Michael

lifted for an hour had come down on the town again in earnest, and that it was only reasonable to dismiss the possibility of going out, and spend the afternoon as he had spent the morning. But he

twinkling lights, looking incredibly remote, from the windows opposite and the gas-lamps below. Traffic seemed to be at a standstill; the accustomed roar from Piccadilly was dumb, and he looked out on to a silent and vapour-swathed world. This isolation from

ork, but he had been thrown among people who were similarly employed, with whom he had this great common ground of kinship in ambition and aim. No more were the days too long from being but half-filled with work with which he had no sympathy, and diversions that gave him no pleasure; none held sufficient hours for all that he wanted to put into it. And

the average reader wonder why it was written. In fact, she supplied the answer to that perplexing question, since it was clearly written for her. She was not in the least excited by these tales, any more than the human race are excited by the oxygen in the air, but she could not live without them. She subscribed to three lending libraries, which, by this time had probably learned her tastes, for if she ever by ill-chance embarked on a volume which ever so faintly adumbrated the realities of life, she instantly returned it, as she found it painful; and, naturally, she did not wish to be paine

ained by any solid object which could have made it appear there. But most of the day she spent in her own room, which was furnished exactly in accordance with her twilight existence. There was a writing-table there, which she never used, several low arm-chairs (one of which she was always using), by each of which was a small table, on to which she could pu

shment. The only thing that caused her emotion was the energy and vitality of her two children, and even then that emotion was but a mild surprise when she recollected how tremendous a worker and boisterous a gourmand of life was her late husband, on the anniversary of whose death she always

e indestructible quality of frail things like thistledown or cottonwool; violence and explosion that would blow strong and distinct organisms to atoms only puffed her a yard or two away where she alighted again without shock, instead of injuring or annihilating her.

and her brother were both far too busy to be restless, and if, on the one hand, Mrs. Falbe's remote, impenetrable life was inexplicable, not less inexpl

t was lunch time till perhaps three in the afternoon. Unless then he settled to do without lunch altogether, he must forage for himself; or Sylvia, having to sing at a concert at eight, would return famished and exultant about ten; she would then proceed to provide herself, unless she supped elsewhere, with a plate of eggs and bacon, or anything else that was easily accessible. It was not from preference that these haphazard methods were adopted; but since they only kept two servants, it was clear that a couple of women, however willing, could not possibly cope with so irregular a commissariat in addition to the series of fi

given him a good character, for he was made welcome before he could have had time to make any impression for himself, as Hermann's friend. On the first occasion of his visiting the

he notes to sound and no more, and Sylvia told him that he was getting it better; and then Sylvia sang "Who is Sylvia?" and Hermann told her that she shouldn't have eaten so much lunch, or shouldn't have sung; and then, by transitions that Michael could not recollect, they played the Hailstone Chorus out of Israel in Egypt (or, at any rate, reproduced the spirit of it), and both sang at the top of their voices. Then, as usuall

eing tiresome, of checking by his presence, as he had so often felt himself do before, the ease and high spirits of others. But by degrees this broke down; he realised that he was now among those with whom he had that kinship of the mind and of tastes which makes the foundation o

flying glimpses of each other; for the day was taken up with work, concerts and opera occurred often in the evening, and the shuttles of London took thei

If you come about eight you will find food; if you come later you will also find food of a sketchier kind. People have a habit of dropping in on Sunday evening. There's music if anyone feels inclined to

d unfitness for dreadfu

of thing," he said. "I am a

on the treble p

" he remarked. "Nobody will pay any attention to you; yo

n to be rude,

re rude by accident. That is

I'll come,"

There's music; Sylvia sings quite seriously sometimes, and other people sing or bring violins, and those who

d despairingly

, only to remember that I was a little gentleman. All the same, when I am

d at him en

remember you when you used to be polite on purpose. It's doing things on purpose that make

it?" said

oming. And now, do you mind going away? I want to put in a couple of

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 ex

ble 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

ke Marguerite. And when in the earlier hours of the morning part of the guests had gone away, and part were broiling ham in the kitchen, Sylvia sang again, quite seriously, and Michael, in Hermann's absence, volunteered to play her accompaniment for her. She stood behind him, and by a finger on his shoulder directed him in t

e simplicity of it all, the spontaneousness with which pleasure was born if only you took off your clothes, so to speak, and left them on the bank while you jumped in. All his life he had

ght, and found them exceedingly stately personages, just as no doubt they had found him an icy and awkward young man. But they, like him, had taken their note o

in her singing, and directing him only as she would have pressed the pedal of the piano if she had been playing to herself, was no more agitating than if she had been a man; she was just singing, just using him to help her singing. And even while Michael registered to himself this charming annihilation of sex, which allowed her to be to him no more than her brother was-less, in fact, but on the same plane-she had come to the end of her song, patted him on the back, as she would have patted anybody else, with a word of thanks, and, for him, suddenly leaped into significance. It was not only a singer who had sung, but an individua

ease with her as with her brother, and her charm was just that which had so quickly and strongly attracted Michael to Hermann. She was vivid in the same way as he was; she had the same warm, welcoming kindliness-the same complete absence of pose. You knew where you were with her, and hitherto, when Michael was with one of the young ladies brought down to Ashbrid

ation was his music. Falbe's principles in teaching were entirely heretical according to the tr

read for a couple of hours every day. The written language of music must become so familiar to you that it is to you precisely what a book or a newspaper is, so that whether you read it aloud-which is playing-or sit in your arm-chair with your feet on the fender, reading it not aloud on the piano, but to yourself, it conveys its definite meaning to you. At your lessons

olume of Bach and

, "begin at the

Michael. "I shall ha

l you get to the bottom of the page. Count; start each bar when

d thorough plan of spelling out his notes with laborious care. Now Falbe's in

thought it was Bach, and it is

t mouth, ploughed his way through amazing disso

ery funny. But don't l

ried hi

to repeat that-not the same murder I mean, but other murders-for a couple of hours a day. . . . By degrees-you won't believe it-you will find you are not murderi

felt the icy and eternal frosts of Russia, and saw in the northern sky the great auroras spread themselves in spear and sword of fire; he listened to the wisdom of Brahms, and passed through the noble and smiling country of Bach. All this, so to speak, was holiday travel, and between his journeys he applied himself with the same eager industry to the learning of his art, so that he might reproduce for himself and others true pictures of the scenes through which he scampered. Here Falbe was not so easily moved to laughter; he was as severe wi

at the end of th

d play. You can. But it won't do to sketch it. Every note has got to be there; Chopin d

again. He was playing without notes, and Falbe got up from h

ficulty in memor

that he remembered easily; he also belie

ght I knew

aga

enly put his finger down into the midd

from strumming, only begins when you can play all the notes that are put down for you to play without fail. You're beginning at the wrong end; you have admirable feeling about that prelude, but

hought he had really worked successfully at the thing he

that Christmas carol," h

is hand on

notes from those jolly fat chords, and that you weren't playing cleanly. Now I'm taking you seriously, and I won't have from you anything bu

ed that Hermann should have sent him back like a schoolboy with his exercise torn

can," he said. "It's

if to indicate that Hermann's hand was

ing," he said, "if you

l-temper ooz

ade his ugly face so pleasant. "And I'm sorry both that I

e la

aid. "Now for 'Good King

it, Hermann. I thought I would try a

ear," sa

f-dozen variations that followed showed a wonderfully mature handling. The air which he dealt with haunted them as a sort of unseen presence. It moved in a tiny gavotte, or looked on at a minuet measure; it wailed,

nd alert, instead of jerking and fidgeting as he had done over Michael's fiasc

ng that's really good. Faults? Yes, millions; but there's a f

ushed with

, "and I learned them. But will it

las in it, and you've dressed him

anged out the octave scale in the bass with wonderful ease, and F

singing half a dozen more. If you can, write them down also,

el ga

mean that

o. It's a fine

him, and the half-dozen further variations that Hermann had demanded had rung all day in his head. Now, as they neared completion, he found that they ceased their singing; their work of dictation was done; he had to this extent expressed himse

o it had seemed to him, to show himself, to let himself out. And not till now, when he had found this means of access, did he know how passionately he had desired it, nor how immensely, in the process of so doing, hi

hich he placed his pages, and with a pleasur

ONS ON

el Co

ent, then took

lvia Falbe," he