at lightness. Then, hearing the thin rustle of a dress, she turned
sharply and cast an unfriendly glance at a mild young woman with a very
pointed nose, on which a pair of eyeglasses sat astride, who came meekly
forward, looking self-conscious, and smiling with one side of her mouth.
The man with the protruding jaw, who was Lord Holme, said to her, in a
loud bass voice:

"Thanks, Miss Filberte, thanks."

"Oh, not at all, Lord Holme," replied the accompanist with a sudden air
of rather foolish delight. "I consider it an honour to accompany an
amateur who sings like Lady Holme."

She laid a slight emphasis on the word "amateur."

Lady Holme suddenly walked forward to an empty part of the drawing-room.
The elderly man, whose name was Sir Donald Ulford, made a movement as if
to follow her, then cleared his throat and stood still looking after her.
Lord Holme stuck out his under jaw. But Lady Cardington, the white-haired
woman spoke to him softly, and he leaned over to her and replied. The
sleek man, whose name was Mr. Bry, began to talk about Tschaikowsky to
Mrs. Henry Wolfstein, the woman with the red fan. He uttered his remarks
authoritatively in a slow and languid voice, looking at the pointed toes
of his shoes. Conversation became general.

Robin Pierce, the tall young man, stood alone for a few minutes. Two or
three times he glanced towards Lady Holme, who had sat down on a sofa,
and was opening and shutting a small silver box which she had picked up
from a table near her. Then he walked quietly up the room and sat down
beside her.