The charm of that was lost. Margaret, who had not previously seen this girl but who had heard of her from Lennox, was speaking to him.
"It was her father, was it?" Then, dismissing it, she asked anxiously: "But do tell me, Keith, what did the medium say?"
"That I would be up for murder."
Margaret's eyes widened. But, judging it ridiculous, she exclaimed: "Was that all?"
"All!" Lennox grimly repeated. "What more would you have?" Abruptly he laughed. "I don't wonder Mrs. Amsterdam wanted her money back."
On the stage, from jungles of underwear, legs were tossing. The orchestra had become frankly canaille. Moreover the crowd of Goodness knows who had increased. A person had the temerity to elbow Mrs. Austen and the audacity to smile at her. It was the finishing touch.
She poked at Margaret. "Come."
As they moved on, a man smiled at Lennox, who, without stopping, gave him a hand.
He was an inkbeast. But there was nothing commercial in his appearance. Ordinarily, he looked like a somnambulist. When he was talking, he resembled a comedian. In greeting Lennox he seemed to be in a pleasant dream. The crowd swallowed him.
"Who was that?" Mrs. Austen enquired.