"That's half the battle in an opera. I feel so happy. Let us have an audition to-night!"
"All right," he said.
"And play us an act right through; the first act. Alston has only heard it in bits."
"I don't really care for anyone to hear it yet," Claude said, with obvious reluctance.
Yet he desired a verdict—of praise. He longed for encouragement. In old days, when he had composed for himself, he had felt indifferent to that. But now he was working on something which was planned, which was being executed, with the intention to strike upon the imagination of a big public. He was no longer indifferent. He was secretly anxious. He longed to be told that what he was doing was good.
That evening he was genuinely warmed by the enthusiasm of his wife and of Alston.
"And surely," he said to himself, "they would be inclined to be more critical than others, to be hypercritical."
He forgot that in some natures desire creates conviction.
On the last day of Alston's visit Charmian and he understood why Claude's mathematical powers had been brought to bear on the question of its exact duration. Claude himself explained with rather a rueful face.
"I hoped—I thought if you were going to stay for the extra days I might possibly have the finale of the opera finished. Even when you told me your month meant four weeks I thought I would have a tremendous try to complete it. Well, I have had a tremendous try. But I've failed. I must have two more weeks, I believe, before I conquer the monster."