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 had been wont to play Clementi sonatinas at school concerts. He left in the middle of the first speech and wandered up the road towards his deserted house, carrying away two impressions: the image of a red-faced speaker, Mr. Dreer, who gave "facts" about Germany which were phantastically inaccurate, and a face for which he had been on the lookout. Phœbe Meddar had returned from her summer vacation, and he had seen her as he passed down the aisle. To his kindling interest she had responded with a polite little bow. He had been prepared for disappointment on the score of beauty, of imagination, of intelligence, but not of taste. The Phœbe whom he had recognized in the motley gathering was undoubtedly pretty, imaginative, intelligent—but she was "ladylike"; conspicuously and provincially so, like Flora Ashmill and Miss Todd. He had wanted Phœbe to be natural—not boisterously natural like Gritty Kestrell, but sweetly and gently natural. Yet his disappointment was mitigated, for Phœbe had been as distinct from her neighbours as a flower from its leaves.

The phrases of the sensation-monger still rang in his ears as he entered the dark house. He resented Mr. Dreer as he had long ago resented the evangelist. Both endeavoured to convert by fair means or foul; both were vulgar.

Mrs. Barker had been installed as cook-housekeeper, with a bedroom upstairs, and the playroom had been restored to the dignity of music-room. Here Paul had placed the few Persian and Egyptian objects he had brought from Cairo. The piano was still a brave instrument. He lit candles and sat down to obliterate the vexatious mood. The sound ran across the floors and echoed in far-away corners of the house. During lulls he heard the rustling boughs of the cherry tree. The candles flickered gently to airs that came in from the orchard, and over his shoulder Paul saw his own shadow