"But I am. I'm positive. Love! There's nothing in it."
"Hark at her," jeered Charlie.
Jenny lay awake in a fury that night. One after another, man in his various types passed across the screen of her mind. She saw them all. The crimson-jointed, fishy-eyed Glasgow youths winked at her once more. The complacent subalterns of Dublin dangled their presents and waited to be given her thanks and kisses. Old men, from the recess of childish memories, rose up again and leered at her. Her own father, small and weak and contemptible, pottered across the line of her mental vision. Bert Harding was there, his black boot-button eyes glittering. And to that her sister had surrendered herself, to be pawed and mauled about and boasted of. Ugh! Suddenly in the middle of her disgust Jenny thought she heard a sound under the bed.
"Oo—er, May!" she called out. "May!"
"Whatever is it, you noisy thing?"
"Oo—er, there's a man under the bed! Oh, May, wake up, else we shall all be murdered!"
"Who cares?" said May. "Go to sleep."
And just then the Raeburns' big cat, tired of his mouse-hole, came out from underneath the bed and walked slowly across the room.
Chapter X: Drury Lane and Covent Garden
TO compensate Jenny for her disappointment over Covent Garden, Madame Aldavini secured a place for her in the Drury Lane pantomime. She was no longer to be the most attractive member of an attractive quartette, but one of innumerable girls who changed several times during the evening into amazingly complicated dresses, designed not to display individual figures, but to achieve broad effects of color and ingenuity.