Deborah rarely if ever went to theatres, and was not sorry to miss the treat, as they did not appeal to her.
“I never forget that it’s only acting, and at the most serious parts I always feel inclined to laugh,” she remarked.
That was probably because her experience had been somewhat narrowly limited to a few pantomimes and still fewer plays.
The pantomimes, with the exception of one, had been intensely coarse and tawdry. That one indeed, “The Forty Thieves,” had been all that beauty and taste and brightness could make it, but it had not been brought out on the same scale afterwards because it had not paid.
The thing that seemed to take was an intensely vulgar woman with an intensely vulgar face, dressed in an intensely vulgar costume, singing an intensely vulgar song to an —— —— audience.
At the finish of each verse loud laughter and applause greeted her, which naturally only aggravated her intensities, and every time she appeared it was the occasion for a fresh outburst of feeling.
Whether the audience were laughing at the woman or at her song it would be hard to say; probably they knew best themselves. That was some years ago. Things have no doubt improved since then.
However that may be, the theatre had never held any great interest for Deborah beyond this one man. But he probably made up for whatever lack she might have, since she would rather have gone to see him than any sovereign or statesman ever born.
So it was a wonderful piece of good fortune when Jack promised to take her to see him.
It was a terribly stormy night on which they went, and the wind and rain came in great gusts and showers.