Gabriel hardly heard what she said.  Now that supper was coming near he began to think again about his speech and about the quotation.  When he saw Freddy Malins coming across the room to visit his mother Gabriel left the chair free for him and retired into the embrasure of the window.  The room had already cleared and from the back room came the clatter of plates and knives.  Those who still remained in the drawing room seemed tired of dancing and were conversing quietly in little groups.  Gabriel’s warm trembling fingers tapped the cold pane of the window.  How cool it must be outside!  How pleasant it would be to walk out alone, first along by the river and then through the park!  The snow would be lying on the branches of the trees and forming a bright cap on the top of the Wellington Monument.  How much more pleasant it would be there than at the supper-table!

He ran over the headings of his speech:  Irish hospitality, sad memories, the Three Graces, Paris, the quotation from Browning.  He repeated to himself a phrase he had written in his review:  “One feels that one is listening to a thought- tormented music.”  Miss Ivors had praised the review.  Was she sincere?  Had she really any life of her own behind all her propagandism?  There had never been any ill-feeling between them until that night.  It unnerved him to think that she would be at the supper-table, looking up at him while he spoke with her critical quizzing eyes.  Perhaps she would not be sorry to see him fail in his speech.  An idea came into his mind and gave him courage.  He would say, alluding to Aunt Kate and Aunt Julia:  “Ladies and Gentlemen, the generation which is now on the wane among us may have had its faults but for my part I think it had certain qualities of hospitality, of humour, of humanity, which the new and very serious and hypereducated generation that is growing up around us seems to me to lack.”  Very good:  that was one for Miss Ivors.  What did he care that his aunts were only two ignorant old women?

A murmur in the room attracted his attention.  Mr. Browne was advancing from the door, gallantly escorting Aunt Julia, who leaned upon his arm, smiling and hanging her head.  An irregular musketry of applause escorted her also as far as the piano and then, as Mary Jane seated herself on the stool, and Aunt Julia, no longer smiling, half turned so as to pitch her voice fairly into the room, gradually ceased.  Gabriel recognised the prelude.  It was that of an old song of Aunt Julia’s—­Arrayed for the Bridal.  Her voice, strong and clear in tone, attacked with great spirit the runs which embellish the air and though she sang very rapidly she did not miss even the smallest of the grace notes.  To follow the voice, without looking at the singer’s face, was to feel and share the excitement of swift and secure flight.  Gabriel applauded loudly with all the others at the close of the song and loud applause was borne in from the invisible supper-table.