Another professional lady came in, and inquired generously, "Are you drinking, girls?"
Miss Lascelles said, "Yes, we've got port wine."
"Serve you right," said the other lady, with a pretty wit.
Though she was on the high road to Prague, Lady Darlington was relieved to see that the clock pointed to five minutes to ten. When the Lounge closed, the party shook hands with her heartily, and hoped they would meet her again in the morning. Distressingly ill-bred of them to drink port in a smoky bar—not at all the sort of thing I can ask you to condone. But some of the sirens who had lolled in velvet fauteuils were financing on coppers until the first week's treasury was paid, and tea and bread-and-butter was all they had had to support their internal economies during the day. How amused the very young men in the stalls would be at my simplicity in believing it!
CHAPTER XIV
Since the last chapter went away to be typewritten I, myself, have been in the theatre on Blithepoint Pier. A pantomime was being performed. The seat I was in yielded me a view of more than I had paid to look at; I could see the Prompt entrance, which is the place where they signal for the sunset and the moonbeams and where the players come to peep at the doings on the stage. Last night a young woman came there. She wore a brief, blue skirt, and a silver crown, and for the nonce an unlovely wrap hung over her whitened back and bosom, since you may get rheumatism in the Prompt entrance, as well as moonbeams. Before the footlights two comic men were bawling a duet; I knew they were comic because they had made their faces so repulsive; and the spirit moving her, the woman broke into lazy dance steps to the refrain. In the glare, and the distance she was pretty. As I watched, I felt instinctively for the hand of Rosalind; I knew the craving that was in her blood, and turned to meet her gaze. If she had been there, I think she would have liked me. I said, "Those who saw that would understand Rosalind; the tawdry figure dancing in the draught says everything!" That was why I brought the picture at home, to show it to you ... but somehow, all at once, I doubt whether you will understand any better than you did.
However I beg you to believe that on the morrow Rosalind accompanied Tattie Lascelles to a rehearsal with infinite zest. She had no right to accompany her, but a discussion was in progress when they arrived, and she passed unchallenged. Mr. Omee, the local manager, who stood in the pit, was talking to Mr. Quisby, the travelling manager, who stood on the stage. It appeared that owing to the pressure of Christmas traffic, the railway company had failed to dispatch the scenery.
"Well, but who has been to the station? What do they say?"
"I tell you the fools at this end don't know anything about it."