The music ceased abruptly, and Diana sat very still in the darkness.
It was Sophie's voice which broke the silence.
"Betty, dear, haven't you a song for us?"
"No," came the response from the far corner. "Dad sang. I can only dance."
"Really?" Justin was on his feet at once. "If you'll dance, we will light all the candles in the music room."
Bettina came forward. "It's an interpretive dance. Can you play the 'Spring Song,' Diana?"
Sophie, observing anxiously, wondered what further test would try her friend. But she saw no sign of an emotion which had to do with a night when Diana had waited in the moonlight for the lover who belonged to another woman, as with firm touch she played the first chords of the rippling melody.
And Bettina danced.
Justin, watching her, thought of lilacs blown by light breezes, of clouds on a May morning, of the drift of white petals from blossoming trees. Was she a woman or a wraith, this slender thing swaying in the candle-light?
Anthony watched, too, leaning back, tired, in his chair.