When the net was cleared away and the trapezes slung up again in the roof, we had a musical ride, performed by six men and six women mounted on very shiny horses. Mrs. Ascher, of course, objected strongly to the music. I could see her squirming in her seat. Ascher did not find the thing interesting and began to fidget. It was, indeed, much less suggestive than either the learned horse or the acrobats. You cannot discover in a musical ride any parable with a meaning applicable to life. Nothing in the world goes so smoothly and pleasantly. There are always risks even when there are no catastrophes, and catastrophes are far too common. Ascher probably felt that we were out of touch with humanity. He kept looking round, as if seeking some way of escape.
Fortunately Gorman turned up again very soon.
“I hope you won’t mind,” he said, “but I have changed the arrangement for supper. Mrs. Ascher,” he nodded towards the seat in which she was writhing, “wants to meet the Galleotti family. They’re not a family, you know, and of course they’re not called Galleotti. The woman is a Mrs. Briggs, and the tallest of the men is her husband. The other two are no relation. I don’t know their names, but Tim will introduce us.”
I looked at my programme again. It was under the name of the Galleotti Family that the acrobats performed.
“That will be most interesting,” I said.
“I’m afraid it won’t,” said Gorman. “People like that are usually quite stupid. However Mrs. Ascher wanted it, so of course I made arrangements.”
Mrs. Ascher evidently wanted to see life, the most real kind of life, thoroughly. Not contented with having the doorkeeper of a cheap circus sitting, so to speak, in her lap all evening, she was now bent on sharing a meal with a troupe of acrobats.
“It’s rather unlucky,” Gorman went on, “but Mrs. Briggs simply refuses to go to the Plaza. I had a table engaged there.”
“How regal of you, Gorman!” I said.
“You’d have thought she’d have liked it,” he said. “But she made a fuss about clothes. It’s extraordinary how women will.”