Nellie invaded the room. She had resumed the affray.

"Denry!" she reproached him, in an uncontrolled voice. "I'm ashamed of
you! I really am!" She was no longer doing the dignified. The mask was
off and the unmistakable lineaments of the outraged mother appeared.
That she should address him as "Denry" proved the intensity of her
agitation. Years ago, when he had been made an alderman, his wife and
his mother had decided that "Denry" was no longer a suitable name for
him, and had abandoned it in favour of "Edward Henry."

He ceased playing.

"Why?" he protested, with a ridiculous air of innocence. "I'm only
playing Chopin. Can't I play Chopin?"

He was rather surprised and impressed that she had recognized
the piece for what it was. But of course she did, as a fact, know
something about music, he remembered, though she never touched the
Pianisto.

"I think it's a pity you can't choose some other evening for your
funeral marches!" she exclaimed.

"If that's it," said Edward Henry like lightning, "why did you stick
me out you weren't afraid of hydrophobia?"

"I'll thank you to come upstairs," she replied with warmth.

"Oh, all right, my dear! All right!" he cooed.