Fritz was still hovering about looking
remarkably out of place and strangely ill at ease. To-day his usual
imperturbable self-confidence had certainly deserted him. He spoke to
people but his eyes were on the door. Lady Holme knew that he was waiting
for Miss Schley. She felt a sort of vague pity for his uneasiness. It was
time for the concert to begin, but the Princesses had not yet arrived. A
murmur of many voices came from the hidden room beyond the screen where
the audience was assembled. Several of the performers began to look
rather strung up. They smiled and talked with slightly more vivacity than
was quite natural in them. One or two of the singers glanced over their
songs, and pointed out certain effects they meant to make to the
principal accompanist, an abnormally thin boy with thick dark hair and
flushed cheeks. He expressed comprehension, emphasising it by finger-taps
on the music and a continual, "I see! I see!" Two or three of the members
of the committee looked at their watches, and the murmur of conversation
in the hidden concert-room rose into a dull roar.
Lady Holme sat down on a sofa. Sometimes when she was going to sing she
felt nervous. There are very few really accomplished artists who do not.
But to-day she was not at all nervous. She knew she was going to do
well--as well as when she sang to Lady Cardington, even better. She felt
almost as if she were made of music, as if music were part of her, ran in
her veins like blood, shone in her eyes like light, beat in her heart
like the pulse of life.
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