ey hair, was
speaking of Lilly and then of music to him.

"I hear you are a musician. That's what I should have been if I had had
my way."

"What instrument?" asked Aaron.

"Oh, the piano. Yours is the flute, Mr. Lilly says. I think the flute
can be so attractive. But I feel, of course you have more range with the
piano. I love the piano--and orchestra."

At that moment, the colonel and hostess-duties distracted her. But she
came back in snatches. She was a woman who reminded him a little
of Queen Victoria; so assured in her own room, a large part of her
attention always given to the successful issue of her duties, the
remainder at the disposal of her guests. It was an old-fashioned, not
unpleasant feeling: like retrospect. But she had beautiful, big, smooth
emeralds and sapphires on her fingers. Money! What a curious thing it
is! Aaron noticed the deference of all the guests at table: a touch of
obsequiousness: before the money! And the host and hostess accepted the
deference, nay, expected it, as their due. Yet both Sir William and Lady
Franks knew that it was only money and success. They had both a certain
afterthought, knowing dimly that the game was but a game, and that
they were the helpless leaders in the game. They had a certain basic
ordinariness which prevented their making any great hits, and which
kept them disillusioned all the while. They remembered their poor and
insignificant days.

"And I hear you were playing in the orchestra at Covent Garden. We came
back from London last week. I enjoyed Beecham's operas so much."

"Which do you like best?" said Aaron.

"Oh, the Russian. I think _Ivan_. It is such fine music."

"I find _Ivan_ artificial."

"Do you? Oh, I don't think so. No, I don't think you can say that."

Aaron wondered at her assurance. She seemed to put him just a tiny bit
in his place, even in an opinion on music. Money gave her that right,
too. Curious--the only authority left. And he deferred to her opinion:
that is, to her money. He did it almost deliberately. Yes--what did he
believe in, besides money? What does any man? He looked at the black
patch over the major's eye. What had he given his eye for?--the nation's
money. Well, and very necessary, too; otherwise we might be where
the wretched Austrians are. Instead of which--how smooth his hostess'
sapphires!

"Of course I myself prefer Moussorgsky," said Aaron. "I think he is a
greater artist. But perhaps it is just personal pr