constraint, the tense looks of his ugly but charming face, and the occasional twitch of his hands, she saw familiar signs of danger. These continued when they were seated, and even through the music. The string quartette played wonderfully. Teresa could not help enjoying it, though she was conscious all the time that Gerald, sitting with his arms tightly folded across his thin chest, was not listening. They did not talk much during the pauses. Gerald had talked well enough at lunch, and Teresa began to feel irritated with him, and terribly sorry for him at the same time. However, when she looked at him, during the last of the programme, and met his miserable eyes, she felt a thrill of disgust.
"Gerald, you'll come back with me and have tea, won't you?" she whispered.
He shook his head, "I can't, thank you."
"Yes, do. I want to go to my studio first, and Miss Pease can give us some tea there. Then we might walk for an hour, and you could dine with me. Basil may be out, and I hate dining alone."
"I can't."
People were looking at them severely, and Teresa said no more till the music ended on a beautiful soft contralto strain dominated by the violoncello, which kept the audience a moment in their seats and silent, before the prolonged applause and noise of dispersal.
