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somehow.'
    When they arrived at the school, there was already a great air of activity and self-importance attaching to those who were taking part in the evening's performance. About half of them were pupils of Felicity. The others were, as they importantly styled themselves to admiring parents, drama students.
    'Everything's going to be fine,' Mary told Felicity as they looked from an upper window at the gratifying number of cars drawing up before the main entrance of the school. 'I must say the parents in this school do then- stuff very nobly. I think I'd be in agony if I had to listen to my own offspring murdering Shakespeare or lacerating Beethoven.'
    'My pupils don't lacerate Beethoven,' retorted Felicity mildly. 'Oh, there's Stephen Tarkman, getting out of that ordinary-looking black car.'
    'I'd have thought he would sport a Rolls,' commented Mary. 'Who is his glamorous companion?'
    'Glamorous companion !' Felicity craned her neck to see the other side of the car. 'I thought Professor Blackthorn was coming. Perhaps he couldn't and this is another member—'
    'Oh, no, dear! The lady is no professor,' Mary laughed.
    And Felicity, catching a glimpse at last of Stephen Tarkman's companion, could only agree. There was nothing professorial about the slim, tall, red-haired woman with him.
    'Perhaps it's his wife,' suggested Mary.
    'Perhaps,' agreed Felicity doubtfully. 'Though he didn't seem married, somehow. Too - too—'
    But before she could complete that qualification she glanced at her watch and saw it was time for her to round up her performers and give them a last word of advice and good cheer.
    'Good luck!' Mary sketched a little gesture of encouragement and went to take her seat in the hall, while Felicity made her way to the classroom which had been set aside as a sort of 'green room'.
    High spirits had given way now to quieter, more nervous chattering. But only one person was utterly silent, and that was Janet, who sat alone in a corner, looking unexpectedly attractive without her glasses and in a slightly old-world frock with a lace collar. One glance at her, however, told Felicity that something was desperately wrong. She was pale and tense and so utterly withdrawn from the busy scene round her that Felicity felt her heart plummet.
    She went immediately to the child and, trying to make her voice warm and reassuring, said, 'All right, Janet?'
    'Miss Grainger, I can't play. 5 Janet got to her feet and spoke in a rapid, husky half-whisper. 'I'm not well —I can't play.'
    'But of course you can, dear.' Felicity took her hand and was dismayed to find it icy. 'Everyone is a bit nervous beforehand. It's just—'
    'No, it's nothing to do with being nervous. You don't know who's there, in the audience. I've just seen. I looked into the hall.'
    In that moment Felicity could have kicked herself for all her well-intentioned discretion. She should have foreseen this contingency and guarded against this last- minute recognition and reaction. But it was too late now.
    Still warmly and persuasively she smiled, squeezed the cold little hand comfortingly and said, 'Mr. Tarkman isn't an ogre, my dear child. He'll understand, better than anyone else there, just how good you are.
    As a matter of fact, I can't wait to show you off to him. Gome , cheer up—'
    'Mr. Tarkman?' repeated Janet, so blankly that Mary would have said she looked almost idiotic. 'I don't know anything about Mr. Tarkman. It's my aunt who is there - that pretty woman with the red hair. And I can't play if she's there. I hate her - she makes me feel dreadful. She takes all my confidence away. I can't play, I tell you. Not if she's there. I — can't — play!'

CHAPTER TWO

    Janet's tone carried such conviction that Felicity could almost see her carefully laid plans drifting to disaster on the rock of the child's obsession. For once this evening's chance was gone, any audition, formal or informal, was unlikely to recur.
    It was vital to do something and do it