Part 48 (2/2)
Kiss, kiss, kiss!
Kissing may be naughty, but it's nice!”
There were several verses in this graceful poem, and each one was hailed with enthusiastic applause. The ”Humming-Bird” was triumphant, and when her song was concluded she executed a startling _pas-seul_ full of quaint and astonis.h.i.+ng surprises, reaching her superbest climax, when she backed off the stage on one portly leg,--kicking the other in regular time to the orchestra. Lady Winsleigh laughed, and leaning towards Thelma, who still sat in her retired corner, said with a show of kindness--
”You dear little goose! You must get accustomed to this kind of thing--it takes with the men immensely. Why, even your wonderful Philip has gone down behind the scenes with Neville--you may be sure of that!”
The startled, pitiful astonishment in the girl's face might have touched a less callous heart than Lady Winsleigh's,--but her ladys.h.i.+p was prepared for it and only smiled.
”Gone behind the scenes! To see that dreadful woman!” exclaimed Thelma in a low pained tone. ”Oh no, Clara! He would not do such a thing.
Impossible!”
”Well, my dear, then where is he? He has been gone quite ten minutes.
Look at the stalls--all the men are out of them! I tell you Violet Vere draws everybody--of the male s.e.x after her! At the end of all her 'scenes' she has a regular reception--for men only--of course! Ladies not admitted!” And Clara Winsleigh laughed. ”Don't look so shocked for heaven's sake, Thelma,--you don't want your husband to be a regular nincomp.o.o.p! He must have his amus.e.m.e.nts as well as other people. I believe you want him to be like a baby, tied to your ap.r.o.n-string!
You'll find that an awful mistake,--he'll get tired to death of you, sweet little Griselda though you are!”
Thelma's face grew very pale, and her hand closed more tightly on the fan she held.
”You have said that so very, very often lately, Clara!” she murmured.
”You seem so sure that he will get tired--that all men get tired. I do not think you know Philip--he is not like any other person I have ever met. And why should he go behind the scenes to such a person as Violet Vere--”
At that moment the box-door opened with a sharp click, and Errington entered alone. He looked disturbed and anxious.
”Neville is not well,” he said abruptly, addressing his wife. ”I've sent him home. He wouldn't have been able to sit this thing out.” And he glanced half angrily towards the stage--the curtain had just gone up again and displayed the wondrous Violet Vere still in her ”humming-bird”
character, swinging on the branch of a tree and (after the example of all humming-birds) smoking a cigar with brazen-faced tranquillity.
”I am sorry he is ill,” said Thelma gently. ”That is why you were so long away?”
”Was I long?” returned Philip somewhat absently. ”I didn't know it. I went to ask a question behind the scenes.”
Lady Winsleigh coughed and glanced at Thelma, whose eyes dropped instantly.
”I suppose you saw Violet Vere?” asked Clara.
”Yes, I saw her,” he replied briefly. He seemed irritable and vexed--moreover, decidedly impatient. Presently he said--
”Lady Winsleigh, would you mind very much if we left this place and went home? I'm rather anxious about Neville--he's had a shock. Thelma doesn't care a bit about this piece, I know, and if you are not very much absorbed--”
Lady Winsleigh rose instantly, with her usual ready grace.
”My dear Sir Philip!” she said sweetly. ”As if I would not, do anything to oblige you! Let us go by all means! These burlesques _are_ extremely fatiguing!”
He seemed relieved by her acquiescence--and smiled that rare sweet smile of his, which had once played such havoc with her ladys.h.i.+p's sensitive feelings. They left the theatre, and were soon on their way home, though Thelma was rather silent during the drive. They dropped Lady Winsleigh at her own door, and after they had bidden her a cordial good night, and were going on again towards home, Philip, turning towards his wife, and catching sight of her face by the light of a street-lamp, was struck by her extreme paleness and weary look.
”You are very tired, my darling, I fear?” he inquired, tenderly encircling her with one arm. ”Lean your head on my shoulder--so!”
She obeyed, and her hand trembled a little as he took and held it in his own warm, strong clasp.
”We shall soon be home!” he added cheerily. ”And I think we must have no more theatre-going this season. The heat and noise and glare are too much for you.”
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