xpecting wonders to conform to a standard to which she was
accustomed. There was much conventionality in her, though she did not
know it. "The Brighton tradition" was not a mere phrase in her mother's
mouth. Laughingly said it contained, nevertheless, particles of truth.
But at this moment it seemed far away from Charmian, quite foreign to
her. The Greek Isles and--

Millie Deans had stepped upon the dais, accompanied by a very thin,
hectic French boy, who sat down at the piano. But she did not seem
inclined to sing. She looked round, glanced at the hectic boy, folded
her hands in front of her, and waited. Max Elliot approached with his
genial air and spoke to her. She answered, putting her dead-white face
close to his. He also looked round the room, then hurried out. There was
a pause.

"What is it?" people murmured, turning their heads.

Paul Lane bent down and said to the degagee Duchess:

"She won't sing till Mr. Brett, of the opera, comes."

His lips curled in a sarcastic smile.

"What a fuss they all make about themselves!" returned the Duchess.
"It's a hard face."

"Millie's? She's in a violent temper. You'll see; until Mr. Brett comes
she won't open her mouth."

Miss Deans stood rigid, with her hands always crossed in front of her
and her eyes watching the door. The boy at the piano moved his hands
over the keys without producing any sound. There was the ripple of a
laugh, and Mrs. Shiffney came carelessly in with Rades, followed by a
small, stout man, Mr. Brett, and Max Elliot. When he saw Miss Deans the
stout man looked humorously sarcastic. Max Elliot wanted Mrs. Shiffney
to come near to the dais, but she refused, and sat down by the door.
Rades whispered to her and she laughed again. Max Elliot went close to
Millie Deans. She frowned at her accompanist, who began to play, looking
sensitive. Mr. Brett leaned against the wall looking critical.

Charmian was in one of the balconies now with a young man. She saw her
mother opposite to her with Sir Hilary Burnington, looking down on the
singer and the crowd, and she thought her mother must have heard
something very sad. Millie Deans sang an aria of Mozart in a fine,
steady, and warm soprano voice. Then she sang two _morceaux_ from the
filmy opera, _Crepe de Chine_, by a young Frenchman, which she had
helped to make the rage of Paris. Her eyes were often on Mr. Brett,
commanding him to be favorable, yet pleading with him too.

As Mrs. Mansfield looked