between the farthest of the three high French windows and the shining
pillar of porcelain stove.



5


The high room, the bright light, the plentiful mirrors, the long sweep
of lace curtains, the many faces--the girls seemed so much more numerous
scattered here than they had when collected in the schoolroom--brought
Miriam the sense of the misery of social occasions. She wondered
whether the girls were nervous. She was glad that music lessons were no
part of her remuneration. She thought of dreadful experiences of
playing before people. The very first time, at home, when she had
played a duet with Eve--Eve playing a little running melody in the
treble--her own part a page of minims. The minims had swollen until she
could not see whether they were lines or spaces, and her fingers had
been so weak after the first unexpectedly loud note that she could
hardly make any sound. Eve had said "louder" and her fingers had
suddenly stiffened and she had worked them from her elbows like sticks
at the end of her trembling wrists and hands. Eve had noticed her
dreadful movements and resented being elbowed. She had heard nothing
then but her hard loud minims till the end, and then as she stood
dizzily up someone had said she had a nice firm touch, and she had
pushed her angry way from the piano across the hearthrug. She should
always remember the clear red-hot mass of the fire and the bottle of
green Chartreuse warming on the blue and cream tiles. There were
probably only two or three guests, but the room had seemed full of
people, stupid people who had made her play. How angry she had been