Free Unknown by Unknown

great deal of Mr. Vaughan—it’s Mrs. Mayberry for whom I work.”
    “Well, I should think that’s pretty interesting, too,” Robin commented. “And anyway, there’s something about the house—I don’t know, but the moment you come into it, you feel it’s right, somehow. People doing the jobs they want to, perhaps.”
    Then, realising that he had spent so much time talking that he was in danger of keeping the rest of the table waiting while he finished the course, he gave his attention to his plate, and Lucy turned to Lord Manderville.
    And now, instead of listening to someone talking about themselves, she found herself being gently and brilliantly persuaded to talk of herself. Not that Lord Manderville asked direct questions, but one thing just seemed to lead naturally to another so that before very long he knew all about her likes and dislikes where books and painting and music were concerned.
    “Not that I really know anything about them,” she confessed, suddenly self-conscious at having expressed such definite opinions. “But then perhaps no one can know unless they themselves create something—”
    Lord Manderville considered.
    “I am not sure you are right over that,” he told her. “You appear to me to have considerable natural taste —and as for not creating anything, have you never realised that you, the appreciative audience, are the real creators of all successful artists? Oh, yes,~ that’s true! Without you, they simply would not exist.”
    “I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever had said to me,” Lucy told him happily. “You’ve made me feel so tremendously important and clever!”
    And they laughed together like old friends.
    The evening passed quickly, although to Lucy’s surprise, neither then nor on the following day was there any suggestion that use should be made of the music room. She had taken it for granted that there would be some sort of informal concert, but instead, during the day everyone went their own way and both the evenings were spent in conversation, sometimes above Lucy’s head, sometimes amusing, but always interesting. Only Marion Singleton seemed to take little part in it and Lucy, seeing her sitting quiet and, incredibly, rather out of things, found the courage to go and sit by her and tell her shyly how much she enjoyed her singing. Instantly Marion came to life.
    “How quite charming of you, my dear,” she said in that rich, warm voice. “How many times have you heard me sing?”
    “Oh, I’m afraid I haven't been to any of your concerts,” Lucy confessed, shamefaced. “But on radio and television—and I’ve got most of your records, I think.”
    “I'm making some new ones soon,” Marion told her. “Would you like an autographed recording of a special favourite?”
    “I’d love it!” Lucy said enthusiastically, and at that moment Owen drifted over to them.
    “Now what are you two girls gossiping about?” he asked lightly. “The latest thing in hairstyles—or was it clothes?”
    “We weren’t gossiping at all,” Lucy told him indignantly. “We were talking about Miss Singleton’s records—and she has very kindly promised to let me have an autographed one.”
    “She’s got a frightful memory,” Owen remarked with a sidelong look at Marion which Lucy could not interpret. “But I’ll keep her up to it—I believe in advertising!”
    There was a brief silence which Lucy found embarrassing. Then Owen turned to her.
    “Lucy, Aunt Louise is turning in now and she’d like to have a word with you first.”
    “There’s nothing wrong, is there?” Lucy asked anxiously with a glance at her watch. “I thought, at dinner time, that she looked particularly well— better than she has ever since I came.”
    “Yes, she was thoroughly enjoying herself,” Owen confirmed. “No, there’s nothing wrong. But she wants to make sure that she is all right for tomorrow evening, so she’s going to bed early tonight.”
    “Tomorrow night?”