At the Relton Arms

In a bustling late‑night reception at a fashionable West End musician’s studio, the remaining guests form a sort of modern Greek chorus, lingering long after the polite society has slipped away in their carriages. The host, shifting from a genial entertainer to a fervent prophet, launches into lofty theories while his hand‑picked pupils perform his compositions, their applause quickly eclipsed by the weight of his words. The atmosphere hums with a mixture of genuine admiration and the faint, self‑conscious rustle of social ambition.

Among the lingering crowd, Mrs. Reginald Routh presides with a practiced poise, her conversation a delicate dance of flattery and self‑assertion. She weaves references to distant concert halls and obscure composers, all while subtly challenging the musician’s assertions. When the earnest Mr. Digby Raleigh enters, his passionate musings on socialism and the moral purpose of music spark a spirited exchange that hints at deeper ideological currents stirring beneath the polished veneer of the gathering.