin and to Nice, and even as far as Cannes, up 
 the Corniche Road or the Esterel, to afternoon concerts 
 in the Casino, once in the evening to the opera. 
 
 To Manuella these were just so many hours in which
 
 322 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 she had respite from her thoughts, from her ache in hear- 
 ing no word from Waldo. She did not know where he 
 was ; that he was in like case with regard to herself never 
 occurred to her. He had not asked her to write, he had 
 gone away without a word. 
 
 Presently it became part of Peter's method to tell her 
 that the noise of the hotel, the sound of the tramcars 
 outside, were getting on his nerves, depriving him of 
 sleep, to hint that there was room for him as well as her 
 at the villa. 
 
 " Nurse would be a sufficient chaperone," he said once, 
 half in jest, " always presuming we were conventional 
 people needing a chaperon. I suppose if your husband 
 were here he would treat me as if I were Gerald Streat- 
 field, and keep me to play with him of an evening. . . ." 
 
 When he spoke of music now he spoke of himself as 
 an artist, not as an amateur. Professional musicians, 
 like actors and actresses, have, of course, exceptional 
 social latitudes. He, too, it appeared, and he had 
 no doubt Manuella agreed with him, despised con- 
 vention. 
 
 " Of course, I know you are above such things . . ." 
 
 Why should he not stay at the villa? There are 
 subtleties of method difficult to combat, and Peter Gra- 
 ham was master of them all. He said he understood 
 women, and, indeed, there were many of whom it was 
 true. This one was impulsive, emotional, not without 
 temperament, but ignorant, innocent beyond anything he 
 had met. He learnt all that, although he had only sus- 
 pected it before he brought her here. He knew now that 
 he must find her in the mood, wait and watch. 
 
 He was walking so delicately, by such wary imper- 
 ceptible steps, it was natural she should not see where he 
 was leading her. It was not within her understanding 
 or knowledge of the world to perceive that she was being 
 " compromised," intentionally compromised. She was 
 bitterly hurt by Waldo's absence, Waldo's silence; 
 resentful, too, of her husband's desertion. She was of a 
 generous nature, yet could not but remember how much
 
 CONCERT PITCH 323 
 
 she had given, and for how little it had counted. Both of 
 them had left her, Waldo and Harston, that much was 
 sure. She was sore and wounded, unreasonable, perhaps, 
 still very young. 
 
 " Let me tell my man he may move my things over. 
 You are not pretending to be conventional, are you? 
 You don't think Harston would mind, do you ? " 
 
 " I know he doesn't care," was her hasty reply. 
 
 " People come to the hotel at all hours of the night ; 
 it is so terribly noisy. I get no sleep." He coughed a 
 little, complained of his throat.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 LORD LYSSONS meanwhile was proving himself but 
 an indifferent detective, and, when he had found 
 what he sought, an even worse negotiator. He journeyed 
 from Genoa to Naples and then back again to Milan 
 on the strength of unreliable information. He was ten 
 days away from London before he got to Rome, where, 
 it seemed, not only Migotti and Alma Orilia, but Stoll- 
 mont himself had been all the time. No grass was grow- 
 ing under their feet, certainly. Stollmont had secured 
 the Costanzi for the season, and was already announcing 
 // Traditore for his first production. What series of cir- 
 cumstances had led up to this decision Lord Lyssons did 
 not ask; it was no part of his objective. 
 
 When at length he heard of Alma Orilia in a luxu- 
 riously furnished flat near the theatre he seemed little 
 farther in his quest for Harston Migotti ; certainly they 
 were not together. But at the theatre there was no 
 difficulty in obtaining the musician's address ; the theatre 
 was billed with the announcement of the forthcoming 
 production of : 
 
 " // Traditore, by Harston Migotti." 
 
 Waldo telegraphed to Manuella without further delay : 
 
 " Obviously a mistake. Not together." 
 
 He sent the telegram to Circus Road, but Manuella 
 324
 
 CONCERT PITCH 325 
 
 never received it. She had left for Peter Graham's villa 
 on the Riviera before it arrived. 
 
 Migotti was in Rome and at the Hotel Marini, but it 
 seemed he was never at home. Anyway, Waldo was 
 engaged nearly a week in securing an interview, and he 
 did not succeed even then without great difficulty. 
 
 " Ah, yes ! You called yesterday, and the day before. 
 But I am so much occupied, from morning until night 
 I am occupied." 
 
 Harston was polite, incurious as to the object of Lord 
 Lyssons' call, obviously impatient of interruption. 
 
 " My hands are so full. There is nothing like sufficient 
 time for rehearsals." The light of genius was in his 
 eyes; his hair was longer than ever and excessively 
 rumpled. 
 
 They were in the bare salon d'attente of the small 
 third-class hotel. Harston had come to his visitor here, 
 holding the card in his hand. 
 
 " I am not seeing people at all. But they told me you 
 had been again, and yet again. What is it you have 
 to say to me? I have but a minute, Madame Orilia is 
 calling for me. ..." 
 
 Waldo took his eye-glass out ; he felt embarrassed, and 
 knew that what he had come to say was impossible to put 
 into words. 
 
 " I come from London." 
 
 " From London ? " 
 
 " Where I saw your wife." The light of genius dulled 
 a little. Waldo thought he flushed. 
 
 " She is well ? Manuella is well ? " 
 
 " Quite. But the child has been very ill." 
 
 Harston was ready to tear his wild hair, weep, make a 
 scene. 
 
 " You have come to tell me that my son is dead ! " 
 
 " No ! No ! He has made a complete recovery." 
 
 " But you have not come all this way to tell me that ? " 
 He was taken aback, puzzled. 
 
 " Not exactly." Waldo put his glass back. " Not 
 exactly." Harston became more impatient.
 
 326 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " The child, for the moment, is well . . . for the 
 moment. But the attack may recur. The doctor said 
 to your wife : ' You had better send for your husband.' 
 So I came," this strange ambassador finished lamely. 
 
 " I have had no letter, nor telegram," Harston said 
 shortly. Now there was a gleam of understanding or 
 doubt, but there was still the attitude of impatience. 
 
 " I was coming this way," Waldo continued, as if from 
 London to Rome were less than a step. 
 
 His eyes were quite steady, but the other's were flicker- 
 ing and uncertain. In an altered tone Harston said now : 
 
 " Did she send me any other message ? " 
 
 " No, not exactly a message." They began to under- 
 stand each other. " You see, she did not know I was 
 coming. Would you care to hear what she said to the 
 doctor ? " 
 
 " What did she say to the doctor? " 
 
 " She said, in effect : ' My husband has gone away 
 with Madame Alma Orilia, and has not left me his 
 address/ ' 
 
 Harston's face grew very pale, and the light in his 
 eyes went out suddenly, as if it had been turned off at 
 the main. 
 
 She said that?" 
 In effect." 
 
 'It is a lie!" 
 
 ' I thought it might be a lie." 
 'Who told her that?" 
 
 ' It appears to be no secret. Madame Orilia's brother 
 and sister-in-law, and many of your friends, have been 
 to Circus Road to sympathize with her." 
 
 " It is a lie," he said again. And then suddenly he 
 was irresolute. 
 
 " Of course I left London with Alma Orilia," he 
 shouted. " What of that ? What of that ? " 
 
 " That is the question," repeated Lord Lyssons easily. 
 
 He saw the change in the man's face. " Do you mind 
 if I light a cigarette? It is allowed here? Yes, that 
 is the question."
 
 CONCERT PITCH 327 
 
 "What have you to do with it?" Harston asked 
 abruptly, rudely. 
 
 But Waldo was prepared for that inquiry. 
 
 " I am representing your wife's brother, who, with her 
 father and mother, is in South Africa." He spoke quite 
 steadily, and as if it were natural that he should repre- 
 sent her people. 
 
 If Harston Migotti's conscience had been clear he 
 might have answered differently ; as it was he said angrily : 
 
 " We came to meet Stollmont. Alma will sing the 
 title role in // Traditore." 
 
 The door was flung open, and Alma Orilia, superbly 
 ugly in her dark furs and ill-temper, broke impatiently 
 upon their colloquy : 
 
 " I have been waiting ten minutes, twenty minutes, 
 half an hour. ..." 
 
 She stopped short on seeing he was not alone. 
 
 " This is Lord Lyssons. ..." 
 
 She made a sullen acknowledgment of the introduction. 
 Waldo said politely that he was sorry he was the cause 
 of her having been kept waiting. He was interested to 
 see whether Migotti would explain his presence there 
 and state the object of his visit. 
 
 " He has come from England, from my wife," Harston 
 said with embarrassment, with an effort. Her brow 
 grew black : 
 
 " You know Stollmont is coming at three. We shall 
 hardly have time to get through lunch." She ignored 
 what he said. Then she laughed, and returned to it. 
 " Your wife has, perhaps, sent for you to return. She 
 does not want I shall create the role of Queen Cartis- 
 mandua ? " She looked at Lord Lyssons, and Waldo 
 answered gravely : 
 
 " I believe Madame Migotti is most grateful to you for 
 that." 
 
 " The child has been ill," Harston interposed. 
 
 She looked from one to the other of the men. 
 
 " You will go back ? You will abandon the produc- 
 tion?"
 
 328 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " It could go on without me ? " 
 
 "Or me?" 
 
 " You don't mean it ! " 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, but there was battle in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " My friend, if you go, if you go ..." she made a 
 dramatic gesture with her hands, " it is finished. It is 
 I who have persuaded Stollmont ; he does not believe at 
 all in your opera, nobody here believes in it. Go back 
 to your wife, or to nurse your baby, or what you 
 like. But if you go, the opera goes; I shall not stay; 
 your opportunity goes ..." She went toward the 
 door. 
 
 " You see ..." Harston said. " You see ... I 
 have no choice." 
 
 But what Lord Lyssons saw was different. She showed 
 him by her rage that she was not sure of Migotti's 
 allegiance, that she doubted her hold on him. 
 
 He followed them leisurely, and was in time to note 
 that she was leaning forward in the carriage, talking 
 passionately and quickly, that Migotti still appeared ir- 
 resolute, and as if he were defending himself. 
 
 They passed him again later on, seated side by side. 
 Now she had a proprietorial air, and it was as if Harston 
 Migotti was a captive in her chariot. 
 
 Waldo had a restless day, a wakeful night. The posi- 
 tion was quite clear to him, not what he had hoped to 
 find, although he hardly knew for what he had hoped. 
 He was sufficiently conversant with the divorce laws of 
 England to know that one stepped into them as into a 
 morass; the parties must walk gingerly together if they 
 would skirt it. Harston Migotti was not a man in the 
 throes of a passion, who would do anything, that he might 
 indulge it. He was only a composer who wished his 
 music sung perfectly. 
 
 Harston Migotti came to him in the morning, and 
 showed himself still irresolute, irresolutely explanatory. 
 
 " I have written to Manuella. She knows how im- 
 portant this production is to me. ... I have told her
 
 CONCERT PITCH 329 
 
 she must not be jealous. You will see her, you will 
 tell her, you will explain ? " 
 
 Waldo asked him what it was he wished explained. 
 
 " Is it your relations with Madame Orilia? If so, give 
 me my brief, tell me what I am to say." 
 
 But Harston found it difficult of explanation. It 
 appeared he could not do without Alma Orilia not now, 
 at least, although he could have done without the scenes 
 she made for him. He had not the delicacy to conceal 
 that there was only one way to keep Alma Orilia in his 
 service. 
 
 " It is impossible to explain to Manuella. I don't 
 know what you will say to her. She has sent you to me, 
 to tell me that I must come back, that now, now at this 
 minute, I must give up Alma. But no one else can sing 
 my music as she can sing it. ... " 
 
 Waldo, unlike himself from the effect of his bad night, 
 forgot it was a genius to whom he was talking, something 
 between a child and a man, not wholly responsible, and 
 answered impulsively: 
 
 " She did not send me at all ; I came entirely on my 
 own responsibility. I am her friend, her brother's 
 friend." He struggled for his calm, and the right phrase. 
 " She is alone, and knows you are with Alma Orilia. She 
 need not remain alone. You take that in, don't you? 
 There is another man. ..." 
 
 He was speaking of himself, under great emotion. But 
 Harston misread him. 
 
 " There is a man who wants the place you have aban- 
 doned the place by her side, the right to cherish her, 
 give her back happiness, let her youth flower. But 
 only if he can take it honestly, without hurting her or 
 her honour. ..." 
 
 "You are telling me this?" 
 
 ' This man loves her, not selfishly. ..." 
 
 " My wife? My Manuella f " 
 
 " With his whole heart. He will not see her neglected, 
 deserted, put aside for the convenience or gratification of 
 this this other woman." He could not go on.
 
 330 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Harston repeated stupidly : 
 
 " My little Manuella ! My wife of the hearth ! But 
 no ! it is not possible ! " And then with a sudden en- 
 lightenment : 
 
 " I know of whom you are telling me, Alma has already 
 told me. It is Mr. Graham, Mr. Peter Graham. You 
 have seen them together? I understand, I understand 
 now quite well why you have come ! But it is not true, 
 it is not possible. My wife loves me; she would not do 
 such a thing. What must I say or do? I am quite dis- 
 tracted. I shall send for her to come to me, I shall tell 
 her everything. ..." 
 
 Waldo could not bring himself to say that it was not 
 of Peter Graham that he had spoken. Harston behaved 
 like a lunatic, a woman, or a musician. He wrung his 
 hands and cried, he said it was impossible and incredible, 
 and so wicked that he would not believe it. Mr. Peter 
 Graham was his friend, and Manuella was his wife, and 
 they would not spoil his opera. 
 
 Waldo had to calm him presently, and to say that 
 nothing had happened, he was quite sure nothing had 
 happened; he merely warned him. It took quite a long 
 time to restore the young composer's calm and reassure 
 him. Waldo sickened over the task, for it showed him 
 a sterner one. In incoherent phrases, confessions, Harston 
 let fall the admission that she had cause of complaint. 
 
 " But I have not left her, nor thought of leaving her, 
 or my son my son, to whom I dedicated the Berceuse, 
 who will be to me as Siegfried Wagner. Tell me what I 
 must do? But I cannot go, I cannot go away, until my 
 opera is produced. ..." 
 
 He had no intention of behaving badly to Manuella. 
 The man was half-hearted in his infidelity, if it were an 
 infidelity, and not merely an artistic aberration. In a 
 burst of reluctant confidence he revealed himself more 
 clearly. 
 
 " No one else can sing my music as she sings it. If 
 she knows that Manuella comes she will be upset, she 
 will make scenes, her voice will suffer. She wishes that
 
 CONCERT PITCH 331 
 
 we shall be alone until after the opera is produced. 
 Manuella disturbs, distresses her." 
 
 Nevertheless, in the end, but not until further days 
 had sped, and Lord Lyssons' irresolution almost rivalled 
 Harston's, Alma Orilia herself decided that Manuella 
 must be sent for, must come to Rome. Only a week 
 before the production Juan Orilia telegraphed to his 
 wife that he intended to be present! She knew enough 
 of Juan to realize what that meant. He had heard 
 something . . . that he had heard all, and more than 
 all, was also possible. For only three days ago she had 
 dismissed her maid, having quarrelled with her. Alma 
 Orilia knew and feared her husband's temper. 
 
 " You had better send for your jealous wife since my 
 jealous husband is coming, unexpectedly," she said sud- 
 denly. " He will see you are together, and that it is not 
 with me you are here. One must be circumspect." 
 
 Impelled by that new desire of hers to be circumspect, 
 Harston came again to Waldo. 
 
 " I shall telegraph her to come to me ; you agree that 
 is best? She will know then that I have not deserted 
 her, that it is only my opera." 
 
 Waldo had no choice but to agree. It was clear that, 
 whatever had happened or was happening, Manuella was 
 not to be free. He saw clearly that if that were so, it 
 were better that she should be here. There would be the 
 need of a great giving and forgiving, but she had told him 
 that in all her married life, when she gave most her heart 
 had the greater ease. She was generous and just, above 
 all things, loyal. When she saw, as he saw, that her 
 husband had need of her, being unfit to stand alone, 
 and that Alma Orilia had not courage of her crime, she 
 would come. Alma's fear of Juan Orilia would make 
 Manuella contemptuous, but not cruel. 
 
 As for himself, there was nothing to do but stand 
 aside, go on for ever standing aside. It was to be the 
 straight and narrow path for both of them. He thought 
 he could trust himself to walk by her side in it ; at least 
 a little way, until her own feet were firm.
 
 332 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Lord Lyssons sent the telegram in Harston's name, 
 begging her to join him in Rome, saying that nothing 
 she had heard was true ; she was to come to him at once. 
 He offered to find rooms for her, meet her. Harston had 
 not a moment to spare. 
 
 " And, after all, at the Hotel Marini I am uncomfor- 
 table, not well placed. I have often indigestion. You 
 will tell her that, when you meet her, and that I have 
 missed her. .
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE telegram was sent off, and Waldo awaited the 
 result. He would not leave Rome until she came. 
 She would face her life bravely, of that he was assured; 
 and he would stay beside her until she knew all that she 
 had to face, helping her if she needed help. 
 
 But one day passed, two days, three days, and there 
 came neither reply, nor Manuella. It is impossible to 
 deny that Lord Lyssons was more disturbed than Harston 
 Migotti. Five and even six hours' rehearsals took from 
 the latter the necessary capacity for excitement. They 
 left him mentally exhausted ; he ignored the passing days 
 and that he ought to have had an answer from his wife. 
 On Wednesday, Waldo met him coming home from one 
 of these rehearsals, and asked him casually : 
 
 " Have you had a wire? " 
 
 The same question on Thursday made Harston brush 
 his hand across his forehead in an attempt to remember 
 from whom he expected a wire; but he was quite sure 
 he had not had one from his wife. 
 
 " She is most probably on her way," he said comfort- 
 ably. He was glad of the delay ; nothing more had been 
 heard from Juan Orilia, and Alma was more exacting 
 than ever. 
 
 Lord Lyssons haunted the station, met every possible 
 and impossible train. It was nearly a week before his 
 uneasiness overwhelmed him. That day, for some rea- 
 
 333
 
 334 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 son, there was no early rehearsal, and he found Migotti 
 at his hotel. He made no secret of his perturbation : 
 
 "She has not come, nor wired? But she must have 
 got both our wires on Tuesday evening ! " 
 
 He had not previously told Migotti that he, too, had 
 wired ; but the information seemed to make no impression. 
 
 " Something must be the matter ; the baby worse, per- 
 haps, or Manuella herself ill ? " 
 
 He did not succeed in communicating his own uneasi- 
 ness to the composer. Harston did not, as Waldo almost 
 expected, suggest taking the first train to England to find 
 out for himself what had occurred; nor did he propose 
 that Lord Lyssons should do so. He answered reassur- 
 ingly that he was sure Gerald Streatfield would have let 
 him know if there had been anything wrong, and, 
 vaguely, that perhaps Manuella thought it better not to 
 come to Rome. He seemed in a hurry to get away, 
 although there was no rehearsal. Just as Waldo was 
 leaving he said, inadvertently, and as if it had nothing 
 to do with the subject : 
 
 " You know that Mr. Graham, of whom you spoke to 
 me, is not in England at all; he is on the Riviera at 
 Nice or Monte Carlo." 
 
 He did not seem in the least to resent Lord Lyssons' 
 anxiety, he wished only to relieve it. 
 
 But Waldo when he came away did not find himself 
 relieved; his anxiety was, in fact, acute, and hourly 
 gathering momentum. He thought he had acted for the 
 best in coming out here. Now he was full of doubts. 
 She might be ill, or the baby worse. He sent a " reply 
 paid " wire to Dr. Shorter when he could bear it no 
 longer. Whilst he was waiting for the answer he saw 
 Madame Orilia. This was at her own request. Harston 
 had told her of Lord Lyssons' anxiety, and she was 
 curious to know the source of his interest, curious alto- 
 gether about his presence in Rome. She was undoubtedly 
 in fear of her husband, and the wild idea assailed her 
 that it was on his behalf this English milord was here. 
 Once she had thought she could disregard Juan as long
 
 CONCERT PITCH 335 
 
 as baccarat was played at so many clubs in Paris, trente- 
 et-quarante in Palermo, San Sebastian, or Monte Carlo, 
 roulette in San Remo and other Italian health resorts. 
 But she knew better now. If this Lord Lyssons, who 
 was making himself troublesome to Migotti, who was 
 so curious, and persistent in remaining in Rome, was a 
 friend of Juan's, it was better she should see him know 
 where she stood. 
 
 She was all graciousness at the beginning of the inter- 
 view. The big, untidy characteristically-Italian flat, full 
 of bizarre ornaments, generically called art nouveau, 
 angular in contour, crude in colour, without any mystery 
 but the mystery of wonder as to why they had been 
 brought there, without beauty or utility, formed appro- 
 priate background for the superb ugliness of the popular 
 singer. The Erard grand piano was littered with music, 
 and the singer seemed littered with clothes clothes of 
 bright colours, loosely hung about her, while the jewellery 
 she wore was incongruous. She had evidently made her 
 toilette for him. She talked with amazing freedom of 
 the opera and its chances, and was obviously on the most 
 familiar terms with Migotti, directing him to do this or 
 that, fetch her cigarettes or the hand-bag out of the bed- 
 room, calling him Migotti without prefix, making a 
 certain intimacy obvious. She seemed to flaunt their 
 relations ; but uneasily, watchfully. Waldo had not the 
 clue to her conduct, and was puzzled by it. At the end 
 she said : 
 
 " You will be seeing my husband ? You will tell him 
 we have met ? " 
 
 He could only disavow any acquaintance with Signer 
 Orilia. 
 
 Alma smiled and shrugged and disbelieved him, which 
 helped to enlighten him. But, by now, he had little 
 interest in her, or in Harston's relations with her. He 
 was living between the telegraph office and the station. 
 He counted up the days, and found it incredible that for 
 over three weeks he had been without news of Manuella 
 or the child.
 
 336 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Dr. Shorter's answer, when at length it came, was not 
 of a nature to relieve him. 
 
 " House shut up. Key with agent. No address." 
 
 She had left home and she was not here! What did 
 it mean? He wired again. 
 
 "When did she leave?" 
 
 It might be she was on her way here, travelling slowly. 
 She might have met with an accident. When he knew 
 she had left London three days after he saw her for the 
 last time, every hour brought new fears. She might 
 have gone to seaside or country, the child having perhaps 
 been taken ill again. She did not know his whereabouts, 
 and could not send for him as she had done last time. 
 A wild thought that she might have gone out to South 
 Africa shot across his mind, only to be dismissed. She 
 would never have gone to Lcetitia. He had to find her. 
 Alma Orilia was a dangerous woman, and her hold on 
 Migotti was not to be ignored. All Rome was talking 
 now, as all London had talked a few weeks ago. There 
 was no time to be lost. 
 
 To go back to England, and make his own inquiries, 
 was his obvious course. Migotti still could not be brought 
 to see any cause for alarm. 
 
 " It is for the child's convalescence she has gone ; to 
 the English seaside, to the Isle of Wight, or to Torquay. 
 We will hear soon ; it will be all right." 
 
 He said he must not allow himself to be agitated or 
 uneasy. The moment was too important, too vital. They 
 were within ten days of the production. The King and 
 Queen of Italy were to grace the first performance with 
 their presence. 
 
 " After that, after that, I will search with you." 
 
 It was obvious that Manuella came second to the opera. 
 But with Waldo she was, and would always be, first. 
 
 He took that wasted journey, back to England, only 
 to find no news at the agent's, and no clue at the cottage. 
 
 Instinct, impulse, led him eventually to the quarry. 
 But Manuella had been three weeks on the Riviera before 
 this happened, three weeks in Peter Graham's villa by
 
 CONCERT PITCH 337 
 
 the sea. When once Waldo knew Manuella was on the 
 Riviera, the rest was comparatively easy. Peter Graham 
 could not be incognito at the Hotel de Paris at Monte 
 Carlo. 
 
 The day Lord Lyssons heard at Smith's Bank that 
 Mr. Graham was at the Hotel de Paris was the very 
 day Peter Graham left it for the villa. He had argued 
 Manuella into the state of mind in which she saw the un- 
 fairness of keeping him out of his own house. She had 
 meant to pay him rent for it, but this was apparently not 
 yet due. It was his own house. He complained of 
 sleeplessness and of the hotel being noisy. And it was 
 true he looked pale, pale and nervous she would have 
 said, although nervousness hardly expressed it. 
 
 Already he spent all his days at the villa, in the garden, 
 or driving out with her. She was sorry about his in- 
 somnia. He had been very kind to her, overwhelm- 
 ingly kind, when every other friend she had was away 
 or indifferent. 
 
 Why should she keep him out of his own house ? She 
 talked it over with nurse, and nurse saw no valid reason. 
 As for the Swiss servants, they openly deplored that he 
 was not there. 
 
 His valet packed his things, and brought them over, 
 staying to arrange them in his rooms. Peter arrived 
 in time for lunch. During lunch, served on the verandah 
 in wonderful sunshine and warmth, he said more than 
 once how glad he was he had not to go back to the hotel, 
 and that he was sure the quiet would restore his nerves. 
 He looked or hinted other things ; and already Manuella 
 was uncomfortable, doubting her own wisdom. However 
 subtle the attack, the necessity of repelling it was vaguely 
 in her mind. He made no secret of his pleasure in her 
 society, spoke of the charm of this intimate menage, let 
 fall a word, not unguarded, quite calculated in fact, of 
 what people might say if they knew. 
 
 " But we are Bohemians, we can please ourselves. And 
 this pleases me so much." 
 
 Until then she had not thought of what people might
 
 338 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 say. She was already alarmed and startled before lunch 
 was over, already looking this way and that for escape 
 from the position into which her impulsiveness or impru- 
 dence had landed her, and yet ashamed to admit her 
 uneasiness. Having deliberately aroused her, he set to 
 work no less deliberately to reassure her. The whole 
 position pleased him. She would be hopelessly com- 
 promised, become depressed, and need tenderness, con- 
 solation. He had an immense belief in himself, and his 
 power of consoling a young woman in such a situation. 
 She was emotional, passionate, impulsive, easily moved. 
 It was pity made her assent to his coming here. She 
 should pity him more. He knew just the scene he 
 would make for her when she found she had estranged 
 the world. He would be equally or more distressed. In 
 anticipation he tasted on his palate these hors d'ceuvres 
 to the feast of love. It might be three days, it might be 
 a week, before the feast was spread. He did not care any 
 longer that she did not love him, although he knew it; 
 although he knew, too, that she might come to hate him. 
 But she could not escape, she would be a wild thing 
 snared ; whatever her struggles, he had the strength and 
 subtlety to meet them. All through that lunch he felt 
 the little flushes of his coming victory, sensing its delight. 
 Of course she would struggle, her uneasiness now was the 
 shadow of it. None of her fluctuating colour or spirits 
 escaped him, he played on them. This was the first day 
 of their life together. 
 
 " You ran away with Migotti, didn't you ? " he asked 
 her, apparently inadvertently. He liked to make her 
 flush. He was sure of her now ; sure as a man is that 
 he has caught a bird when the bird is fluttering in his 
 hand. He could be cruel, this Peter Graham ; he liked, 
 when he caught a bird, to let the tender thing flutter in 
 his hand, to feel the beat of its wild heart. 
 
 " We must drink champagne to-day, our first day to- 
 gether," was another of the things he said. And she 
 drank champagne to reassure herself, because she was 
 uneasy, or uncomfortable, and felt she was to blame.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 339 
 
 She tried to persuade herself there was no foundation for 
 thinking Mr. Graham's manner had altered, and that it 
 was just as it had always been. She drank wine to steady 
 the unevenness of her pulses. Nothing had happened, 
 nothing had altered; her imagination was playing tricks 
 with her. After lunch she would go upstairs, go into the 
 nursery, play with baby, talk to nurse. There was noth- 
 ing of which to be frightened, no reason why her heart 
 should be beating unevenly. 
 
 Peter made no effort to detain her ; he was in no hurry. 
 He went to the piano when she left him, and began to play 
 softly; the whole atmosphere of this adventure was de- 
 lightful to him. There would be no scandal ; none of 
 them would wish it. Her husband was in Rome with 
 Alma Orilia; he could not have expected her to remain 
 by herself in London. Peter did not look very far into 
 the future. There is always a way out of such an adven-. 
 ture for a rich man. Alma would look after Migotti. 
 
 Of course he was startled when Lord Lyssons' card 
 was brought to him, wakened rudely from a pleasant 
 dream. He ceased playing abruptly : 
 
 "You told him I was not here? Surely you had the 
 sense to say I was not here ? " 
 
 " He did not ask. He only said, ' Tell Mr. Graham I 
 wish to see him ' ! " 
 
 But there was no time for the man to tell his master 
 what Lord Lyssons had said, or what arguments he had 
 used to ensure his message being delivered, for Waldo 
 was already in the room. 
 
 Peter rose quickly from the piano; he became imme- 
 diately master of himself. There were a thousand things 
 Lord Lyssons might have to say to him, none of 
 them bearing on Manuella. He prided himself on his 
 manners. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you ; I had no idea you were 
 out here. But everyone comes out here sooner or later. 
 What shall I tell the man to bring you whisky and soda 
 lemon ? We have only just finished lunch." 
 
 "We?"
 
 340 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Lord Lyssons was in no humour for feinting; he 
 started the attack at once. 
 
 Peter smiled and shrugged : 
 
 " I am afraid I must admit the conclusion ; it is Monte 
 Carlo, you know." 
 
 If they were fencing, Peter Graham had got in the first 
 hit. But it was a mere touch, a prick. Waldo came for 
 news of Manuella. Was he hearing she was here? It 
 was impossible, incredible. 
 
 " Sit down, won't you ? " said Peter pleasantly, fami- 
 liarly. 
 
 He knew all at once, quite definitely, and without 
 doubt, that it was about Manuella Lord Lyssons had 
 come. And that he had a rival in him. He had to take 
 his line quickly. There are circumstances under which 
 any man must retire. 
 
 " I am at least alone for the moment. My ..." he 
 hesitated for half a second, but smiled as he found the 
 right word, " chatelaine has gone upstairs to lie down. 
 We take things easily here, dolce far niente, you know. 
 But I daresay you have been through it yourself." 
 What he implied was unmistakable. " Why are you 
 standing? " 
 
 His manner said : 
 
 " I welcome you to my home, but do not be indiscreet, 
 yet there is no secret about my little establishment here." 
 
 Waldo, not sitting down, nor coming further into the 
 room, asked abruptly: 
 
 " Who is with you here ? " 
 
 " My dear fellow ! " Peter expostulated, smiling again. 
 " You cannot expect me to tell you," was suggested by 
 his manner. What he actually said was nothing to what 
 he implied. 
 
 " A very charming young lady, believe me. We have 
 been here nearly a month. Have you only just 
 arrived ? " 
 
 " I want an answer. Is Manuella Migotti here?" 
 
 " I am sorry, very sorry . . . you force me to it ... 
 I cannot answer your question. Why should I ? Migotti
 
 CONCERT PITCH 341 
 
 is in Rome with Alma Orilia. By whose authority do 
 you ask ? " 
 
 " I will show you my authority in a moment. I only 
 want to know if Manuella is here?" 
 
 " And if I say yes if I say that Madame Migotti has 
 done me the honour to accept my protection ? " 
 
 " I should reply that you are a liar." 
 
 Peter smiled, shrugged. 
 
 " As you please. You would perhaps prefer she had 
 been with you ; I understand she had her choice." It was 
 a shot in the dark, but reached home. 
 
 How the scene would have ended is difficult to say. 
 What the man was telling him with easy smile and those 
 shrugged shoulders was impossible to believe. Yet it 
 was certain she was here, had left no address, covered 
 her traces ! He knew her wild impulsiveness. 
 
 " I am certain you are lying," he said slowly. He could 
 not lose faith in her so easily. 
 
 And then there was a swift vision, and a cry : 
 
 " Waldo ! Waldo ! You here, Waldo ! " 
 
 The instant he saw her at the door doubt fled. He 
 always affirms he never had a doubt. Her face was alight 
 with pleasure at the unexpected sight of him, sound of 
 his voice. 
 
 " How wonderful you should be here ! " 
 
 " Isn't it ? Such an out-of-the-way place ! " 
 
 The lightness of his tone was his protection against 
 himself; his heart was beating quickly and heavily. He 
 had to hold himself in hand. 
 
 Her laugh was as fresh as when she was a girl. 
 
 " I don't mean that. But how did you find me out, 
 how did you know I was here ? " 
 
 " It was meant to be a secret, then ? " 
 
 " You never left me your address. I did not know 
 where you had gone ... or why." 
 
 She was so glad to see him, so unfeignedly, genuinely 
 glad to see him, that he could not maintain his cynic tone. 
 In a moment she had forgotten all her harsh thoughts of 
 him, his unkindness, his neglect, that he had left her
 
 342 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 alone. All she remembered was that he was here; her 
 quick change of mood was to one of great thankfulness. 
 She felt that about which she did not reason. She had 
 been imprudent in coming, impulsive in acceding to 
 Mr. Graham's wish to live at the villa . . . but it was 
 all right now, everything was all right. For Waldo had 
 come. 
 
 She forgot her host, unsmiling now, pale, leaning up 
 against the mantelpiece. 
 
 Waldo did not forget him, and Peter would not let 
 himself be forgotten. He blundered, made the first seri- 
 ous blunder of his life. He tried to bluff the position. 
 
 " I told Lord Lyssons your being here was a secret, that 
 you had been good enough to accept my protection. . . ." 
 
 Before Manuella had time to say how good he had 
 been to her, and that is what he anticipated and what 
 she would inevitably and gratefully have said, Waldo 
 knocked him down knocked him down before her as- 
 tonished and horrified eyes. 
 
 Peter made no defence, there was no time for it. His 
 head struck the fender in falling. Manuella made a rush 
 to succour him, to kneel by him, exclaiming : 
 
 " How could you ! " 
 
 Waldo put himself between them. 
 
 " Leave him alone ; he is not fit for you to touch. Go 
 upstairs, pack, and get out of this house as quickly as 
 you can." She rose slowly, gazing from one man to 
 another, bewildered. 
 
 " But ... " 
 
 " Go. If you don't, I shall put you out." This was 
 not the Lord Lyssons she knew, this was not Waldo at 
 all. He was deadly in earnest, authoritative, without 
 humour. " Damn you, don't dare to move " this was to 
 Peter, who made an effort to rise. "If you get up I 
 shall knock you down again." 
 
 " Are you alone with him here ? " he asked, when he 
 opened the door for her. 
 
 " Nurse and baby are with me." 
 
 " I thought so." '
 
 CONCERT PITCH 343 
 
 It is not easy to thrash a man who makes no resistance. 
 Waldo did his best when the door closed behind her, but 
 made a poor job of his task. He thought of strangling 
 Mr. Peter Graham, but refrained before his pallor; the 
 lack of struggle made it impossible. He kicked him where 
 he lay, finally, contemptuously, not even violently. 
 
 " Don't dare to move until we are out of the house. 
 You hear that, don't you ? . . . damn you ! " He could 
 not trust himself with the man, and went out into the 
 hall, where Manuella joined him quickly. 
 
 " What happened ? What did he do ? He has been 
 so awfully good to me. ..." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! A sweet fellow ! I'm sure. Where's the 
 nurse and the boy. You've a train to catch." 
 
 " A train. Where am I going ? " 
 
 " To Rome, to your husband." 
 
 '" To Harston, but " 
 
 " Don't argue." 
 
 He was not himself at all until she was out of the 
 house. They waited in the garden for nurse and baby 
 and luggage. She questioned him, but his answers were 
 short and impatient, unsatisfying. 
 
 ' I can't talk to you here," was his apology. 
 
 ' But what will you do if I say I won't come away? " 
 
 ' Carry you out, make you." 
 
 ' I can't understand. ..." 
 
 ' I know that that is why I am not trying to explain. 
 How much longer is she going to be? Can't she hurry 
 up?" 
 
 Manuella, with the instinct that she had been in danger 
 and escaped, that sense of reliance, and belief in him 
 which she had always felt, said little more, waiting with 
 him. One sentence escaped her. 
 
 " Does Harston really want me ? " 
 
 " He telegraphed you ten days since to go to him in 
 Rome. But we could not find you." 
 
 "He isn't ill?" 
 
 " No, he is not ill." 
 
 There was an hour or two to spare before the train was
 
 344 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 due to start. He took Manuella, the child and nurse to 
 the " Metropole," and made what hasty preparations he 
 could for their comfort. He did not intend to go with 
 them. He must stay here and see that Peter Graham 
 spread no tales, told no more lies. A few words or so 
 from Manuella and the position was clear to him. The 
 fog in London and the croupy child; the promise of 
 sunshine and warmth ; her impulsive desire to get away, 
 misapprehension of his own silence. She was not fit to 
 take care of herself, she would never be fit. And he ... 
 be would have to stand aside again. 
 
 " Don't do anything foolish when you get to Rome, 
 anything impulsive. Wait until I come." 
 
 "You are coming?" 
 
 " As soon as I have settled up here, settled Mr. Peter 
 Graham." His voice was vindictive. 
 
 " You haven't told me ..." 
 
 Then, with his eyes on hers, he said very quietly: 
 
 " Do you really need telling? " 
 
 She hesitated, changed colour ; his eyes did not leave 
 her face as he repeated his question. 
 
 " You need not answer," he said quickly, turning away. 
 
 " But I want to answer." She moved over to him 
 and he waited. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 She hung her head and spoke in a voice so low he had 
 to stoop to hear it. 
 
 " I ... I ... guess " 
 
 She was close to him. He wanted to put his arms 
 about her, hold her. To all the world she was brave and 
 strong, a woman ; but to him she was always something 
 of a child. 
 
 ' You know how foolish you have been ? " 
 
 ' Don't scold me." 
 
 ' You deserve it." 
 
 ' That is why." 
 
 ' Where did you think I was ? " 
 
 ' I didn't think." 
 
 ' Nor trust me ! " He kept his restraint upon himself,
 
 CONCERT PITCH 345 
 
 went on quickly : " Perhaps you were right. I suppose 
 I am rather erratic. I might have gone questing, looking 
 for windmills ..." 
 
 She wanted to know all about Harston, what lay before 
 her in Rome, and he was glad to change the topic from 
 Peter Graham and her imprudence. 
 
 " I will telegraph to him to meet you. If it misses 
 him, if by any chance he is not at the station, you 
 go there." He gave her an address. " They are com- 
 fortable rooms, and they are being kept vacant for you. 
 About Harston ..." he paused. " Well," he walked 
 towards the window, looked out on the blue Mediterra- 
 nean, tried for the best words. " They are not together, 
 not in any sense of the word together. But she has some 
 sort of feeling, blackguardly feeling, for him, which he 
 does not return; he would be glad to be out of her 
 toils. He only wants her to sing his music. I think 
 you can help him. He is weak, you know. She will 
 throw him over eventually, as sure as possible she will 
 throw him over. There is her husband, too, to be 
 reckoned with. It is quagmire for you ..." he 
 paused again, " but it is the right thing " he was talking 
 with his back to her, practically to himself " I suppose 
 it's the right thing. ..." He broke off. 
 
 Again she came over to him ; she was a creature of 
 swift movement, and put her hand on his arm. 
 
 " You want me to do this ? " He looked down on her, 
 on those questioning eyes, those quivering lips. 
 
 " Is there any choice ? " he asked slowly. The lovely 
 flush mounted, darkening her eyes ; her breath was un- 
 even. " Whom God hath joined. It isn't just a cliche, 
 I suppose?" 
 
 " No, I suppose not." 
 
 All that was unuttered between them he saw in her 
 dejected eyes, she in his. Then very gently he took her 
 hand from his arm. 
 
 " It is time we were starting." 
 
 If he sighed she hardly heard it. She was going back 
 to Harston, to her duty ; she herself had made the choice
 
 346 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 between the two men. On Waldo she could have leaned, 
 Harston would always lean on her ; she braced her 
 strength. Afterwards, at the station, when he had found 
 the carriage for them and stood at the door talking, she 
 seemed to understand better what she had escaped. 
 
 " If it had not been for you ..." she began. 
 
 " That is what I want you to know." He spoke quickly, 
 and for once entirely without reserve. " It will never 
 again be a case of ' if it were not for me/ I am going to 
 look after you, even if it has to be from a distance. I 
 hope not, I think I am man enough for that to be un- 
 necessary. But you will not be left alone again. To me 
 your impulsiveness and your courage are both beautiful, 
 part of you; I would not have them altered. But . . . 
 they are dangerous; there are always precipices, quag- 
 mires, crevasses. ..." He had been serious long 
 enough. " You're a born blunderer, you know," he said, 
 but his eyes were tender. " Don't do anything foolish 
 in Rome. I'll be there as soon as possible." 
 
 " Have you got everything ? " 
 
 The whistle sounded, the flag waved, the train moved 
 off.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 SHE was to travel all night and be at Genoa in the 
 morning. The next evening she would be in Rome. 
 It was a corridor train; the compartment, which she, 
 with the baby and nurse, was to occupy, waking or sleep- 
 ing, during the next twenty-six hours, contained only 
 three seats. Nurse was in a condition of offended dig- 
 nity, having been unduly, and, to her mind, needlessly, 
 hurried. She intruded her sense of responsibility, and 
 spoke of the risk of moving about in winter-time with a 
 croupy child. She would not allow the window to be 
 opened. This circumspection, with which she could not 
 quarrel, drove Manuella out of the carriage to where, on 
 the narrow wooden ledge, miscalled a corridor seat, she 
 was able to obtain the questionable advantage of a slight 
 draught, combined with the soot from the engine. To be 
 uncomfortable, however, suited her mood. Neither back- 
 ward nor forward could she look with satisfaction. She 
 had been a fool ; her cheeks burned when she thought 
 what a fool she had been. They burned, too, when she 
 thought of Waldo. He had knocked Peter Graham 
 down ; to think of the reason of his doing so was impos- 
 sible. Then there was her meeting with Harston to face. 
 What would he say to her, how excuse himself? It 
 would be horrible to hear him excuse himself, and to 
 know how little she really cared. She would help him if 
 he needed help, but it would be dreary work. But Waldo 
 
 347
 
 348 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 would come soon . . . she ought not to dwell upon 
 that. She sighed impatiently, watching the darkening 
 panorama of the country, hating all that was before her. 
 
 A fellow-traveller, alone in the next compartment, 
 occupied also with his own affairs, wondered idly why she 
 sat there, and not in her compartment. Had she, too, 
 lost everything at the tables ? Was she travelling alone ? 
 But he was only vaguely interested ; he had other things, 
 more important, on his mind. 
 
 At seven o'clock dinner was served. Nurse was still 
 sulky and said she did not want any dinner. 
 
 Having overcome the difficulty of progressing along 
 the narrow corridor of the quickly-moving train, Manu- 
 ella found herself in the sparsely-occupied dining-car. 
 There was a married couple at the further table with a 
 daughter almost as old as themselves ; possibly English ; a 
 party of Americans, shrill and assertive ; and there were 
 two German commis-voyageurs in travelling deshabille, 
 tweed caps and slippered feet, who looked at her with 
 appraising eyes. 
 
 The waiter asked: 
 
 " For one ? " and indicated a seat at the table near 
 the door, where already there was another diner. 
 
 As the meal proceeded, she looked at her ins-a-vis with 
 a slight curiosity, finding it difficult to guess his nation- 
 ality. The black morning-coat and grey trousers in 
 which he travelled showed he was not an Englishman, 
 although they were English clothes ; his fine and slender 
 hands proved he was no German. Manuella decided this 
 before the soup was served. She wanted to think of any- 
 thing but that which was before or behind her. When he 
 spoke to the waiter, ordering a bottle of Chianti and a 
 Nocera, his bad French suggested he must be either 
 Italian or Spanish. It was not until later that she learned 
 he was a Sicilian. He was obviously uninterested in 
 German bagmen and their wives, in shrill Americans, and 
 provincial Frenchmen. He was abstracted whilst he ate 
 his soup, making notes, or what looked like figures, in a 
 little note-book. He had a new system to work out, one
 
 CONCERT PITCH 349 
 
 that had only just occurred to him, and this time it was 
 certainly an infallible one. 
 
 Before dinner was over, the infallibility seemed less 
 certain, and, in any case, he did not propose to try his 
 fortune again ; he had, indeed, no fortune to try. Then 
 he became vaguely aware that opposite to him was the 
 girl who had sat so long on that uncomfortable ledge in 
 the corridor, and that she was both young and beautiful. 
 Sicilian ladies do not travel alone. Juan Orilia only knew 
 of two sorts of ladies : those who travelled alone and 
 those who did not. He was ready for distraction on the 
 long journey before him; the steady purpose of his jour- 
 ney was not one upon which to dwell. He had none of 
 those " resources in himself " which make solitude pleas- 
 ant to men of greater intellectual endowment. He rarely 
 read, and his imagination for many years had been lim- 
 ited to " runs," maximums, and combinations of numbers, 
 concerned a little savagely, perhaps, about the cagnotte 
 and the amount it absorbed, and always hopefully of a 
 succession of eights and nines. He had a palate, and 
 found the dinner served in the train inadequate to gratify 
 it. He had also an eye two, in fact black, capable of 
 softness in expression when they were not on a croupier 
 or a changeur, the turn of a wheel or a card. Manuella 
 decided, for one cannot help coming to some decision as to 
 a man who sits at the same dining-table, that he would 
 have been handsome if he had not looked so careworn, 
 if his face had been unfurrowed. They were gambler's 
 furrows, gambler's wrinkles round his handsome eyes; 
 but she did not recognize this. She thought he must 
 have had troubles. 
 
 " Mademoiselle is looking for something? " was 
 the first sign that he acknowledged her existence. 
 He spoke in French, but it was obviously not his native 
 tongue. 
 
 " Only for the salt." 
 
 " But there is none on the table. If you will permit 
 me, I will call the waiter." 
 
 After the opening the salt gave him it was easy to
 
 350 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 ask if she had ordered wine, if she would allow him to 
 suggest. . . . He had the manners of a man of the world. 
 She had the manners of the world in which she had found 
 herself since her marriage, the artist world. There was 
 no reason she should not answer when she was spoken to, 
 or even initiate talk. There was nothing of the " young 
 man " about her vis-a-vis; it would have been difficult 
 to see him as less than fifty years old. He had, neverthe- 
 less, an air of distinction, and seemed occupied with 
 weighty affairs. Manuella, knowing nothing of zero, of 
 un apres, or of two en cartes following each other and 
 upsetting all calculation, decided he must be a diplomat, 
 an Italian statesman with the Vatican in his mind, or 
 perhaps a republican politician concerned with the peo- 
 ple's welfare. With such a one, since he seemed bent on 
 making himself agreeable, there was no harm in discus- 
 sing the food or wine in the express train, the weather, 
 or the need of better ventilation for the dining-car. 
 
 "You have been at Monte Carlo?" was a more per- 
 sonal question. But she was prepared also to discuss the 
 mountains and the blueness of the sea. 
 
 " And what sort of luck did you have ? " was un- 
 expected and needed explanation. It was with difficulty 
 she made him believe she had never played a sou, never 
 been inside the rooms. The rest of the dinner-hour was 
 spent in an endeavour to explain to her all that she had 
 missed. He said that he wished he had had an oppor- 
 tunity of meeting her there, of initiating her. He spoke 
 of the proverbial luck of the novice, and was genuine in 
 his regret that he had had no opportunity of exploiting 
 it. She was really quite attractive, and although he had 
 little time for women nor inclination, during the next 
 few hours there would be nothing better to do. 
 
 It was not until the end of the meal that he became 
 aware that she was not travelling alone, that she had not 
 only a nurse but a baby with her. A compliment or two, 
 and a suggestion that she might care to sit in his com- 
 partment in preference to the corridor, met with a recep- 
 tion that persuaded him his first impression had been a
 
 CONCERT PITCH 351 
 
 mistaken one. He was really a gentleman except in 
 money matters. Manuella said she had no thought of 
 returning to Monte Carlo. 
 
 It did not seem indiscreet to tell him she was going 
 to Rome for the production of her husband's opera, 
 77 Traditore. She was surprised at the interest he took 
 in the news. 
 
 " So he is your husband ! Harston Migotti is your 
 husband ! " He was silent after that, silent for quite a 
 long time. 
 
 " And are you, too, musical ? " he asked, when he could 
 no longer be silent. 
 
 She answered that she sang a little; hesitatingly, with 
 a smile, she admitted she had once sung in opera. He 
 did not requite her confidence with his own ; he was not 
 proud of being the husband of Madame Alma Orilia. 
 But he was very much interested to know that this was 
 the wife of the composer of // Traditore, the man whose 
 name had been coupled with that of Alma Orilia, his 
 own wife, on whose account he was now travelling to 
 Rome. He thought he knew now why she looked 
 unhappy. 
 
 " She is a devil, that wife of mine," he thought ; " a 
 devil!" 
 
 When Manuella went to her coupe-lit after dinner was 
 over, the coupe-lit she shared with the nurse and baby, 
 she was still in ignorance of the identity of the gentleman 
 with whom she had shared the dinner-table. 
 
 She was disappointed at the narrow insufficiency of 
 accommodation on the sleeping-car, and decided on oc- 
 cupying the lower bed. Nurse clambered into the top 
 berth with baby in her arms, and Manuella, partly un- 
 dressed, set herself to sleep as well as she was able on 
 the shelf beneath. She had tried, by talking to her 
 fellow-traveller, to relegate to the background of her 
 mind all perplexity and troubled thoughts, but they 
 thronged back to her now. To the accompaniment of the 
 throb of the engines, the occasional long-drawn shriek of 
 the whistle, her restless mind looked back into the past
 
 352 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 and pursued the future. What would have happened if 
 Waldo had not come to the villa? Nothing would have 
 happened ; of course, nothing would have happened. But 
 on that which it was difficult to believe, it was impossible 
 not to dwell. She turned uneasily on her narrow bed 
 and went off on another track. Waldo had neither for- 
 gotten nor neglected her. He had sought out Harston. 
 She wondered what had happened between them; why 
 Waldo thought she ought to be with or near him ; what 
 Harston had telegraphed? Had she been a good wife to 
 him ? Can you be a good wife to a man you do not love, 
 but must criticize? If she had married Waldo ... It 
 was not possible to get comfortable in such a bed, nor 
 to sleep. How long the night was going to be ! 
 
 The light was obscured by a dark green shade ; if she 
 moved the shade she could read. She had a book some- 
 where; Waldo had put it in at the last moment; but 
 if she got up, turned up the light, and moved the 
 shade, nurse would sulk. She would lie still, think of 
 nothing, count sheep going through a gate, force her- 
 self to sleep. 
 
 She had almost succeeded, notwithstanding the shriek 
 of the engine, the iron rattle of wheels on the rails, the 
 creak of the couplings. She had left off hearing noises, 
 counting sheep ; her brain was relaxing, vaguely drifting 
 to drowsy silence, when she was brought back abruptly. 
 Someone was knocking, knocking at the door of the 
 compartment; she sat up to listen. There was no 
 doubt about it; rattling as well as knocking. She 
 called out : 
 
 " Wait a minute." 
 
 Whilst she slid out of bed, and sought for her slippers, 
 she wished whoever was knocking would be more careful, 
 and speak low to avoid waking baby. It was probably 
 for the examination of the luggage. 
 
 The conductor of the sleeping-car stood at the door, 
 without his distinctive cap, with alarmed face and tongue 
 so agitated that it was difficult at first to understand 
 what it was he wanted of her. His French was quite
 
 CONCERT PITCH 353 
 
 fluent, but he was a Swiss, and in his agitation he spoke 
 a patois. 
 
 " Madame will be so good . . . Madame has with 
 her a socur de charite. There is no doctor on the train. 
 A gentleman in the next compartment has been taken ill ; 
 if there is no help for him he will die. If madame would 
 spare her sceur de charite. ..." 
 
 The nurse's dress had misled him ; she was not a sceur 
 de charite, she was an English hospital nurse, with an 
 uncertain temper. 
 
 " I don't know if she would come. ..." 
 
 Manuella was doubtful, but, fortunately, nurse woke 
 up at this juncture and agreed, if Manuella would stay 
 with the child, to see whether there was anything she 
 could suggest. 
 
 " Come back and tell me. ..." 
 
 They were already out of hearing, and she was left 
 alone alone with the sleeping child. She knew it was 
 the man with whom she had talked at dinner that had 
 met with an accident. She pictured him in the next com- 
 partment, dying perhaps. She wished she could have 
 been of use. She hated sitting here doing nothing, 
 waiting; the noise of the train speeding through the 
 night and the darkness made everything worse. She 
 groped for her clothes, dressed as well as she was able, 
 and waited again. It seemed a long time before anyone 
 came. Then it was the conductor. 
 
 " She says will you come ? She wants to get back to 
 the baby ; it is not, after all, so bad." 
 
 Manuella went with him gladly; anything was better 
 than sitting with her thoughts. 
 
 "What was it?" 
 
 " He has cut himself." 
 
 At first she thought he must have tried to :ommit sui- 
 cide, tried, and succeeded ! 
 
 The narrow compartment was full of the scent of 
 blood, through the open window was a rush of cold air, 
 and the light flared and flickered from the broken lamp. 
 There was glass on the floor, and blood, everywhere
 
 354 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 blood; nurse's dressing-gown was stained with it, also 
 her hands, and there was a smear of it on her face. Only 
 one bed was made up in this compartment ; on it there lay 
 the moaning man. A bandage was on his head, already 
 dark with a darkness that spread ; but it was the smell of 
 the blood that made her feel faint and sick. 
 
 " What is it ? What has happened ? " 
 
 It was only an accident. Nurse and the conductor 
 explained that the broken glass of the lamp was re- 
 sponsible. 
 
 " He must have struck his head against it when he 
 stood on the bed and reached to put up his bag. But 
 it was lucky I heard and came in. He would have bled 
 to death! Mon Dieu! how he bled! " 
 
 The broken glass had cut an artery. Nurse had bound 
 it up, but not before a great deal of blood had been lost. 
 
 " Someone must sit with him to see it doesn't break 
 out again. I'm going back to my baby." 
 
 She may have meant she was going back to her bed. 
 Accidents were not adventures to her, only ordinary 
 incidents, and she was cold, wanted to get back. 
 
 Manuella, of course, agreed to stay. Why not? She 
 could not sleep; he had sat at her table at dinner; she 
 had, as it were, an acquaintance with him, and could 
 not let him bleed to death. By this time there were other 
 people in the corridor asking what had happened ; dis- 
 hevelled, cold, or frightened travellers, useless in their 
 pyjamas and night-clothes. There was no doctor amongst 
 them, nor anyone with knowledge of what were best to 
 do. They glanced in and hurried away. They were 
 anxious to avoid any responsibility, to get away from the 
 dreadful sight. It was a dreadful sight ; the blood had 
 splashed everything coagulated human blood. 
 
 Manuella, as they scurried away, thought it was fortu- 
 nate that nurse had been there, and able to tie an artery. 
 There came a time when she thought differently. For 
 the present, she was quite willing to sit with the invalid, 
 releasing nurse to go back to the child. It needed cour- 
 age, she could sit nowhere that was not blood-stained;
 
 CONCERT PITCH 355 
 
 every time the train jerked, it seemed the wound might 
 reopen. Nurse went back to bed, the conductor to his 
 post ; Manuella said she felt equal to the task, and would 
 ring if he became worse. 
 
 Left alone with the unconscious wounded man, she tore 
 off pieces of her own underlinen to make fresh bandages ; 
 she got water and bathed his head, subordinating her 
 dread and disgust to his need. Nurse had given her 
 instructions, and she carried them out faithfully. 
 
 " Don't you let him move or stir. Get a teaspoonful 
 of brandy with a little water in it down his throat from 
 time to time. Cover his feet up as warm as possible. 
 Change the bandage when it soaks through." 
 
 Whenever Juan Orilia opened his exhausted eyes dur- 
 ing that long, endless night, it was to look into those he 
 had admired at dinner. She saw the recognition in his. 
 
 " You are not to speak. You are to lie still, and take 
 the brandy I am feeding you with. You have had an 
 accident, but you will soon be all right; the train is 
 slowing down." 
 
 "A railway accident?" 
 
 " No, you must have been reaching up to put a bag 
 or hat-box on the shelf." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I remember." 
 
 " You cut your head with the glass of the broken lamp, 
 we think. You have lost a great deal of blood ; it was an 
 artery. But now it has stopped." 
 
 " It is very good of you to be here with me." 
 
 Gambler, roue, reckless and decave though he might be, 
 no one had ever found fault with Juan Orilia's manners. 
 Those manners of his had captivated the less well-bred 
 prima-donna ten long years ago, when she had made her 
 debut in Rome and been so proud of his attentions. It 
 was the same story with Juan Orilia as it was now with 
 Harston Migotti. He had not succumbed to her charms, 
 but resisted them. Even in Rome one could gamble, and 
 women were not nearly as attractive to him as the green 
 cloth. She knew him to be poor, with impoverished 
 estates, knew that the trente-et-quarante at Palermo
 
 356 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 would complete what " The Travellers' Club " in Paris 
 had begun. Alma Des Voeux was then at the beginning 
 of her career, barely twenty. All the critics said that 
 hers was the voice of the century; all Rome had gone 
 mad over her, and she could have had her choice of lov- 
 ers, even of husbands. Juan Orilia did not woo her pas- 
 sionately ; he wooed her indifferently, or hardly at all. In 
 truth, he could not make up his mind as to whether he 
 wanted her or not. The gambler is never the lover. But 
 his indifference or indecision made her certain that she 
 wanted him. There were so many other men about her, 
 and none of them were cool but Juan. She married him 
 before his mind was really made up ; he hardly knew how 
 it had come about. She loved him violently for at least 
 two years, and she cannot truthfully be said to have had 
 much satisfaction for her love. Their quarrels began be- 
 fore their honeymoon ended. She was gifted with a 
 grand voice, a capacity for acting, and a sense of music 
 beyond what might have been expected. But socially she 
 belonged to the lower strata of Neapolitan middle-class, 
 and outside her music she had no education. He made 
 her feel her inferiority. She loved him the better for this 
 in a tiger-cat, inconvenient way. But she hated him 
 also, at times, even more fiercely. In the end, their lives 
 became a compromise. He was to be found in all the 
 gambling centres of Europe, she in the Opera Houses of 
 its cities. Each went his or her own way, yet the tie be- 
 tween them held. When the Prince Persipola had pur- 
 sued her, to the scandal of Vienna, some four years after 
 her marriage, Juan Orilia turned up cool and indifferent 
 from Nice, and fought a duel with him. When Achilla 
 Bernheim, of Paris, made his attentions conspicuous, 
 Juan came from Biarritz to persuade him that Paris was 
 not healthy just then. And Achille Bernheim needed 
 little persuading. 
 
 But this was in the past ; everything was in the past 
 now with Juan Orilia, excepting his intention to get even 
 with his tiger-cat of a wife, and to prove to her that 
 what he had threatened he would carry out. He had
 
 CONCERT PITCH 357 
 
 written to her to that effect, and she had answered that 
 he was mistaken, that Signor Migotti was in Rome with 
 his wife. Now the lie was proved, for here was Migotti's 
 wife; they had sent for her in order to deceive him. 
 Well, he was not deceived. She was not fit to live, that 
 wife of his ; he would not leave her behind him. 
 
 All through that long night Manuella tended Juan 
 Orilia, but he never told her his name. She sat on the 
 little carpet-stool by his side, feeding him with the tea- 
 spoonfuls of brandy and water, and changing his band- 
 ages. Every time he woke he found those dark eyes 
 gazing at him with solicitude ; they were sad eyes, and he 
 thought he knew why they were sad. Once, notwith- 
 standing her prohibition to talk, he asked her if she was 
 going to Rome because she had tired of Mentone, and 
 hastily she answered : 
 
 " My husband sent for me." 
 
 Of course, that was what he suspected ; she was to be 
 there for a blind, for his deception. 
 
 The long night dragged on. The train lumbered and 
 jerked. When it was at its worst, she kept her hands 
 upon the bandages, fearful lest the bleeding should break 
 out again. But it was really only a superficial accident, 
 and, when the artery had been tied, there was nothing to 
 fear; the slight concussion was relieved by the 
 bleeding. 
 
 All that night, growing stronger as the hours went on, 
 and recovering from shock, Juan was conscious of her 
 encompassing kindness. She fetched the pillows from her 
 own bed to supplement his. About four in the morning, 
 he told her she could safely leave him. He said he could 
 not thank her adequately. She replied that she wanted 
 no thanks, anybody would have done as much as she. 
 She said she would not leave him, for the wound might 
 reopen; she could sleep as well sitting up here as lying 
 down in the next compartment. Then she gave him a 
 little more brandy and water, and, as nurse had sug- 
 gested, put a hand on his pulse. 
 
 " It is really getting stronger."
 
 358 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " I know, madame. You can safely leave me." 
 
 " Hush ! It is I who am the nurse, and so must judge." 
 She smiled down on him. Only that lingering sense of 
 chivalry had made him bid her go. He wanted her to 
 stay. He had his countrymen's nervous organization, 
 and dreaded solitude in his weakness. He only slept be- 
 cause he knew she was there watching. 
 
 Before morning there dawned in his somewhat callous 
 heart something that softened and altered it ; not vitally, 
 because at fifty neither a man's heart nor his nature 
 changes vitally, but temporarily. And dawn in the east 
 is red. Before, he had been thinking only of his own 
 wrongs; now he thought also of hers. This girl had 
 given up her night's rest for him. 
 
 " I am really better now; let us talk a little," he said 
 later on, when it was full daylight. Soon they would be 
 in Genoa. 
 
 " I don't think it will be very good for you," she 
 answered doubtfully. She was really getting sleepy, and 
 had difficulty in suppressing her yawns. She could see 
 for herself now that she was no longer needed, but held 
 her post until she should be relieved. 
 
 " I feel like Casabianca," she told him; and then had 
 to explain " The boy stood on the burning deck." 
 
 " I am going to ask you a strange question, the strang- 
 est possible question." 
 
 " I shouldn't if I were you." 
 
 That is what Waldo would have said, she knew it as 
 she uttered it ; if they had married she would have grown 
 like him. She was very sleepy, losing control over her 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Are you unhappy ? " 
 
 Juan Orilia raised himself on his elbow to ask her; 
 and she was alarmed lest the bleeding should break out 
 again. But he would not be put off, repeating his ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " Is anybody happy ? " 
 
 She evaded a more definite answer when it seemed 
 that he would not be put off. He lay without speaking
 
 CONCERT PITCH 359 
 
 after that, and she thought he slept again. She very 
 nearly dozed off on that uncomfortable carpet-stool, but 
 came to herself with a start. 
 
 <l Is it about your husband and Alma Orilia you are 
 distressed ? " She had come to herself with a start, but 
 now was broad awake. 
 
 " Who are you ? How do you know ? How on earth 
 do you know ? " 
 
 " You are going to Rome to join him, because they 
 have sent for you ? " 
 
 " Yes ! But who are you ? what are my affairs to 
 you? No, don't move." And again her hand was on 
 the bandage. 
 
 " I am Alma Orilia's husband." 
 
 He had been a patient, hardly a personality; her care 
 for him had been an instinctive, not a reasoned, labour. 
 Now she stared at him. Juan Orilia Alma Orilia's 
 husband ! 
 
 " She shall not make you unhappy," he said. "Go 
 now, but be content. You shall not always be unhappy. 
 Leave everything to me."
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE rest of the journey was blurred with fatigue. 
 Baby was fretful and nurse irritable. Manuella 
 might have slept, but between them they made it im- 
 possible. 
 
 They reached Rome at six o'clock in the evening. It 
 was raining, and on the wet and dismal platform were 
 facchini with their monotonous cries, the glimmering 
 lamps shone on shivering, impatient passengers. She 
 looked up and down, bade nurse stand by the luggage, 
 and went outside the station. Here, notwithstanding 
 the rain, it was brilliantly alight, and she could see the 
 large buildings opposite, the broad road, the waiting lines 
 of carriages and cabs, omnibuses for luggage; but she 
 could not see Harston Migotti. Waldo had telegraphed 
 that she was coming, but her husband had not come to 
 meet her. She was alone, sick with fatigue and the 
 depression of it, 'heart-sick, too. 
 
 Going back to where nurse stood beside the luggage, 
 with baby in her arms and disapproval on her counte- 
 nance, she was accosted by one of the men labelled " In- 
 terprete," and wearing a " Cook's " band round his hat. 
 He spoke interpreter's English, barely comprehensible, 
 and his other languages were little better. Still she made 
 out that he was asking her if she was Madame Migotti. 
 When she replied affirmatively her immediate troubles 
 
 360
 
 CONCERT PITCH 361 
 
 were over. The man was fully instructed ; there was a 
 cab waiting for her; rooms had been engaged. 
 
 That night she was too tired to ask from whom his 
 instructions came. The rooms to which he took them 
 were in the Piazza. Barberini, large and airy, but to Eng- 
 lish eyes comfortless, one room opening into another, 
 without privacy or warmth. Waldo had engaged them 
 before he left Rome; the telegram to Cook's was an 
 afterthought. He had done everything possible ; foresee- 
 ing that her husband might be too much occupied to 
 meet her. That Alma would make it impossible, contrive 
 and intrigue that she should go without this attention, 
 he may also have foreseen. Manuella, after the first 
 moment of disappointment, was too tired to care. All 
 she wanted to do was to get between sheets and sleep off 
 her fatigue. 
 
 In the morning she sent a letter to Harston, merely 
 announcing her arrival. The answer came back quickly : 
 
 " Dear One, I will be with you as soon as possible ; 
 this is only to bid you welcome. But there are only 
 three days more, and nothing is ready; I am almost in 
 despair. Kiss my Siegfried for me. I am with you both 
 in my heart." 
 
 It was true that everyone was working night and day, 
 and, as is the way with theatrical enterprises, everything 
 was behind. 
 
 At Alma Orilia's flat the confusion concentrated. From 
 morning until night, for the last week and more, people 
 had been coming and going, messages, telegrams, letters, 
 flowers arriving, the telephone ringing, Stollmont rushing 
 in and out, distracted. Now it was the scenery, and now 
 the costumes ; always there were the artists whom nobody 
 could satisfy. At the last moment, Fadini, who wa,s 
 playing Paulinus, threw up his part. De Ochoa, who 
 replaced him at a moment's notice, had to be rehearsed 
 privately as well as on the stage. It was difficult music 
 how difficult only the orchestra knew. But after three 
 weeks with Migotti there was not a musician among 
 them who was not devoted to him and his music. The
 
 362 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 chorus-master was another devotee. But for the choruses 
 and the orchestra, and, above all, the great prima-donna, 
 Stollmont's anxiety would have deepened to despair. As 
 it was, he was secretly exhilarated, and only outwardly 
 raging, gesticulatory and vociferous. The stage-machin- 
 ery was elaborate, and three days before the performance 
 still imperfect ; an essential piece, only procurable in 
 Paris, never arrived at all. There was no end to the mis- 
 haps, and no words of Stollmont's were strong enough to 
 characterize the urbane slackness of the Italian work- 
 men. He swore and raged in vain; confusion became 
 ever worse confounded. The premiere was to be three 
 days after Manuella arrived in Rome. Into those three 
 days three months of work must be crowded. 
 
 So Harston told her, when at length he came, with 
 disordered hair and wild eyes. He said he was glad she 
 was here; he kissed her, and even the child, and asked 
 if there was anything she needed. He looked hastily at 
 her rooms, and said they were splendid, and Lord Lys- 
 sons had been clever in securing them. 
 
 " Shall I come over to the hotel and pack for you, and 
 move your things here ? " Manuella asked him. Hur- 
 riedly he answered that he thought it better, after all, to 
 stay where he was until after Friday. 
 
 " I am nearer the theatre. Day and night we are 
 rehearsing." 
 
 But day and night, too, he was at Alma Orilia's flat. 
 Alma had heard no further from her husband after writ- 
 ing that letter in which she had told him that his sus- 
 picions were unfounded, anything he had heard unjusti- 
 fied, and that the composer of // Traditore had his wife 
 with him in Rome. 
 
 After she had written to Juan, and when Manuella was 
 on her way to Rome, Alma Orilia's jealousy had flamed 
 up again. She would hardly let Harston out of her sight. 
 She could not do without him ; every question must be 
 submitted to his judgment. There were consultations 
 with Stollmont, with Poliaghi, with chorus-master, car- 
 penters, even gas-men. When Harston was not at the
 
 CONCERT PITCH 363 
 
 theatre he was at the flat. The flat was near the Cos- 
 tanzi, and his hotel near both. All these things he told 
 Manuella, but not that Alma Orilia was passionately 
 jealous of his wife, and it was necessary, even vital, to 
 keep her in good-humour. He would have told her even 
 this if he had understood her fully. As it was, his idea 
 was only to keep the two women apart until after the 
 great event. What would happen then he had no idea, he 
 did not wish to think. There were times when he adored 
 Alma Orilia, those were when she was singing his music. 
 There were times when he had no feeling for her at all, 
 but something very like dread; those times when she 
 made scenes, spoke virulently of his " drag of a wife," 
 and showed her coarse vindictiveness. Because she knew 
 how slender was her hold on him, she flaunted it for all 
 Rome to see. 
 
 It seemed plausible that he should not wish to move 
 until after Friday, reasonable even that he did not wish 
 Manuella to be present at the first performance. 
 
 " I shall be more nervous if I know you are there," he 
 said. But he meant that he could not risk Alma seeing 
 her in the house. Once Manuella saw them driving to- 
 gether. Harston's face was alight, he was talking 
 eagerly, and they were sitting very close. If she was 
 depressed when she got back to her rooms, it was not on 
 that account, but because she felt how useless she was 
 here. She was doing nothing, making no effort, such as 
 Waldo expected of her. Waldo meant her to fight this 
 influence to which Harston was submitting. But she 
 could not. What could she give him in compensation for 
 Alma Orilia's glorious voice and power in the musical 
 world ? Nothing, not even love. 
 
 Juan Orilia had lost a great deal of blood; he felt 
 weak, unfit, although not unstable for his purpose. He 
 rested three days in a clinic, not informing his wife of his 
 whereabouts. When he got better, and sat under the tree, 
 near the gates of the Villa Medici in the Pincio, he, too,
 
 364 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 like Manuella, saw her driving with Harston Migotti. 
 He went there the next day, and saw them again. That 
 was the day of the first performance of // Traditore. He 
 had meant to go to the theatre, but it was too late to 
 secure a seat. He had, however, many friends in Rome, 
 and could visit them in their boxes. On the great night 
 he dressed quite carefully, dined well, and arrived in 
 time for the Overture. 
 
 The Theatre Costanzi is bare and undecorated, it is 
 not divided into stalls and circles after the manner of an 
 English house; there are no velvet upholstered chairs, 
 there is no luxury but the luxury of the performances. 
 The boxes are built around the amphitheatre, and it is 
 the fashion to pay visits to them, to pass from one to 
 another. The one reserved for Royalty was little differ- 
 ent from the rest. Juan Orilia finally found himself in 
 the one opposite to this the one belonging to the Mar- 
 quis de Rudini, whom he had left behind in Monte Carlo. 
 He was welcomed by the Marquis's son and daughter-in- 
 law, who inquired after their father's health, and, glad of 
 the latest news, detained him. He heard that great ex- 
 pectations had been formed of the new opera ; that it was 
 said the composer was the genius for whom all Italy was 
 waiting. The secret of Migotti's birth was known, but 
 he was an Italian notwithstanding. 
 
 " They say the music is worthy even for your wife to 
 sing." 
 
 Juan acknowledged the compliment. He thought they, 
 too, looked at him curiously, finding it, perhaps, strange 
 that he should be here. In Rome a man's wife may have 
 a lover, but not in Sicily. Certainly not the wife of a 
 Sicilian gentleman. Rudini might have known that, he 
 thought. But he made no sign. He sat with them and 
 chatted, of mutual friends, the cold weather, runs at the 
 Casino, the coming races. 
 
 The Royal party arrived punctually, the little bustle 
 of their entry being soon quieted. Now they listened to 
 the Overture. Everybody had come to listen. The 
 papers had paved the way ; critics, who had been present
 
 CONCERT PITCH 365 
 
 at the rehearsals, or had read the score, were enthusi- 
 astic in praise. They said it was an advance on the best 
 Italian traditions, that the music, passionate, precise, and 
 profound, was of an enduring character. 
 
 From the opening the result was never in doubt. 
 There were three acts and five tableaux, all of them spec- 
 tacular and dramatic in the widest sense, the interest ever 
 culminating. With the scena that signalized her first 
 appearance, Alma Orilia, as Queen Cartismandua, cap- 
 tured and held the house ; the whole of the first act was a 
 sensation. After her second song there was a murmur 
 among the audience as of leaves in an autumn wind. In 
 the boxes one heard it said that nothing in modern music 
 could compare in intensity with the Trio at the end of 
 the ret. The clapping of hands and bravas were as a 
 tempest raging. The singers were called and recalled, 
 and from the critics one heard " E magnifico," " Un 
 nuovo Maestro," and unanimous praise. 
 
 The second act was, if possible, more brilliant than the 
 first ; the sparkling opening chorus went to the head like 
 champagne. It is unusual for such an audience to inter- 
 fere with its own pleasure by premature tribute, but 
 throughout there were indefinable approving murmurs; 
 enthusiasm was pent up, to burst out in vociferous 
 bravi and bravissimi and continuous clapping of 
 hands. 
 
 The last act was introduced by a mournful orchestral 
 prelude, a complete change of key. Men held their 
 breath, " Un trionfo ! " " Un miracolo ! " One caught 
 the words on moving lips. When, at the end, Alma Orilia 
 sang the prayer cavatina as only she could sing it, the 
 murmur and sound in the audience ceased as if auto- 
 matically ; they were spellbound. Then, whilst they were 
 still breathless, came the wonderful quartet leading to 
 the superb love-duet and the grand finale. The opera is 
 now as well known as The Chariot Queen, but one has to 
 remember that this was the first presentation. 
 
 The curtain fell, and an almost indescribable scene 
 followed. Men stood on chairs, shouting themselves
 
 366 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 hoarse; the noise reached the roof and seemed to tear 
 it ; again and again came that thunder and volume of 
 bravi and bravissimi. Flowers were thrown on to the 
 stage, and even jewellery. 
 
 The performers who first came forward were greeted 
 tumultuously ; it seemed as if there would be nothing left 
 for the principals. The ladies curtsied and smiled, and 
 were pelted with flowers. The gentlemen in their togas 
 and filamented heads bowed and laid their hands upon 
 their hearts, knowing they had been in fine voice. Stoll- 
 mont had secured a truly wonderful cast. There was a 
 furore of cries for Alma Orilia. " Orilia! " " Orilia ! " 
 they shouted, and presently Migotti's name was also 
 heard. 
 
 Alma came on, and curtsied low ; the curtain fell and 
 was raised five separate times. She was before them 
 deprecating, accepting, smiling at their applause, which 
 again broke and reverberated like thunder. The sixth 
 time she was seen holding the composer by the hand, 
 indicating that it was to him the applause was due. She 
 held his hand, and, all at once, impulsively, she kissed it ! 
 And that was wonderful to the excitable Italians, who 
 responded with a sea of waving programmes and recog- 
 nition. 
 
 When Juan Orilia saw his wife kiss the composer's 
 hand before the whole house, before all Rome, he grew 
 very white ; when she let go his hand and made that low, 
 sweeping curtsey to him, as if she would have knelt at 
 his feet, he took steady aim. The Rudinis had left the 
 box, and he was quite alone; the moved and shouting 
 house was in semi-darkness, but the stage was well-lit. 
 She had kissed his hands ; now it seemed she would kiss 
 his feet! 
 
 The aim was low, the report hardly heard amid the 
 uproar. The moment the pistol went off, the second be- 
 fore, perhaps, Migotti had stooped to raise her. She was 
 acknowledging his genius, telling the house the applause 
 must be for him. He had bowed and smiled, and smiled 
 and bowed, and even shrugged, for what more could he
 
 CONCERT PITCH 367 
 
 do or say? In England he had been hissed, humiliated, 
 neglected; but here in Italy they understood. This was 
 his moment, the fruition, the acknowledgment of his 
 work. Now he could afford to be modest. 
 
 " I owe it to you," he said low to Alma, who had in- 
 terpreted him so grandly. 
 
 " I want not your gratitude, but your love." 
 
 Their simultaneous words were simultaneously ar- 
 rested. The applause was for both of them, the shot for 
 only one. Afterwards it was said that he saw the raised 
 pistol, and flung himself in front of her. The bullet was 
 not intended for him, but it was him it reached. The 
 composer fell forward on his face; the great singer 
 reeled, and would have fallen too. Stollmont was on the 
 stage in an instant, horror and incredulity on his face. 
 The curtain was quickly lowered. 
 
 For the moment no one in the house knew what had 
 happened. Then there was another shot, or was it a 
 click? . . . The applause and clapping of hands died 
 away suddenly. Now the house was full of fear, gripped 
 and paralysed, silenced with fear. 
 
 " Una Bomba, Una Bomba! " 
 
 There was no doubt the detonating sound was a bomb. 
 A cold shiver went through the audience. 
 
 An hysterical voice shrieked " La Reina! " and a more 
 terrible hush fell, an instant's hush, full of horror and 
 dread. There was the sound of sobbing, of a passionate 
 sobbing. Before anyone knew or understood, in that 
 hush behind which one heard sobbing, there came the 
 hurried entrance of the heavy-footed Carabinieri in their 
 black uniforms with the red facings, the white shoulder 
 knots conspicuous in the gloom. All at once, panic seized 
 the still darkened house, unreasoning, unreasonable panic, 
 and the word " bomb " came in hoarse whispers from 
 choked throats through whitening lips. Pelting, hurry- 
 ing feet, pushing, struggling people, groans and terror, 
 and always the recurring phrases : 
 
 " The Queen has been assassinated." 
 
 " Someone threw a bomb. ..."
 
 368 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 Two had already exploded, there would be others. . . . 
 " Run, run, run. Get out of the burning house." 
 
 The house, of course, was not burning at all, but quite 
 safe and solid. // the curtain had been left up instead of 
 being so quickly lowered ; if the orchestra had played ; if 
 someone had had the presence of mind to turn up the 
 lights, what followed might have been averted. But it 
 was in semi-darkness and silence that men trampled on 
 each other, on the women, only frantic to get out, to get 
 away, that chairs were overturned, impeding the way to 
 the inaccessible exits. . . . Already the audience had been 
 overwrought, now they were quite without reason. 
 
 " Ha assassinate la Reina! " 
 
 " II Re e mortal " 
 
 " Una bomba! " 
 
 " La Camorra! " 
 
 Before order was restored, before the lights were 
 turned up, or the soldiers summoned, the theatre sur- 
 rounded, and the truth known, before it was realized that 
 there was neither bomb nor fire, the disaster had come 
 about. The stampede, cyclonic and irresistible, sweeping 
 fainting women from their feet, crushing and trampling 
 upon them, carried death in its onrush. Long will the 
 first night of // Traditore be remembered in Rome. The 
 news of the panic was flashing along the telegraph wires 
 before the news of the overwhelming success of the 
 opera had been cleared from the line. 
 
 PANIC AT THE FIRST PERFORMANCE OF 
 
 " IL TRADITORE." 
 MANY LIVES LOST. 
 
 There were not many lives lost, but many women were 
 injured, and one child was suffocated. A dozen rumours 
 were afloat, none of them touching the truth. It was 
 midnight before the reporters had got to work, and the 
 headlines had been corrected.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 369 
 
 MURDER OF THE YOUNG COMPOSER. 
 
 SUICIDE OF THE MURDERER. 
 DRAMA OF LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 
 
 There had, of course, been no bomb, nor attack on 
 the King and Queen of Italy. The Camorra was not 
 responsible for the catastrophe, only the Latin tempera- 
 ment. The King and Queen had left before the applause 
 changed to panic with such appalling and dramatic sud- 
 denness. 
 
 There was tragedy behind the curtain, tragedy in the 
 private box, where Juan Orilia lay with a bullet in his 
 brain and the smoking pistol still in his dead hand. 
 
 But far more poignant was the tragedy in that apparta- 
 mento in the Piazza Barberini where Manuella, waiting to 
 hear the news of his triumph, heard instead the tramp 
 of the bearers who brought her young husband back to 
 her to die.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 WHEN the truth was known, a chorus of pity and 
 imprecation broke out. There was bound to be 
 an objective for it, since Juan Orilia was dead, and 
 Harston Migotti dying. Not admiration but execration 
 now greeted the name of Alma Orilia, for whom the bul- 
 let was intended that brought down the composer of the 
 finest opera that had been heard in Italy within the 
 memory of man. 
 
 The whole story was in the Fanfulla the next morning, 
 contradicted in the Capitate, and confirmed in the Civttta- 
 Catolica, with appropriate comments. It was, after all, a 
 love story, owing to which twenty-seven men and women, 
 who had had no concern in it, were in hospitals or nurs- 
 ing homes. Juan Orilia had perished by his own hand, 
 and in the house in the Piazza Barberini, where two Cara- 
 binieri stood at the door, and doctors went in and out, 
 while reporters waited for any scrap of news borne by 
 hushed voices, lay Harston Migotti, the great composer 
 of The Chariot Queen and // Traditore, shot through the 
 lung, bleeding internally. There was no hope that he 
 would live through the day ; his wife was with him, and 
 there was a child too! The great soprano was under- 
 stood to be prostrate with grief. But it was understood 
 also that the authorities had already advised her that the 
 sooner she recovered from her prostration and left 
 
 370
 
 CONCERT PITCH 371 
 
 Rome, the sooner would their anxiety on her behalf be 
 allayed. 
 
 There are so many ways of telling a story ; there were 
 papers less reputable than the Fanfulla and the Capitale, 
 less restrained than the Civilta Catolica. The Diritto, 
 for instance, and the Tribuna, might seize on the oppor- 
 tunity and attack the Government that permitted Alma 
 to remain. The Rugantino might be expected to make 
 fun of the events, lewd and tragic fun, that would rouse 
 the populace against her more surely than a serious at- 
 tack. Certainly Rome was no place for Alma Orilia in the 
 first days after the calamity at the Costanzi Theatre. 
 
 It is not, however, with her that this story concerns 
 itself. She was smuggled safely out of Rome, and has 
 not sung there again, nor is she ever likely to. But 
 in America, when the story arrived in a garbled version, 
 it was believed to be a great " scoop " or asset, and was 
 responsible for the enormous fee Stollmont was able to 
 secure for her in the ensuing spring. 
 
 In the Piazza. Barberini, Harston Migotti lay on Man- 
 uella's bed, very pale, past hope, almost past speech, 
 waiting for the end. At first they were for carrying him 
 to the Ospedale ; it was he himself who had given them 
 the direction here, where his young wife received him 
 in the small hours of that incredible night, and instead 
 of wailing, as an Italian woman would have done, showed 
 herself cool and practical, astonishing bearers and doctors 
 and hurriedly-summoned nurses. 
 
 " It is over," was what Harston said to her when they 
 laid him on her bed. 
 
 She had no words for him, nor for the tragedy that 
 had overwhelmed him. An agony of pity wrung her 
 heart and overflowed her eyes. She was told of the great 
 success, of the overwhelming applause. 
 
 " Ah ! but you should have been there ! " one of the 
 bearers said. " Nothing has ever been seen like it. You 
 could have heard the ' bravas ' two streets away, it was 
 as if the roof must come off." 
 
 Recognition, applause, success had come too late.
 
 372 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 At first she thought he would recover, that he could not 
 be going to die ; it was too cruel, too impossible ! She 
 had not loved him, but he was the father of her 
 child. 
 
 " You mustn't die, I can't let you die! " she exclaimed, 
 through her falling tears, passionately ; " it can't end 
 like this. ..." 
 
 They examined and probed the wound, gave him opi- 
 ates, then stimulants, but acknowledged they were help- 
 less. After the doctors had gone he lay very quiet, very 
 patient. He wanted Gerald Streatfield sent for. He 
 never spoke once of Alma Orilia, for whom his life had 
 been sacrificed. 
 
 Manuella, in that passionate pity of hers, without a 
 thought now of herself, or that her name and the story of 
 his faithlessness to her would be in everybody's mouth, 
 leaned over and whispered to him: 
 
 " Do you want Alma Orilia ? I don't mind. Shall I 
 send for her ? " 
 
 " I want Gerald." He had very little voice left. 
 
 " I have telegraphed, but he can't be here until to- 
 morrow. Can I do anything; do you want to tell me 
 anything? " 
 
 " I want someone who can write music. Listen ! hush ! 
 see that everything is still. I hear them marching, 
 marching. It is my coffin that is the head of the proces- 
 sion. And oh ! such music ! Write . . . write." 
 
 He struggled to a sitting position, panting, filled with 
 excitement. 
 
 " Write," he said again, and his lips parted as if he 
 would sing. 
 
 " You have heard it, taken it down ? . . . " 
 
 His eyes were lit up ; harsh sounds now came bubbling 
 through the gathering froth on his lips. 
 
 " How. fine it is, how grand. . . . You hear it, you 
 have written it down ? " 
 
 Quite suddenly the light was gone from his eyes and 
 they went dull and glazed as his head fell back. What 
 he heard he took with him. Celestial music it may well
 
 CONCERT PITCH 373 
 
 have been, and his soul escaped in the swell of its har- 
 monies. For presently, as they stiffened, there was a 
 smile on his dead lips. 
 
 Reverently the Sister, watching with Manuella, passed 
 her hand over his eyes. With the smile stiffening on his 
 lips he looked inconceivably happy. 
 
 Manuella, sinking on her knees, sobbing, said: 
 
 " I am sure he is hearing it." 
 
 " He is with the good God," the Sister answered. 
 
 Waldo was not there until the next day. Gerald 
 Streatfield, broken-hearted, was in time for -the funeral. 
 All Rome followed Harston Migotti to the grave, and 
 the prelude to the third act of // Traditore was played 
 as his funeral march. Gerald was always convinced that, 
 had he arrived in time, he would have understood and 
 taken down what Migotti had tried to sing. This he 
 says in his biography, that all too short biography, in 
 which he likened Harston Migotti on his death-bed to 
 Mozart, and speaks of the Requiem. 
 
 Manuella cried from the day Harston died until after 
 the funeral. Every hour it seemed sadder; she re- 
 proached herself that she had done so little for him, 
 nothing at all for him ; all her prayers and promises had 
 been of no avail. He was too young to die. It seemed 
 to her that nothing so sad had ever happened. She could 
 only cry and cry. Waldo did not even try to comfort her ; 
 he knew it was too soon, and that he must let her grief 
 have sway. Afterwards, when the time came, she would 
 be glad she had been here. And there would be other 
 things he might say to her. Now she could only cry for 
 her young husband, and wish she had loved him better. 
 The dead leave always this behind to deepen the well 
 of tears and make more aching tender the heart. So 
 many kindnesses undone, so much sympathy not shown, 
 silences that now can never be broken. She could only
 
 374 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 cry for all these, and cry, believing it would never be 
 different with her. 
 
 After the funeral was over, the inquiry opened and 
 adjourned, and adjourned again; after the papers had 
 found other topics, and she was on her way back to 
 England, she was still crying. The tears came now from 
 a numbed heart, and a numbed brain. She was only a 
 girl in her weeds, but so pale and forlorn of demeanour 
 that no beauty of youth was left to her. It was difficult 
 for her to get away from the Piazza Barberini ; the time 
 of her going was known, and emotional spectators 
 crowded around and cried with her. 
 
 " Oh, la Povera, la poveretta! come I' ha amato! " 
 
 " E colui, ha amato un' altra." 
 
 "Oh, la poveretta, la poveretta! muore d'amore!" 
 burst from pitying lips. 
 
 At the station it was even worse, a larger crowd, ex- 
 clamations of pity, cries of sympathy, a woman darting 
 forward pressed flowers into her hand. She was too 
 blinded by her tears to see anything clearly, her sobs 
 choked her thanks. 
 
 " Ed anche il bambino! che tristesza! " 
 
 It would have gone hard with Alma Orilia had she 
 appeared at this moment; they would have torn her 
 limb from limb. There were no hard words for Juan 
 Orilia. Any Italian would have done the same; but it 
 was his wife he should have killed. Curses were heaped 
 upon her; a she-wolf of a woman. " Maledetta! " 
 " Infame! " 
 
 In Circus Road, Lulu Marston came to Manuella, who 
 would see no one else. To Lulu she declared, between her 
 sobs, that she could never get over it, but would cry all 
 her life for the boy who had met death singing. Lulu 
 knew better, but refrained from saying so, and let her 
 cry in her womanly arms, telling her how good it was 
 to die, having written // Traditore and The Chariot 
 Queen, and what Russell had said about it.
 
 CONCERT PITCH 375 
 
 " What am I to do for her? " she asked Waldo. 
 
 " Give her time," was his sapient answer. 
 
 It needed time, that was all. But longer than either of 
 them thought possible. Many months were to pass be- 
 fore even Waldo could reach the source of those tears. 
 
 " I could have done so much more for him. If I had 
 stayed in London, been there when he telegraphed for 
 me ... if I had never gone to Mentone, or met Juan 
 Orilia ; if I had loved him better, or at all. ..." 
 
 " He would always have loved music best," Waldo 
 answered soberly, glad that at last she voiced her feelings. 
 
 He was very gentle with her, although perhaps it hurt 
 him that she should cry so long for Harston Migotti. He 
 spent hours at the house, playing with, or talking to, the 
 baby, avoiding any reference to her future, which, at 
 present, Manuella only saw in a penitent's cell, in which 
 she would sit all the rest of her life crying for the hus- 
 band she had not loved in his lifetime. 
 
 " You are glad at least you were with him at the last," 
 he said to her one day. Harston had lain four months 
 now in his grave in Rome, and spring was on the way. 
 
 " He only wanted Gerald." 
 
 " It was not your fault that Tommy Traddles was in 
 England." 
 
 ' Yes, it was in a way, it was. I wanted Gerald out 
 of the house ; if he had been more with him, and known 
 what was going on ..." 
 
 " He would have made more notes." 
 
 The tone was dry, but he altered it. 
 
 " Grieve, if you must grieve." He went on hastily, 
 " I know you must. Although, in a way, it was a fine 
 death ; he was at the acme of his triumph, saw the shot 
 coming, and flung himself in front of her, gave up his life 
 for the woman who loved him. But don't paint devils. 
 Leave off reproaching yourself for what was no fault of 
 yours." 
 
 " He did not love her. I asked him if he wanted to 
 see her, to say good-bye, and he never even answered." 
 
 " Neither did he love you. little girl." He thought it
 
 376 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 was time to say it. " There is no room for love in the 
 life of a self-centred genius. You are going to be angry, 
 I see that already. It is a long time since you've been 
 angry about anything isn't it?" 
 
 " It does not make it any better because he did not 
 love me," she answered forlornly, without the flash of 
 her eyes, or the anger he expected. 
 
 " No, I don't suppose it does. But I thought I would 
 remind you." 
 
 That was the first time since she had been free that 
 their eyes met. Her eyes were dim with tears, but they 
 were not too dim to see the kindness in his. He had 
 waited long enough. It was time he asserted his claim 
 that their eyes met. He threw an unexpected arm about 
 her waist and drew her to him. 
 
 " Hush ! don't struggle ; you belong here, in my arms. 
 Haven't they been empty long enough ? " But she 
 struggled against him. 
 
 " Don't ! How can you ! It isn't four months ..." 
 
 " I am not guided by the calendar. I don't mean to 
 let you go. I did it once before. ..." 
 
 He was so moved, holding her in his arms, feeling her 
 against him, sentient, struggling, that he was almost rude. 
 " Look what a mess you made of things. You really 
 can't take care of yourself, you know that." 
 
 " Let me go ! " But her resistance was feeble. 
 
 " Not a chance," He kissed her hair, her eyes, the face 
 she hid. 
 
 " I never make anything but mistakes," she burst out. 
 " Look at Peter Graham. ..." 
 
 " I would rather not, if you don't mind." He put a 
 hand under her chin. " I would really rather look at 
 you." 
 
 " I don't want you to look at me." Her face was 
 hidden, more willingly now, on his shoulder. " I have 
 grown old, ugly. ..." 
 
 " Hideous, I know, I have noticed it myself. You 
 will have to go in for face massage. Everybody's do- 
 ing it."
 
 CONCERT PITCH 377 
 
 " And there is baby." 
 
 " I really don't feel inclined to trust my godson with 
 you any longer. You give him all his own way and spoil 
 him frightfully. You don't think you are fit to bring him 
 up without me to help you, do you ? " His voice was 
 low, and his lips against her ear; he was always a tender 
 rather than a passionate lover. 
 
 " Do you think you will have finished all your crying 
 soon ? '' he asked her presently. 
 
 " I shall never have finished." 
 
 " All right. But I am getting so damp. I feel it 
 trickling down my collar ; it is a lucky thing tears are 
 salt, otherwise I should fear rheumatism." 
 
 She tried again to disengage herself. 
 
 " Don't be silly ; go on crying if you want. I can 
 always change my collar." Now he had her more com- 
 fortably in his arms. 
 
 " I am going to marry you whether you like it or not. 
 You need not wriggle ; I never supposed you would like 
 it. But you must be kept out of mischief. What, more 
 tears? The November floods are nothing to it. Man- 
 uella, little girl, little donkey ! My God ! how fond I am 
 of you, although you are such a responsibility . . . and 
 a termagant." His arms tightened. This time he kissed 
 her eyes, found her lips too. " You have never really 
 belonged to anybody but me. You are worse than the 
 Inland Revenue in the way you are keeping me out of 
 my own property. Lloyd George isn't in it with you. 
 Kiss me, and say it is all right. You may cry again 
 afterwards if you insist." 
 
 She made many protests, then and later. It was " too 
 soon," and she " did not deserve to be happy," she 
 had " no fortune, and he could not afford to marry 
 her." 
 
 He agreed with everything she said, cheerfully. But 
 he went on with his preparations exactly the same as if 
 she had not spoken. It was true that they would have 
 to live quietly ; he was little better off than he had been 
 two years ago.
 
 378 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 " Of course, Peter Graham is much richer. ..." 
 
 But that was a subject on which she could not bear 
 chaff. When he found this out he pursued it; he liked 
 to make her angry. It seemed like old times when her 
 eyes flashed and she stamped her foot and said she would 
 not allow him to mention Peter Graham's name. When 
 they began to quarrel the end was very near. She forgot 
 to cry for Harston when Waldo teased her and she got 
 angry and argued with him. She had resented being 
 treated as a child ; now somehow she no longer resented 
 it. She sought for causes of quarrel, so that they should 
 make it up afterwards. He understood her so much 
 better than he had done at first, better than anyone else 
 had ever understood her. She was still a mixture of child 
 and woman. But her pride no longer baffled him, he 
 could banter and laugh at her. When she got to know 
 how he loved her, to believe and rest in that love, a great 
 peace fell upon her, a peace of the heart. 
 
 " I will try to be different," she whispered to him 
 one day, after an exhibition of childish rage which he 
 had very deliberately provoked. 
 
 " That is exactly what I don't want you to be," he 
 answered, as she nestled in his arms. He laid his lips 
 gently against her soft hair. " I have curious tastes, I 
 like you just as you are." 
 
 " You don't want a wife who flies into ungovernable 
 rages ? " 
 
 " I do. I admit it is a strange aberration of mine. 
 How soon are you going to gratify it ? " 
 
 " You don't mean it ? " 
 
 " I am not surprised you think so. No, don't hit 
 me. ... " 
 
 Her heart shook when banter became tenderness, when 
 his lips strayed from her hair to her delicate ear. 
 " Manuella, you dear little fool, you darling little fool ; 
 if you don't marry me to-day, to-morrow, at the latest 
 within a week, I shall carry you off in an aeroplane, drop 
 down somewhere on a desert island, where there is not a 
 parson. ..."
 
 CONCERT PITCH 379 
 
 She said afterwards that he shook her and called her 
 names when he asked her to marry him. 
 
 " I am not going to do without you another week. I 
 am going out now to get a special licence. ..." 
 
 " What a funny way to kiss me ? " she said, a few 
 minutes later. But he had felt the response. 
 
 " I suppose it was," he answered as coolly as possible 
 under the circumstances ; " let's try again. ..." 
 
 Loetitia expressed herself shocked when she read that 
 the Earl of Lyssons, with all his titles tacked on in the 
 South African paper which recorded it, had married the 
 widow of a musician, of Signer Harston Migotti ! 
 
 " She has not been a widow six months ! It is posi- 
 tively indecent, in such dreadful taste. ..." 
 
 " He's a ripping good fellow, mater," Albert said. 
 
 " He is still the premier Earl of Great Britain," the 
 half-paralysed Sir Hubert reminded her. 
 
 But it was because she had naturally a forgiving dis- 
 position, and not on account of her son-in-law's pre- 
 cedence in the peerage, nor of the letter from Lady 
 Sallust, with the hint about a peerage for Sir Hubert, 
 that made Loetitia write to her stepdaughter. She wrote 
 quite warmly, and said that she was glad to say Sir 
 Hubert, under Providence, was progressing towards re- 
 covery and that (P.G.) they would be in London in time 
 for the season. Stone House would be reopened. 
 
 To Lord Lyssons she wrote also : 
 
 " Sir Hubert wishes me to say that he has not made 
 any different disposition of his fortune. The arrange- 
 ment originally contemplated will be confirmed. As far 
 as Manuella herself is concerned, I am sure this will all 
 have been a lesson to her. We are quite ready to over- 
 look the past, to let bygones be bygones, to receive her as
 
 380 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 if nothing had occurred, to look upon her escapade as 
 merely a girlish indiscretion. ..." 
 
 " When they do get that peerage I suppose they will 
 call themselves Lord and Lady Cliche," was Waldo's 
 comment. He was then on his honeymoon, and not even 
 Loetitia could ruffle him. 
 
 FINIS
 
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 Decorated Cloth, istno, $1.25 net 
 
 A lively, saucy person is Patsy, one of the best girl characters Mr. 
 Crockett has ever depicted. She is the central figure in this new Gallo- 
 way romance in which smuggling and Patsy's abduction and recapture 
 by a royal prince and all the other good things synonymous with Mr. 
 Crockett's name have a part. While the book is one of historical adven- 
 ture, the love interest is paramount throughout. The time of the story 
 is just one hundred years ago, when the country in which the scene is 
 laid was in universal revolt against the brutal system of compulsory en- 
 listment and bands were being formed to fight the manhunters, and 
 smuggling was in full blast along the shores of Solway. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York
 
 NEW MACMILLAN FICTION Continued 
 
 The Impeachment of President Israels 
 
 By FRANK B. COPLEY 
 
 Illustrated, Cloth, ismo, $1.00 net 
 
 This is the story of the impeachment of David Israels, President of 
 the United States, as told by his private secretary. Instead of prepar- 
 ing for war to avenge the killing of four American sailors, President 
 Israels persisted in proposals for peace, finally sending a fleet to Con- 
 stantinople to celebrate some Turkish anniversary, which act brought 
 upon him the terrible stigma. All this, it might be explained, has yet to 
 take place, for Israels is a future president. The effect of reality is well 
 kept up by Mr. Copley, who incidentally introduces some very whole- 
 some truths, notably that the way to realize universal peace is to refuse 
 even to consider the possibility of war, that moral suasion is more force- 
 ful than physical threats, and that a war resulting from mob panic and 
 hate is only folly and wickedness. 
 
 Vanishing Points 
 
 By ALICE BROWN 
 
 Author of "The Secret of the Clan" 
 
 Decorated Cloth, izmo, $1.30 net 
 
 As a writer of delicately turned short stories, fine in their execution, 
 Alice Brown has few equals. She is best known, perhaps, for her New 
 England tales, and there are a number in the present collection which 
 present the true and ever pleasing atmosphere of that part of this coun- 
 try. The book is not, however, composed solely of this kind of fiction. 
 Not a few of the most interesting of the stories make their appeal be- 
 cause they rest on feelings, beliefs, and characteristics that are universal 
 in human nature. One feels, as one reads of the man who thought that 
 as so many people in this broad land must suffer from poverty and cold 
 and hunger, he, too, should share their lot, or of the writer who, though 
 his success did not appear to be great, was, nevertheless, influencing the 
 work of others, or of the editor who took a stand against the unfair 
 policy of his magazine, or of the mother who saved her son from the wiles 
 of an adventuress, or of any, in fact, of Miss Brown's delightful charac- 
 ters, that the art of short fiction is at last coming into its own. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York
 
 NEW MACMILLAN FICTION Continued 
 
 " There is not another book like this ' Crock of Gold ' in English 
 literature. There are many books like pieces of it, but the humor 
 and the style these things are Mr. Stephens's own peculiar gift." 
 
 The London Standard. 
 
 The Crock of Gold 
 
 By JAMES STEPHENS 
 Author of "The Hill of Vision" 
 
 Decorated Cloth, I2mo, $1.25 net 
 
 A story of the open air, of deep forests, of rock-strewn pastures and 
 mountain tops, and though the human element is not absent, of the 
 fairy folk of old Ireland with the God Pan and the great Angus Og, this 
 is what the author of "The Charwoman's Daughter," who is, perhaps, 
 better known for his verse "The Hill of Vision" and "Insurrections," 
 tells. While the book should, perhaps, be regarded more as a fantasy 
 with a beautiful moral than an ordinary novel, the discriminating reader 
 will, nevertheless, find interwoven with it many a wise, witty, and pen- 
 etrating reflection on human life and destiny. 
 
 Press Opinions 
 
 The Times " It is crammed full of life and beauty . . . this delicious, 
 fantastical, amorphous, inspired medley of topsy-turvydom. " 
 
 The Athenaeum. " In 'The Crock of Gold' Mr. Stephens gives the 
 measure of a larger and more individual talent than could have 
 been absolutely foretold. . . . There has been nothing hitherto quite 
 like it, but it is safe to prophesy that by and by there will be plenty 
 of imitators to take it for their pattern. . . . Mr. Stephens has pro- 
 duced a remarkably fine and attractive work of art. " 
 
 The Globe. "We have'read nothing quite like 'The Crock of Gold.' 
 It has a charm and humor peculiar to itself, and places its author 
 high in the ranks of imaginative poetic writers." 
 
 The Nation. "The final state (in the case of the reviewer) was one of 
 complete surrender to the author 'go on, go on, fiddle on your 
 theme what harmonics you will; this is delightful.'. . .Mr. 
 Stephens's novel, 'The Charwoman's Daughter,' was a remarkable 
 book, and in this one he shows he can succeed as well in quite other 
 directions." 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York
 
 NEW MACMILLAN FICTION Continued 
 
 The Feet of the Furtive 
 
 By CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS 
 
 Author of "The Backwoodsmen," "Neighbors Unknown," etc. 
 Illustrated by PAUL BRANSON 
 
 Decorated Cloth, i2tno, $1.35 net 
 
 It is to be doubted whether there is a more popular animal writer 
 to-day than Charles G. D. Roberts whose stories of the inhabitants of 
 forests and streams are read with pleasure by young and old alike. In 
 this book are brought together some of his most interesting tales. The 
 bear, the bat, the seal, the moose, the rabbit, and other animals are here 
 made vivid in their life and habits. Mr. Roberts has true imaginative 
 touches in his way of writing about the woods and their denizens. But 
 he is not open to the charge of misrepresenting the facts in order to make 
 a good story. As one well-known critic said, "He does not, in giving 
 animals life, turn them into half humans; but he takes their pathos, 
 their tragedy, their drama, on the animal level and writes for them as 
 though they had their own interpreter whispering in his ear. " 
 
 The Idiot 
 
 By FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY 
 
 Author of "The Brothers Karamazov, " etc. 
 From the Russian by Constance Garnett. 
 
 Cloth, ismo, $1.50 net 
 
 "We welcome on behalf of the reading public this version of the great 
 Russian novelist's work," writes the Literary Digest upon the publica- 
 tion of The Brothers Karamazov, the first of this new series. "We call 
 attention," the Literary Digest continues, "to the excellence of Con- 
 stance Garnett's translation. She seems quite to enter into the spirit of 
 the original. " Commenting on this same point, the Providence Journal 
 says, "When it was announced that Mrs. Garnett had undertaken the 
 translation of Dostoevsky, the news filled lovers of Russian literature 
 with rejoicing. There could be no doubt that no living translator was 
 so well fitted as Mrs. Garnett to perform this much needed work, and 
 certainly in no other way could the discussion of Dostoevsky's greatness 
 be better settled than by giving the public a chance to read in a trans- 
 lation as dose as possible to the spirit of the original all the works of this 
 extraordinary and ill-regulated genius. " 
 
 The Idiot is one of Dostoevsky's most interesting novels and one which 
 reveals him in a light somewhat different from that shown by The Broth- 
 ers Karamazov. Presumably it will go to strengthen the impression al- 
 ready common that Dostoevsky deserves to be ranked along with those 
 two great Russian writers more widely known in this country Tolstoy 
 and Turgenev. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
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