“But really, I don’t think——”
“Two glasses sherry, one hock, three champagne, two port ... I’ve took notice.”
“She’s a bit noisy, I’ll admit.... But she was quite lively enough as we came along. It’s her mood, I think, mostly.”
The party had left the table and split up into groups of twos and threes. Some lingered sentimentally on the balcony; the violinist, who was just a shade fuddled, lay sprawled across a couch with his eyes closed. Catherine was at the piano, making the most extraordinary din imaginable. Surrounding her were a group of young men in evening dress, singers and comedians and monologuists and what not. George Trant and the tenor singer stood at the French windows, smoking cigars and listening to the sounds that proceeded from the piano.
“We shall have the manager up,” said George, nervously.
“He’ll say we’re damaging the instrument.... I wish she’d quieten down a bit. The whole place must be being kept awake....”
Catherine’s voice, shrill and challenging, pierced the din.
“Impressions of Bockley High Street—nine p.m. Saturday night,” she yelled, and pandemonium raged over the keyboard. It was really quite a creditable piece of musical post-impressionism. But the noise was terrific. Glissandos in the treble, octave chromatics in the bass, terrible futurist chords and bewildering rhythms, all combined to make the performance somewhat painful. Her select audience applauded enthusiastically.
George Trant moved rather nervously towards the piano.
“I shouldn’t make quite so much noise,” he began, but nobody heard him. Catherine was crying out “Marbl’arch, Benk, L’pol Street,” in the approved jargon of the omnibus conductor, and was simultaneously making motor-bus noises on the piano. Everybody was laughing, because the mimicry of her voice was really excellent. George felt himself unable to raise his voice above the din. He paused a moment immediately behind her back and then touched her lightly on the shoulder. She did not heed. He touched her again somewhat more violently than before. She stopped abruptly both her instrumental and vocal effects, and swung round suddenly on the revolving music-stool so as to face him. Her eyes were preternaturally bright.