But Diana shook her head.
"I'm too tired, Pobs," she said quietly.

Turning abruptly to Errington she continued: "Will you play instead ?" Max hesitated a moment, then resumed his place at the piano, and, after a pause, the three grave notes with which Rachmaninoff's wonderful "Prelude" opens, broke the silence.
It was speedily evident that Errington was a musician of no mean order; indeed, many a professional reputation has been based on a less solid foundation.

The Rachmaninoff was followed by Chopin, Tchaikowsky, Debussy, and others of the modern school, and when finally he dropped his hands from the piano, laughingly declaring that he must be thinking of taking his departure before he played them all to sleep, Joan burst out bluntly:-- "We understood you were a dramatist, Mr.Errington.

It seems to me you have missed your vocation." Every one laughed.
"Rather a two-edged compliment, I'm afraid, Joan," chuckled Stair delightfully.
Joan blushed, overcome with confusion, and remained depressed until Errington, on the point of leaving, reassured her good-humouredly.
"Don't brood over your father's unkind references to two-edged compliments, Miss Stair.

I entirely decline to see any but one meaning to your speech--and that a very pleasant one." He shook hands with the Rector and Diana, holding the latter's hand an instant longer than was absolutely necessary, to ask, rather low:-- "Is it peace, then ?" But the softening spell of the music was broken, and Diana felt her resentment against him rise up anew.
Silently she withdrew her hand, refusing him an answer, defying him with a courage born of the near neighbourhood of the Rector and Joan, and a few minutes later the hum of his motor could be heard as it sped away down the drive.
Diana lay long awake that night, her thoughts centred round the man who had come so strangely into her life.