attempt of the kind. Our rooms looked
beautiful, ornamented and perfumed with
hosts of lovely flowers. Harold was more
than satisfied with my appearance—we
were sure all would go well. My husband
seemed to expect me to be very timid and
anxious, and in want of encouragement, and
when I looked up fearlessly in his face, and
told him I was not at all uneasy; that I did
not care enough about any of these people to
be at all afraid; that only for his sake, that
ho might not feel ashamed of his poor little
wife, should I trouble myself at all about them;
he looked down on me with a half-pleased,
half-puzzled, expression that amused me.

"What a very majestic little queen you
would make," he exclaimed, stooping down
to kiss me.

"Mr. Gower!" a servant announced just
at that moment; but that gentleman had
contrived already to be in the middle of the
room, though we had heard no noise. Harold
greeted his guest in rather a confused manner,
and I in the coldest and proudest way.

This gentleman had already been introduced
to me, and I disliked him. Harold
always appeared to the least possible
advantage in his presence. Mr. Gower had a
manner of lording it over him which I deeply
resented; he seemed to feel for my husband
a curious mixture of liking and contempt. I
was vexed he should have heard our
nonsense, as I knew he would consider it. We
were a very imcomfortable trio for the few
minutes that elapsed before any one else
arrived; I drew myself up stiffly, only
vouchsafing Mr. Gower a word or look
when it was absolutely necessary. I knew
this man had possessed great influence with
my husband in his bachelor days; during
our courtship I had sometimes heard of
Mr. Gower, and always in a way that
inclined me, half from jealousy, to think
unfavourably of him. His careful observation
of me, of which I was all the time aware,
rendered my reception of our first guests
ungraceful and embarrassed; but I soon
succeeded in divesting myself of the troublesome
consciousness of that observance.

It was very pleasant to me to see Harold
moving about the thronged rooms, always
overtopping every one else, so that his handsome,
loving eyes seemed to find out his little wife in
whatever corner she might be. But when our
eyes met, and mine brightened under his look,
withdrawing them I was sure to find Mr.
Gower observing us. Whether he stood, as
he often did, leaning against some door, or
table, or part of the wall, idle and indifferent,
or whether he were engaged in apparently
animated and earnest conversation, he always
seemed to watch me.

I exerted myself to talk and to please;
often i found myself the centre of a brilliant
circle, listened to admiringly, and I thought
I only liked this because it so evidently
gratified my husband. It was a new phase
of life to me, and yet it seemed strangely
old and worn already before that evening
was half over. In the gay, superficial, or
technical conversation about books and
things—the things being pictures, operas,
and so forth—no deep notes were struck, or
if they were, it was by so mere a chance,
by so careless a hand, that they seemed to
deserve no heed, till Mr. Gower drew near;
then the tone of the gossiping prattle always
changed. He chose to interpret earnestly
some careless sentences of mine, giving them
a profound, hidden meaning; he tried to draw
me out, to make me feel he understood me,
and was worthy of something more than I
gave others. But I grew silent in his presence,
I would not be interested by him, and slipped
away from the circles he joined. I felt, in
some strange, half-angry way, afraid of him.

There were many fine professional and
amateur musicians present, among the former,
of course, my master. I was asked to play.

"I hear that Mrs. Warden is a very accomplished
musician," Mr. Gower said, coming
up to Harold; "I am told she has composed
a piece which shows wonderful talent and
even genius. We must hear it, Mrs. Warden,"
he added, turning to me.

Now the surprise my playing would give
Harold and his pleasure were to be the
crowning triumph of my evening, which was
altogether to be a triumph—but my own
music I had not intended to play. I was
very unwilling to do so; to me it seemed a
revelation of my inmost soul, and too sacred
to be played there and then. But my music-
master had noised abroad the fact of the
existence of this composition, and I could not
avoid performing it without making much
more demonstration of my dislike to do so
than I was willing.

My MS. was placed on the music-stand—
Mr. Gower stood ready to turn over the
pages. I felt a presentiment that my music
would destroy all my calm and peace for that
evening, but I sat down to play. Respect for
the mistress of the house in the musician
hushed every one in the room. The first
chords—the first wails sounded upon a perfect
silence: they stirred my soul powerfully, and
then I played on, forgetting all and everything
but the meaning and burden of my
music. I am sure my cheek changed colour
as I went on, it flushed and chilled so rapidly.
When I had let the last chords die out into the
silence there arose a great buzz and murmur,
and people pressed round me with extravagant
expressions of admiration and delight.
I sat still a moment, my hands still lying on
the keys, my eyes fixed on them—I was
bewildered, and wanted my husband. When I
rose I met that strange pair of eyes fixed on
me. Mr. Gower had turned over my pages
without speaking a word; now he said, "It
is too beautiful to be played or praised here."
he spoke softly, and offered me his arm. But
my eyes had found Harold, and brought him