In another minute Mr. Mozart Tutt was tapping with his bâton on the music stand, the members of the chorus sprang to their feet, and order came about quite naturally while “When the Wind Bloweth in from the Sea” was being charmingly sung by the choir; and the remaining details of an admirably selected programme were tastefully performed.
The performing members of the choir seemed extremely well satisfied with themselves, especially the “bassi”; but Mr. Morley Quorn wore a solemn look, while his friends were inclined to be jocular. He was wondering if, in spite of the verdict of science and the agnostic trend of modern thought, there was not such a thing as retributive justice. He felt strongly on the vexed question of “lessons.” Surely the downfall of Mr. Kelton the tenor should convey to the most careless of amateurs the necessity for the maintenance of a spirit of meekness even though he may be able (upon ordinary occasions) to produce the high A. Mr. Quorn tried to feel subdued; so that when young Titmus assured him that he had never sung “The Wolf” with greater effect, he only shook his head.
He had no notion that the administration of the valuable “lesson” was due solely to the cleverness of Miss Wadhurst, who had seen great possibilities in that picturesque “symphony” in the accompaniment. It was very daring of her to run the chance of such applause greeting the finish of each stanza as should enable her to raise the key in which the song was set, without being detected. She knew that Mr. Kelton would be too greatly absorbed in himself to notice the modulation until it should be too late; but she was not so sure of some other people on the platform. It seemed, however, that no one had detected her manouvre except Mr. Tutt. She caught his eye when she was in the act of rising from the piano, and she perceived that he knew all.
That was why she tried to avoid him when she was leaving the platform, letting her steps drag behind the choir. She failed in her object this time, for he waited for her.
“I was lost in admiration,” he murmured. “It never occurred to me. Anyhow, I never should have had the courage to try it on. You must have worked pretty hard at the thing last night. You have been well grounded. I couldn’t have worked out the double transposition in the time. And then you had to trust to your memory.”
“I meant to teach him a lesson,” murmured Priscilla.
“And you have done it! My word, you have done it. He caught the last train to Sherningham, starting just as he was. His suit case is to be sent after him. I could hear him shaking off the dust of Framsby from his feet. He did it very soundly in the vestibule—a regular cloud of it. A lesson! My word! a lesson!”