’ Her face fell. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. And for my part, if I were inclined to exercise my benevolence at all, it should be in favour of some more deserving object than that whining, hypocritical Magdalene. But this afternoon it discovered an unusual vein of irritability in her. Heaven alone knows why. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights.
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