CHAPTER V.
THE MOTHER AND DAUGHTER IN OPPOSITION.
Of course there is no such thing as arousing all London into a fit of enthusiasm, because millions of people are not moved at the same moment by anything less than a revolution. But the West End, just then, wanted an excitement, and found it in the coming of Olympia. Her style was new, her action a little too free, perhaps, for the high-bred dames of the aristocracy; but they all went, and were amused, shocked, fascinated, and went again, but only to keep the young people, they said, from utter demoralization—the creature really was irresistible.
At any rate, Olympia was the fashion, and drew famously, till a rival novelty proclaimed itself. Then she was horror-stricken by seeing a few empty seats in the house. To Olympia, an empty seat was desolation.
That night Olympia went to her daughter's room the moment she reached her hotel after a late performance. The cloak which she had worn from the theatre still hung about her shoulders. Her cheeks blazed with rouge, her eyes were restless and anxious.
Caroline started up from her sweet sleep, disturbed and almost terrified.
"What is it, mamma?" she said, holding back the hair from her lovely face with both hands. "Is any one ill—Mr. Brown?"
Olympia sat down on her daughter's bed, and drew the cloak around her; not that she was cold, but to show that her resolution was taken.
"No one is ill, Caroline; as for Brown, I know nothing about him. But I come to prepare you; for this week we shall bring you out. In what opera have you practiced most?"
"Bring me out? Oh, mamma!"