“If you had cared to hear my choir you’d have gone.  You needn’t have seen me, whereas I was obliged—­”

Evelyn guessed that he had been to the opera.  “How good of him to have gone to hear me,” she thought.  She hated herself for having accepted Lady Ascott’s invitation, and the desire to ask him what he thought of her voice seemed to her an intolerable selfishness.

“What were you going to say, father?”

“Nothing....  I’m glad you didn’t come.”

“Wasn’t it well sung?” and she was seized with nervousness, and instead of speaking to him about his basses as she had intended, she asked him about the trebles.

“They are the worst part of the choir.  That contrapuntal music can only be sung by those who can sing at sight.  The piano has destroyed the modern ear.  I daresay it has spoilt your ear.”

“My ear is all right, I think.”

“I hope it is better than your heart.”

Evelyn’s face grew quite still, as if it were frozen, and seeing the pain he had caused her he was moved to take her in his arms and forgive her straight away.  He might have done so, but she turned, and passing her hand across her eyes she went to the harpsichord.  She played one of the little Elizabethan songs, “John, come kiss me now.”  Then an old French song tempted her voice by its very appropriateness to the situation—­“Que vous me coutez cher, mon coeur, pour vos plaisirs.”  But there was a knot in her throat, she could not sing, she could hardly speak.  She endeavoured to lead her father into conversation, hoping he might forget her conduct until it was too late for him to withdraw into resentment.  She could see that the instrument she was playing on he had made himself.  In some special intention it was filled with levers and stops, the use of which was not quite apparent to her; and she could see by the expression on his face that he was annoyed by her want of knowledge of the technicalities of the instrument.

So she purposely exaggerated her ignorance.

He fell into the trap and going to her he said, “You are not making use of the levers.”

“Oh, am I not?” she said innocently.  “What is this instrument—­a virginal or a harpsichord?”

“It is a harpsichord, but the intonation is that of a virginal.  I made it this winter.  The volume of sound from the old harpsichord is not sufficient in a large theatre, that is why the harpsichord music in ’Don Juan’ has to be played on the fiddles.”

He stopped speaking and she pressed him in vain to explain the instrument.  She went on playing.

“The levers,” he said at last, “are above your knees.  Raise your knees.”

She pretended not to understand.

“Let me show you.”  He seated himself at the instrument.  “You see the volume of sound I obtain, and all the while I do not alter the treble.”

“Yes, yes, and the sonority of the instrument is double that of the old harpsichord.  It would be heard all over Covent Garden.”