Part 48 (1/2)
”I think so,” she said hesitatingly. ”Clara says it will be very amusing. And you must remember how much I enjoyed 'Faust' and 'Hamlet.'”
Errington smiled. ”You'll find the Brilliant performance very different to either,” he said amusedly. ”You don't know what a burlesque is like!”
”Then I must be instructed,” replied Thelma, smiling also, ”I need to learn many things. I am very ignorant!”
”Ignorant!” and he swept aside with a caressing touch the cl.u.s.tering hair from her broad, n.o.ble brow. ”My darling, you possess the greatest wisdom--the wisdom of innocence. I would not change it for all the learning of the sagest philosophers!”
”You really mean that?” she asked half timidly.
”I really mean that!” he answered fondly. ”Little sceptic! As if I would ever say anything to you that I did _not_ mean! I shall be glad when we're out of London and back at the Manor--then I shall have you all to myself again--for a time, at least.”
She raised her eyes full of sudden joy,--all traces of her former depression had disappeared.
”And _I_ shall have _you_!” she said gladly. ”And we shall not disappoint Lady Winsleigh to-night, Philip--I am not tired--and I shall be pleased to go to the theatre.”
”All right!” responded Philip cheerfully. ”So let it be! Only I don't believe you'll like the piece,--though it certainly won't make you cry.
Yet I doubt if it will make you laugh, either. However, it will be a new experience for you.”
And a new experience it decidedly was,--an experience, too, which brought some strange and perplexing results to Thelma of which she never dreamed.
She went to the Brilliant, accompanied by Lady Winsleigh and her husband,--Neville, the secretary, making the fourth in their box; and during the first and second scene of the performance the stage effects were so pretty and the dancing so graceful that she nearly forgot the bewildered astonishment she had at first felt at the extreme scantiness of apparel worn by the ladies of the ballet. They represented birds, bees, b.u.t.terflies, and the other winged denizens of the forest-world,--and the _tout-ensemble_ was so fairy-like and brilliant with swift movement, light, and color that the eye was too dazzled and confused to note objectionable details. But in the third scene, when a plump, athletic young woman leaped on the stage in the guise of a humming-bird, with a feather tunic so short that it was a mere waist-belt of extra width,--a flesh-colored bodice about three inches high, and a pair of blue wings attached to her fat shoulders, Thelma started and half rose from her seat in dismay, while a hot tide of color crimsoned her cheeks. She looked nervously at her husband.
”I do not think this is pleasant to see,” she said in a low tone. ”Would it not be best to go away? I--I think I would rather be at home.”
Lady Winsleigh heard and smiled,--a little mocking smile.
”Don't be silly, child!” she said. ”If you leave the theatre just now you'll have every one staring at you. That woman's an immense favorite--she is the success of the piece. She's got more diamonds than either you or I.”
Thelma regarded her friend with a sort of grave wonder,--but said nothing in reply. If Lady Winsleigh liked the performance and wished to remain, why--then politeness demanded that Thelma should not interfere with her pleasure by taking an abrupt leave. So she resumed her seat, but withdrew herself far behind the curtain of the box, in a corner where the stage was almost invisible to her eyes. Her husband bent over her and whispered--
”I'll take you home if you wish it, dear! only say the word.”
She shook her head.
”Clara enjoys it!” she answered somewhat plaintively. ”We must stay.”
Philip was about to address Lady Winsleigh on the subject, when suddenly Neville touched him on the arm.
”Can I speak to you alone for a moment, Sir Philip?” he said in a strange, hoa.r.s.e whisper. ”Outside the box--away from the ladies--a matter of importance!”
He looked as if he were about to faint. He gasped rather than spoke these words; his face was white as death, and his eyes had a confused and bewildered stare.
”Certainly!” answered Philip promptly, though not without an accent of surprise,--and, excusing their absence briefly to his wife and Lady Winsleigh, they left the box together. Meanwhile the well-fed ”Humming-Bird” was capering extravagantly before the footlights, pointing her toe in the delighted face of the stalls and singing in a in a loud, coa.r.s.e voice the following refined ditty--
”Oh my ducky, oh my darling, oh my duck, duck, duck!
If you love me you must have a little pluck, pluck, pluck!
Come and put your arms around me, kiss me once, twice, thrice, For kissing may be naughty, but, by Jingo! it is nice!
Once, twice, thrice!
Nice, nice, nice!
Bliss, bliss, bliss!