“Or a Lothario. I’m not quite sure yet,” Nancy laughed.
“Have I put too much black on my left eyelid?” the other asked intensely. “It looks a bit smudgy, doesn’t it?”
“You’re not much interested in my young man,” said Nancy in mock reproach.
“I’m sorry, dear. I was so fussed by this gard-awful liquid-black I bought last week at Cardiff.”
“Perhaps it was coal,” Nancy suggested.
“Oh, you don’t think it is really!” exclaimed her companion. “Oh, whatever shall I do? My god, if I wasn’t a perfect lady I could say something.” Whereupon Miss Pamela Fitzroy proceeded to express her opinion of Cardiff chemists and of the liquid-black they supplied to poor actresses, in very strong language indeed. “What were you saying, dear?” she stopped suddenly to ask Nancy. “Weren’t you saying something about getting off with a foreigner? You watch him, that’s my advice. I had a Spanish boy following me round last tour when I was with the Fun of the Fair crowd, and what I went through, my dear! He’d only got to look at me, and I’d feel like ringing the nearest fire-alarm. And then he got jealous and took to walking up and down outside the stage-door and glaring at all the men of the company. Of course it used to amuse them, and they’d whistle Toreador or whatever the song is. In the end, however, he ran out of money and got pinched for passing a dud cheque at Bradford.”
“But my young man isn’t a foreigner,” said Nancy.
“Damn and blast this liquid-black,” swore Miss Pamela Fitzroy.
With the consciousness that somebody in front was interested in her Nancy sang her two songs better that night than she had ever sung them. She was feeling so much excited over the prospect of going out to supper while she was dressing after the performance that, though she knew she was being ridiculous, she simply could not resist saying to Miss Fitzroy:
“I felt in voice to-night. I really enjoyed singing.”