“Oh, Ma,” said Lily, as she sugared her coffee, “they do understand things on the continent! They know how to appreciate artistes there. I’ve had such successes!”
“And you were angry with us for teaching you your profession,” said Ma. “You see now that it was for your good.”
“But it depends on how it’s done,” said Lily. “If I had always been treated like this, I should never have left you.”
“Well, you don’t bear your Pa and me a grudge, I suppose,” said Ma, “or you wouldn’t have come back. We knew you’d come back. This has always been your address; your Pa never took your name out of The Era.”
“You didn’t treat me fair,” said Lily, “but I’ve forgotten most of it. Oh, don’t let’s talk about it any more! Let’s talk of something else; let’s talk of you.”
Lily knew all about their struggles, their successes; had heard of it on the stage, in the cafés. But here, in her room, as described by Ma, she put her finger on it, so to speak, and realized more fully what a blank her flight had made, what a catastrophe it had been for them.
And Ma gave details, tried to interest Lily in the fate of the troupe; told her that, for months, the troupe had been refused everywhere, because she wasn’t in it, and her Pa had to change apprentices.
“I was the troupe!” said Lily.
“Oh, the trouble your Pa took running after his own fat freaks! I thought he would get heart-disease! And months of it, without earning a thing. Oh, if your Pa hadn’t had some money ...!”
“But he had plenty!” said Lily.