Jack was standing beside her and saying:
“Splendid, splendid, splendid, splendid!”
“Delighted, delighted, delighted, delighted!”
“Very good audience! Splendid audience! Delighted audience! Success! Success! Success!”
Really, how wonderfully O’Hea was playing, Sylvia thought, and how good that Debussy was!
The rest of the performance was as much of a success as the beginning. Perhaps the audience liked best Mrs. Gowndry and the woman who smuggled lace from Belgium into France. Sylvius and Rose laughed so much at the audience’s laughter at Mrs. Gowndry that Sylvius announced in the ensuing lull that he wanted to go somewhere, a desire which was naturally indorsed by Rose. The audience was much amused, because it supposed that Sylvius’s wish was a tribute to the profession of Mrs. Gowndry’s husband, and whatever faint doubts existed about the propriety of alluding in the Pierian Hall to a lavatory-attendant were dispersed.
Sylvia forgot altogether about the audience’s tea when the curtain fell finally. It was difficult to think about anything with so many smiling people pressing round her on the stage. Several old friends came and reminded her of their existence, but there was no one who had quite such a radiant smile as Arthur Lonsdale.
“Lonnie! How nice of you to come!”
“I say, topping, I mean. What? I say, that’s a most extraordinary back-cloth you’ve got. What on earth is it supposed to be? It reminds me of what you feel like when you’re driving a car through a strange town after meeting a man you haven’t seen for some time and who’s just found out a good brand of fizz at the hotel where he’s staying. I was afraid you’d get bitten in the back before you’d finished. I say, Mrs. Gowndry was devilish good. Some of the other lads and lasses were a bit beyond me.”
“And how’s business?”