“I didn’t mean to be rude,” said Michael.

“Then we must suppose you were rude by accident.  That is the worst sort of rudeness.”

“I’m sorry; I’ll come,” said Michael.

“That’s right.  You might even find yourself enjoying it by accident, you know.  If you don’t, you can go away.  There’s music; Sylvia sings quite seriously sometimes, and other people sing or bring violins, and those who don’t like it, talk—­and then we get less serious.  Have a try, Michael.  See if you can’t be less serious, too.”

Michael slipped despairingly from his seat.

“If only I knew how!” he said.  “I believe my nurse never taught me to play, only to remember that I was a little gentleman.  All the same, when I am with you, or with my cousin Francis, I can manage it to a certain extent.”

Falbe looked at him encouragingly.

“Oh, you’re getting on,” he said.  “You take yourself more for granted than you used to.  I remember you when you used to be polite on purpose.  It’s doing things on purpose that makes one serious.  If you ever play the fool on purpose, you instantly cease playing the fool.”

“Is that it?” said Michael.

“Yes, of course.  So come on Sunday, and forget all about it, except coming.  And now, do you mind going away?  I want to put in a couple of hours before lunch.  You know what to practise till Tuesday, don’t you?”

That was the first Sunday evening that Michael had spent with his friends; after that, up till this present date in November, he had not missed a single one of those gatherings.  They consisted almost entirely of men, and of the men there were many types, and many ages.  Actors and artists, musicians and authors were indiscriminately mingled; it was the strangest conglomeration of diverse interests.  But one interest, so it seemed to Michael, bound them all together; they were all doing in their different lives the things they most delighted in doing.  There was the key that unlocked all the locks—­namely, the enjoyment that inspired their work.  The freemasonry of art and the freemasonry of the eager mind that looks out without verdict, but with only expectation and delight in experiment, passed like an open secret among them, secret because none spoke of it, open because it was so transparently obvious.  And since this was so, every member of that heterogeneous community had a respect for his companions; the fact that they were there together showed that they had all passed this initiation, and knew what for them life meant.

Very soon after dinner all sitting accommodation, other than the floor, was occupied; but then the floor held the later comers, and the smoke from many cigarettes and the babble of many voices made a constantly-ascending incense before the altar dedicated to the gods that inspire all enjoyable endeavour.  Then Sylvia sang, and both those who cared to hear exquisite singing and those who did not were alike silent, for this was a prayer to the gods they all worshipped; and Falbe played, and there was a quartet of strings.