The first series of theatricals were an immense success. Miss Paske was the principal lady in the piece, and looked charming from across the footlights. Captain Waring, who was fond of the stage, had gone behind the scenes, and painted Lalla’s pert little face at her own request, which same civility occasioned considerable heartburning and jealousy among the other ladies, especially as the result was a complete artistic triumph.
Every one was carried away by the Prima Donna’s vivacious acting and sprightly dancing, which was both dashing and graceful—in short, the very poetry of motion. Her dress, too—what there was of it—was perfect in every detail. Skirt-dancing was as yet in its infancy—a lady figurante was a rare spectacle on an Indian stage, and the novel and astonishing character of the performance swept the spectators off their feet, and Lalla and Toby Joy shared the honours of the night between them.
Mrs. Langrishe was secretly horrified. She had only seen Lalla’s costume in the piece; Lalla and the Dirzee (whom she entirely monopolized) had composed it together—she had planned, he had carried out her sketch. There had been mysterious conferences and tryings on, from which her aunt had been rigidly excluded, and Mrs. Langrishe was much too proud to affect an interest or curiosity in the matter; but in her wildest moments she had never dreamt of the character of the dress—or its limits!
As she sat in the front row, gazing at the waving arms and supple limbs of her odious niece, little did her neighbours guess that a social martyr was among them,—a martyr whose sufferings were still further aggravated by the self-satisfied smirk and airy kiss the fair dancer had deigned to fling her!
Afterwards, when Lalla, closely cloaked and hooded, was modestly receiving the congratulations of her friends, she remarked to them bashfully—
“Oh, you have no idea how nervous I was at first! My poor little knees were actually shaking under me.”
“Were they? I did not notice them,” rejoined Mrs. Brande in her severest manner; and listeners allowed that on this occasion “old mother Brande had scored!”
Mrs. Langrishe the next morning, having first fortified herself with a glass of wine, entered her niece’s bower, in order to administer a really sound scolding, the gist of which was (as repeated by the listening Ayah to other deeply interested domestics, as she took a pull at the cook’s huka)—
“As long as you are in my house, and under my care, you must behave yourself properly. If this is impossible, as I fear it is, I shall send you straight home. The Ayah will take you to Bombay, and see you off second-class, though the class that best suits your manners is really the steerage. Your acting, and, to a certain extent, your dancing, was all very well; but I do not wonder that Mrs. Brande was shocked at your dress, or rather the want of it—scarcely below your knees!”