Bram tries to make his way through the crowd. He sees Perry, who waves to him. Gudrun is there, looking fabulous and drawing glances both admiring and quizzical. Jane leads in the string of children, all scrubbed up and shiny faced, eyes bright, and clearly thrilled at being included in something so grown-up and important. For a while it seems the gathering is happy to listen to Mangan’s opinions, as he is only voicing what many of them are thinking. But then someone recognizes him, and someone else recalls the stance he took over the war, and another someone lets it be known that his mistress is German. And the mood changes. The alteration is as swift and as marked as the cessation of a storm at sea. There is a sudden quiet and an uneasy calm. Bram sees panic on Dr. Travis’s face, who has taken in the situation and must surely see his hopes and aspirations fading in front of his eyes.

“Mr. Cardale,” he hisses into Bram’s ear. “You must ask your friend to leave at once!”

“I will not.”

“I beseech you! He will ruin us all.”

Bram pushes through the now-subdued guests and at last reaches Mangan.

“Ah! The artist himself. Congratulations, my friend,” he cries, pumping Bram’s hand. “A triumph. Triumph.”

Bram speaks into the tense silence that follows, still holding Mangan’s hand, addressing the gathering as he speaks. “Any small triumph that I might lay claim to, if triumph it can be called, would never have come to be had it not been for the guidance of this man,” he says. “When I knew nobody, indeed, knew nothing, this great artist took me in. He showed me what could be achieved. He taught me to have the courage to be honest in my work, to tell the truth. I would not be a man of courage if I were to turn my back on him now. This man, and his family,” he pointedly takes in Gudrun with a sweep of his arm, “they have made me what I am. They are my friends.”

There is a silence where all the air seems to have been sucked from the room. A moment of tension filled with unspoken accusations and questions and private fears. And into it comes the sound of one person clapping, softly, with gloved hands, but firmly enough to be heard. Everyone turns toward that small sound of solidarity, and there at the back of the room stands Lilith.

“Bravo!” she declares. “Bravo!”

And the room erupts into enthusiastic agreement.