Then there was a sharp crack at the other end of the room; the handle of the door turned, and the door began to open.  My heart bounded and stopped.  It must be he, at last!  I perceived the fearful intensity of my longing for his presence.  But it was only a servant with a tray.  My fingers stammered and stumbled.  For a few instants I forced them to obey me; my pride was equal to the strain, though I felt sick and fainting.  And then I became aware that my guests were staring at me with alarmed and anxious faces.  Mrs. Sardis had started from her chair.  I dropped my hands.  It was useless to fight further; the battle was lost.

‘I will not play any more,’ I said quickly.  ’I ought not to have tried to play from memory.  Excuse me.’

And I left the piano as calmly as I could.  I knew that by an effort I could walk steadily and in a straight line across the room to Vicary and the others, and I succeeded.  They should not learn my secret.

‘Poor thing!’ murmured Mrs. Sardis sympathetically.  ‘Do sit down, dear.’

‘Won’t you have something to drink?’ said Vicary.

‘I am perfectly all right,’ I said.  ’I’m only sorry that my memory is not what it used to be.’  And I persisted in standing for a few moments by the mantelpiece.  In the glass I caught one glimpse of a face as white as milk, Jocelyn remained at her post by the piano, frightened by she knew not what, like a young child.

‘Our friend finished a new work only yesterday,’ said Lord Francis shakily.  He had followed me.  ’She has wisely decided to take a long holiday.  Good-bye, my dear.’

These were the last words he ever spoke to me, though I saw him again.  We shook hands in silence, and he left.  Nor would the others stay.  I had ruined the night.  We were all self-conscious, diffident, suspicious.  Even Vicary was affected.  How thankful I was that my silent lover had not come!  My secret was my own—­and his.  And no one should surprise it unless we chose.  I cared nothing what they thought, or what they guessed, as they filed out of the door, a brilliant procession of which I had the right to be proud; they could not guess my secret.  I was sufficiently woman of the world to baffle them as long as I wished to baffle them.

Then I noticed that Mrs. Sardis had stayed behind; she was examining some lustre ware in the further drawing-room.

‘I’m afraid Jocelyn has gone without her mother,’ I said, approaching her.

‘I have told Jocelyn to go home alone,’ replied Mrs. Sardis.  ’The carriage will return for me.  Dear friend, I want to have a little talk with you.  Do you permit?’

‘I shall be delighted,’ I said.

‘You are sure you are well enough?’

‘There is nothing whatever the matter with me,’ I answered slowly and distinctly.  ’Come to the fire, and let us be comfortable.  And I told Emmeline Palmer, my companion and secretary, who just then appeared, that she might retire to bed.