“Bravo, bravo, my beauty!” Mrs. Pottage stood up to shout when Letizia took her call. Lots of other people were standing up and shouting, so her enthusiasm was not so very conspicuous. Nancy felt too weak with emotion to stand up herself, and sank back in a pale trance of joyful relief.
“There’s Mrs. B.!” Mrs. Pottage suddenly exclaimed. “And if she claps much louder, she’ll clap herself out of that new dress of hers for good and all. And when she gets out in the Strand she’ll be run in to Bow Street if she isn’t careful. She’s the most excitable woman I ever did know.”
At last the audience consented to let the performers retire, and a few minutes later Nancy held Letizia in her arms.
“Darling mother, was I good?”
“Darling child, you were perfect.”
“And where’s Mrs. Pottage?” Letizia asked. “Did she think I was good?”
“The dear old soul’s waiting to be invited into your dressing-room.”
“Mrs. Pottage! Mrs. Pottage!” Letizia cried, hugging the old lady. “You’re coming back to supper with me, aren’t you?”
“Oh, no, duckie. I’ve got Mrs. Bugbird and pore Aggie Wilkinson waiting to go back to Greenwich. We’re all going to take a cab to London Bridge.”
“Oh, but they must both come to supper too. They must really. I’ll get a car to drive you home. You must all come. I won’t be long dressing.”