ways in the house; the fact that the
ladies were notorious cat-idolaters; the fact that the reputation of the
Ebag family was and had ever been spotless; the fact that the Ebag
family had given the apse and practically created the entire church; all
these facts added together did not prevent the outsider from finding a
word to say.

At first words were not said; but looks were looked, and coughs were
coughed. Then someone, strolling into the church of a morning while Carl
Ullman was practising, saw Miss Ebag sitting in silent ecstasy in a
corner. And a few mornings later the same someone, whose curiosity had
been excited, veritably saw Mrs Ebag in the organ-loft with Carl Ullman,
but no sign of Miss Ebag. It was at this juncture that words began to be
said.

Words! Not complete sentences! The sentences were never finished. "Of
course, it's no affair of mine, but--" "I wonder that people like the
Ebags should--" "Not that I should ever dream of hinting that--" "First
one and then the other--well!" "I'm sure that if either Mrs or Miss
Ebag had the slightest idea they'd at once--" And so on. Intangible
gossamer criticism, floating in the air!

IV

One evening--it was precisely the first of June--when a thunderstorm was
blowing up from the south-west, and scattering the smoke of the Five
Towns to the four corners of the world, and making the weathercock of
the house of the Ebags creak, the ladies Ebag and Carl Ullman sat
together as usual in the drawing-room. The French window was open, but
banged to at intervals. Carl Ullman had played the piano and the ladies
Ebag--Mrs Ebag, somewhat comfortably stout and Miss Ebag spare--were
talking very well and sensibly about the influence of music on
character. They invariably chose such subjects for conversation. Carl
was chiefly silent, but now and then, after a sip of whisky, he would
say "Yes" with impressiveness and stare gloomily out of the darkening
window. The ladies Ebag had a remarkable example of the influence of
music on character in the person of Edith Ebag. It appeared that Edith
would never play anything but waltzes--Waldteufel's for choice--and that
the foolish frivolity of her flyaway character was a direct consequence
of this habit. Carl felt sadly glad, after hearing the description of
Edith's carryings-on, that Edith had chosen to live far away.

And then the conversation languished and died with the daylight, and a
certain self-consciousness obscured th