"Now, Dodo, come here," said Edith. "We must go on with this. You can discuss it afterwards. On the third beat. Will you give us the time, Professor?"
The Mass had scarcely begun when Lord Chesterford came in, followed by Mrs. Vivian and Maud. The Professor, who evidently did not quite understand that he was merely a sort of organist, got up and shook hands all round with laboured cordiality. Edith grew impatient.
"Come," she said, "you mustn't do that. Remember you are practically in church, Professor. Please begin again."
"Ah, I forgot for the moment," remarked the Professor; "this beautiful room made me not remember. Come—one, two. We must begin better than that. Now, please."
This time the start was made in real earnest. Edith's magnificent voice, and the Professor's playing, would alone have been sufficient to make it effective. The four performers knew their parts well, and when it was finished, there followed that silence which is so much more appreciative than applause. Then Herr Truffen turned to Edith.
"Ah, how you have improved," he said. "Who taught you this? It is beyond me. Perhaps you prayed and fasted, and then it came to you."
As Edith had chiefly written the Mass while smoking cigarettes after a hearty breakfast she merely said,—
"How does anything come to anyone? It is part of oneself, as much as one's arms and legs. But the service is not over yet."
Dodo meanwhile had gone back to the praying-table.
"I can't find it," she said, in a distracted whisper. "It's a chapter in the Revelation about a grey horse and a white horse."