"Oh, do keep quiet," came unexpectedly from Lorry. "The heat in that place has given me a headache."
Then they were contrite, for Lorry almost never had anything, and their attentions and inquiries had to be endured most of the way home.
Crowder, contrary to his expectations, found Pancha in high good spirits. When a piece failed she was wont to display that exaggerated discouragement peculiar to the artist. Tonight, sitting in front of her mirror, she was as confident and smiling as she had been in the first week of "The Zingara."
"I'm glad to see you're taking it so well," he said. "It's pretty hard following on a big success."
"Oh, it's all in the day's work. You can't hit the bull's eye every time.
The management are going to dig down into their barrel next week, hunting
for another gypsy rôle. They want me again in my braids and my spangles.
They liked my red and orange—Spanish colors for the Spanish girl."
She flashed her gleaming smile at him and he thought how remarkably well she was looking, getting handsomer every day. Her words recalled something he had wanted to ask her and had forgotten.
"Talking of red and orange, how about that anonymous guy that sent you the flowers? You remember, back in the autumn—a lot of roses with a motto he got out of a Christmas cracker?"
She had her comb in her hand and dropped it, leaning down to scratch round for it on the floor.
"Oh, him—he's just petered out."
"Did you find out who he was?"