"Like what?" she said. "I don't know what it's meant to be."
"Oh!" Chrystie groaned, then shook her head at Mark. "Trust your relations to take down your pride. Why, it's the Castanet song from 'The Zingara!' Tum-tum-tum, tum-tum-tum," and she began swaying her body in time, humming an air and banging out the accompaniment, "'With my castanets, with my castanets.' That's exactly the way it goes only I don't know the words." She whirled again to Mark. "It's the most delicious thing! Have you seen it?"
He hadn't, and Chrystie sank together on the stool in reproachful surprise.
"Oh, Mr. Burrage, you must go. Don't lose a minute, this very night."
Lorry breathed an embarrassed "Chrystie!"
"I didn't mean that and he knows it. I mean the soonest night after tonight. We went yesterday and even Aunt Ellen loved it. Didn't you, Aunt Ellen?"
Aunt Ellen, startled from surreptitious slumber, gave an unnaturally loud assent to which Chrystie paid no attention.
"It's the new opera at the Albion and Pancha Lopez is—" She threw out her hands and looked at the ceiling, words inadequate.
"She's never done anything so good before," Lorry said.
"All in red and orange, and coins everywhere. Orange stockings and cute little red slippers, and two long braids of black hair. Oh, down to there," Chrystie thrust out her foot, her skirt drawn close over a stalwart leg, on which, just above the knee, she laid her finger tips. Her eyes on Mark were as unconscious as a baby's. "I don't think it's all her own, it's too long—I'll ask Charlie Crowder."