"Then apologize like a little man and confess that you've been bigoted and silly and will never be so obstinate again."
"I ... apologize."
"Forgiven. Now apologize to Mrs. Herrick."
Jerome turned reluctantly to Jean, and away again, without speaking. For Jean was staring straight before her, and although he could not see her eyes, he knew they were full of tears.
Jean Herrick crying! What reserves of emotion she had! What reactions he had never glimpsed!
The applause was tumultuous now but Tony did not come back. After a short interval, Peter Poloff, all very black hair and violent gestures, appeared and fussed about, having the piano moved this way and that. At last it was arranged to suit; he perched on the edge of the stool, pulled up his cuffs, and crashed down upon his instrument in pitiless technique.
Jerome drew deeper into his chair and made no effort to listen. If he did not get this matter straightened in his own mind before the concert ended, he felt that to-morrow and the next day and always after, whenever he spoke to Jean, he would see, under the high-cut, ugly clothes she wore to the office, those calling curves and that white flesh.
But he had settled nothing when, with a final crash, Poloff extricated himself from the keyboard, received the applause with exaggerated bows, and, most patently jealous of Tony, walked off the stage.
Jerome picked up his program and so escaped Alice's claiming enthusiasm. But he knew every pressure of Jean's fingers. He felt her move as if she were going to speak to him and hoped she would not. He did not want Jean to speak to him yet.
Then Philip whispered something and she leaned away. The buzzing of Philip's voice continued until Jerome wanted to reach across Jean and strike him. To his taut nerves it was like the sting of a pestiferous insect. When he felt that it was beyond his silent endurance, it stopped and Jerome wanted more than anything else for it to continue, anything to keep Jean from turning to him yet. But when she did not, only settled quietly in her seat, waiting for Tony to come again, Jerome was angry. And then Tony was back for the last time. From sun-soaked vineyards across the sea, the music called in folksongs and old dances of the people. The simple, plaintive things stirred Jean to the depths, interpreted all the inexpressible beauty in the sky and sea and earth and human love. Jerome knew that her lips were quivering and his own were parched and dry.