At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. I made Hainault’s acquaintance, stood him drinks, lent him money. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. 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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