It was strange for Pamela presently to sit alone in the little dressing-room and think of the mimic play of emotion, clash of passion and interest that was enthralling so many scores of spectators within a few yards of her; to think, too, of that drama of real life, so sad and shameful, of which she had unexpectedly become a witness.
It was contrary to her vivacious nature to sit, unoccupied and in patience, while the world swept on its way, but to-night she had much to engross her thoughts. All she had seen pointed to courses which, to her straight judgment, could not but appear as evil. Yet if ever, thought Pamela Pounce, there was delicacy and purity stamped on a human countenance, if ever noble pride, it was on the face of the young play-actress.
“Why did she ask me to remain?” puzzled the girl. “If my Lord Harborough is her protector, as he seems to be, what does she want with a poor, honest milliner? Oh, la! to see her, so beautiful, with them pearls, and to know what it means, I could fair cry!”
Miss Falcon’s dresser came rushing in, declaring that there never had been such a success as the new Lady Teazle; that the house had had her out again and again. “And, oh, my goodness, the shouts and claps and nose-gays flying! What a pity Miss had not been in the gallery!”
Before Pamela had time to reply Miss Falcon herself, accompanied by a very conspicuous group of admirers, returned to her dressing-room. Her flush outdid the rouge, her eyes flashed. The tips of her taper fingers rested on Lord Harborough’s wrist, and he came in leading her with an air as though her triumph belonged to him. Behind her the sycophants gabbled, “for all the world like father’s geese,” thought Miss Pounce.
“Oh, my Lord, she is incomparable!” “I do assure you, Miss Falcon, when the screen was knocked down and you stood forth I could have fallen on my knees before you!” “’Pon honour! ’Pon honour, never was acting half so fine!”
The flush was fading, and the fire dying in her gaze as she turned round upon them.
“Pray, gentlemen, you are very kind, but I have to change my gown for the next act. My Lord, bid your friends leave me. And you too, my Lord.”
As bowing, kissing hands, grimacing, jostling against each other, the little knot of gossips withdrew, obedient once more to their patron’s wave, he himself lingered.