Chapter XIII
In spite of the taxi, in spite of the gobbled dinner, they were late. The concert had begun.
“Never mind,” said Gumbril. “We shall get in in time for the minuetto. It’s then that the fun really begins.”
“Sour grapes,” said Emily, putting her ear to the door. “It sounds to me simply too lovely.”
They stood outside, like beggars waiting abjectly at the doors of a banqueting-hall—stood and listened to the snatches of music that came out tantalizingly from within. A rattle of clapping announced at last that the first movement was over; the doors were thrown open. Hungrily they rushed in. The Sclopis Quartet and a subsidiary viola were bowing from the platform. There was a chirrup of tuning, then preliminary silence. Sclopis nodded and moved his bow. The minuetto of Mozart’s G
