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Nor did he give any sign when the car arrived, but when she was announced a moment or so later, he turned and walked towards her—only to come to a sudden halt.

For, just inside the door, Marion had paused, poised and smiling, just as though she was on a concert stage and was waiting for the applause.

And she got, if not applause, something perhaps better. A sharp little indrawing of the breath from certainly three of the men present—and small wonder. Regally tall, slim and beautiful in a dark, almost Southern way, she was a woman to command attention and admiration anywhere.

She advanced gracefully towards Owen with both hands outstretched.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Owen,” she said, her deep, rich voice ringing through the room. “We had a little trouble with the car—”

“Too bad,” Owen said easily. “Well, no drinks for you, my girl! Say how do you do nicely to Aunt Louise and then off you go upstairs and change—and don’t be too long about it!”

Marion laughed softly, carressingly.

“Darling, I adore it when you bully me,” she declared as she walked gracefully over to Mrs. Mayberry.

“Dear Mrs. Mayberry, you’ll forgive me, won’t you, even if Owen won’t?”

“Of course, Marion,” Mrs. Mayberry said pleasantly.

But she did not smile, and when Marion had gone, she withdrew into a not very pleasant reverie.

In her own mind Mrs. Mayberry did not doubt that Marion had quite deliberately delayed her arrival until she was reasonably sure that the little house party would all be assembled in the drawing room for the express purpose of making that theatrical entry.

Well, perhaps one had to excuse that. Marion was young enough and success was still sufficiently new to have turned her head a little. But what disturbed Mrs. Mayberry was the girl’s complete self-confidence. She had been quite sure that Owen would let her get away with an exhibition of bad manners which he would never have tolerated in anyone else.

Sure of herself—sure of Owen. That seemed to add up to just one thing—an understanding of some sort that sooner or later could lead to marriage.

Mrs. Mayberry tried to reassure herself by dwelling on the belief that whatever plans Marion might be making, it would be Owen who decided whether he asked her to marry him or not.

It was not an entirely satisfactory conclusion for, unlike Bertha, she was not at all sure that Owen was in love with the beautiful singer. Not, of course, that everyone felt love to be an essential ingredient of marriage. Some people seemed to get on quite well without it.

“But I do so want the very best for the boy,” Mrs. Mayberry thought sadly. “Yet I can’t help him. It’s the sort of thing people have to work out for themselves— and stand by the results. Besides, Owen would resent interference even from me. It might even drive him—” she sighed deeply.

No, Owen might be heading for disaster, but there was nothing she could do about it except wait and hope.

MRS. MAYBERRY was quite right in thinking that Marion fully intended to marry Owen. Not that she was in love with him, although apart from his boringly serious outlook on life, she liked him well enough.

But despite her somewhat exotic appearance, Marion was essentially practical. She had every reason to be, since before Owen had set her feet on the path of fame she had known what it meant to count every penny.

She was one of a large family and her parents had not been able to afford to give her a specialised education of any sort—not, as Marion admitted in her franker moments, that she had sufficient brains to have taken advantage of it if they had. As a result she had never been able to command more than a very mediocre salary doing jobs which held no future at all.

To the possibility of earning a living by singing she had never given a thought. It was simply a useful little amateur talent which had enabled her to enjoy a limited loyal popularity. And then, on one never-to-be- forgotten Saturday evening at the conclusion of a charity concert, Owen, escorted by a greatly flurried producer, had come backstage to make her an astounding offer.

He had liked her voice. He thought it had possibilities. If she would come to his office the following Monday he would give her an audition.

Marion went—having first taken the precaution of ringing up the office where she worked to say that she would not be in as she had a bad headache. No use throwing away one job before getting another.

She had been greatly impressed by what, to her, was the magnificence of Owen’s office, but not in the least overawed by it. After all, if he could afford such luxury he must be a successful man, and successful men don’t make mistakes. Consequently, if he said her voice was good he knew what he was talking about.

All the same, she was completely taken aback at the offer he made when the audition was over. It was nothing less than that he was willing not only to pay for her voice to be properly trained but also to make her an allowance during that time so that she could give all her mind to her training.

Marion had blurted out one word:

“Why?”

“Because, I believe you have what could be a truly beautiful voice,” he had explained patiently. “And because music of all sorts is not only my means of earning a livelihood. It is also my greatest interest in life.”

“I still don’t see why you should pay for me,” Marion had told him suspiciously. In her experience there was no such thing as disinterested kindness— particularly where men were concerned. “What do you get out of it?”

“A very real satisfaction,” Owen had told her promptly. And then, seeing how completely blank she looked: “Can’t you understand that feeling as I do about music, I feel literally compelled to help anyone I can if I think they can add to the beauty of the world?”

No, she couldn’t understand that. It went completely above her head. But slowly several things did dawn on her shrewd, calculating little mind.

He meant what he said. He must be very rich, and to use her own phrase, there were no strings to it. In fact, he made only one condition.

“You will work hard—very hard,” he had told her sternly. “Otherwise—finish! And since I shall have regular reports from your instructors about your progress, it will be no use tying to pull wool over my eyes. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she had nodded. “That’s fair enough. You’re paying. But what happens when I’m trained?”

“That will depend largely on yourself.” He had looked at her thoughtfully. A lovely voice—he knew he was not mistaken about that. But was there anything more? Had she got it in her to develop the warmth, the understanding, the personality that went to the making of a really great voice? Time alone could answer that, and in the meantime she was too young, too ignorant for it to be any use explaining. “I believe that at the least you will be able to earn a better living than you do now. In a year’s time I will be able to judge whether there’s more to it than that. Well?”

She had accepted, of course. And she had worked harder than she had ever done before in her life, partly because she knew he had meant what he said— laziness would mean the end of his interest in her—but also for another reason. Despite the fact that she later discovered she was far from being the only beginner whom he had helped, she could never disabuse her mind of the conviction that in her case there was more to it than that. After all, wasn’t she beautiful —and Wasn’t he a man?

But though Owen turned out to be quite right about her voice, she had been forced to admit to herself that she had never really got any further with him. At least, not until she had made a name for herself. Not that she blamed him for that. Naturally a man in his position didn’t want a nobody for a wife.

Well, she wasn’t a nobody now—nobody could say she was. And that wasn’t only due to her voice and her beauty. She had acquired poise, she knew how to behave in public and she was perfectly at home in houses far larger than Owen’s—the owners of some of them had, in fact, wanted to marry her, but so far she had always refused.

The reason for that was simple. Marion wanted to eat her cake and have it. Accepting any one of the offers she had had would mean the end of her career —and why should she agree to that just when she was beginning to touch the really big money?

Now, with Owen, it would be quite different. He would never expect her to stop singing, admittedly not because of the money, but because of the way he felt about music. He'd be able to help her tremendously, too, not only because of all his professional interests but because of the background that an attractive home and a wealthy husband give a woman.

But there was more to it than that. A complete realist, Marion had taken to heart a lesson learned from other singers now past their prime
—a voice doesn't last for ever!
So marriage was an essential insurance against the time when her day was over, and marriage to Owen fulfilled all her ambitions—the continuation of her career and permanent security.

It did not occur to her to ask what Owen would get out of marriage to a wife who would spend long periods away from home, but then it never did occur to her to consider other people's points of view. She wasn't made that way. She knew what she wanted and she had every intention of getting it. And she was quite sure, so far as Owen was concerned, that there was no doubt whatever but that she would one day be his wife.

She did rather wish, though, that he would come to the point. Oh, he was charming and indulgent and she was made especially welcome when she visited Spindles—except by that appalling old woman who obviously saw the end of her rule when Owen brought a wife home. All the same—

Well, on this visit she was determined to bring matters to a head. Casually she had asked Owen who the other guests would be and had heard with considerable satisfaction that she need fear no competition from the other women. Celia Littleton was quite clever in her way, of course, and so was Lisa Freyne. But Celia was too young and Lisa too careless of her appearance to make any appeal to Owen. Then, just as Lucy had done, she realised that there must be another woman to make up the number and had asked Owen who she was.

“Oh, Lucy,” he had said carelessly, and had gone on to explain just who Lucy was.

No danger there, Marion had thought complacently. Tall, thin and fair—no, even though Owen saw her every day, perhaps because he saw her every day, there was nothing to fear in that quarter—an opinion which she felt had been confirmed when she saw Lucy.

The men, on the other hand, might be very useful. Not Lord Manderville, of course. He was as old as the hills and he always gave her the feeling that he was looking right through her and out the other side. But the others—Jeremy Trent and Sinclair Forbes—yes, they were all right. Not that she had any intention of flirting with them or letting them flirt with her. Owen would only be disgusted by that. But that little gasp which the two men and young Robin had given when she had made her entry—how flattered they would be had they known it was for their benefit!— had told her all she needed to know. Without any relaxation from the part of a charming but regally aloof woman that she intended to play, Owen would see with his own eyes how desirable other men found her! And since he was anything but a fool, he would see to it that none of them got ahead of him!

Marion drew a deep breath of satisfaction. She was on the brink of a second and in a way greater success than her professional one had been!

Lucy found that Mrs. Mayberry had been quite right. It would be impossible to find two more pleasant or friendly people than Lord Manderville and Robin Littleton, for neighbours at dinner, though in totally different ways.

Robin, like his twin, was bubbling over with high spirits. He thought the world was a wonderful place and that all the people who occupied it were good sorts—especially Owen.

“He’s absolutely terrific,” he confided to Lucy. “He’s always got an ear to the ground, you know, in search of new talent, not because he wants to make out of them, but in case there’s anyone that needs a hand to make the grade. Well, Celia and I were both in our last year at the Academy and he heard us playing at one of the pupils’ concerts—as solo turns, you know —and then he wrote to us, asking if we’d come and see him. Of course we did--and he was very blunt. He told us what we’d both realised— that though we both adore playing the piano and would hate doing anything else for our living, we just hadn’t got it in us to make top grade. And then he said: ‘And I’ll tell you what I think is the reason for that. You’re twins, and neither of you is quite complete without the other. Well, my advice to you is that you should cash in on that. Either play duets on the same piano or else use special arrangements for four hands on two pianos. I think you’ll get somewhere then because you’ll each give the other something you haven’t got individually.’ You know, we’d never thought of that, but he was right! It works like a charm and we have the greatest fun! And now, to top off everything else he’s done for us, he’s invited us here. That’s a terrific compliment—people angle like anything to get an invitation, but they’re the very ones that don’t get it. I say, you must enjoy living here!” and he regarded her with frank envy.

“It’s very nice,” Lucy admitted, feeling that after Robin’s eulogy her remark must sound singularly lame and inadequate. “Actually, I don’t see a 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.