XIII

           THETownHallwascrowdedandexceedinglyhot.AsCharitymarchedintoitthirdinthewhitemuslinfileheadedbyOrmaFry,shewasconsciousmainlyofthebrillianteffectofthewreathedcolumnsframingthegreen-carpetedstagetowardwhichshewasmoving;andoftheunfamiliarfacesturningfromthefrontrowstowatchtheadvanceoftheprocession.

           Butitwasallabewilderingblurofeyesandcolourstillshefoundherselfstandingatthebackofthestage,hergreatbunchofastersandgoldenrodheldwellinfrontofher,andansweringthenervousglanceofLambertSollas,theorganistfromMr.Miles’schurch,whohadcomeupfromNettletontoplaytheharmoniumandsatbehindit,hisconductor’seyerunningovertheflutteredgirls.

           AmomentlaterMr.Miles,pinkandtwinkling,emergedfromthebackground,asifbuoyeduponhisbroadwhitegown,andbrisklydominatedthebowedheadsinthefrontrows.Heprayedenergeticallyandbrieflyandthenretired,andafiercenodfromLambertSollaswarnedthegirlsthattheyweretofollowatoncewith“Home,SweetHome.”ItwasajoytoCharitytosing:itseemedasthough,forthefirsttime,hersecretrapturemightburstfromherandflashitsdefianceattheworld.Alltheglowinherblood,thebreathofthesummerearth,therustleoftheforest,thefreshcallofbirdsatsunrise,andthebroodingmiddaylanguors,seemedtopassintoheruntrainedvoice,liftedandledbythesustainingchorus.

           Andthensuddenlythesongwasover,andafteranuncertainpause,duringwhichMissHatchard’spearl-greyglovesstartedafurtivesignallingdownthehall,Mr.