“I’m sure it doesn’t—look at its eyes! I never saw anything so—so anxious. Makes you want to pick it up and nurse it,” said his sister, a straight young monument of indignation. “Thank goodness, it’s gone!” as the little orchid danced off with the tiger lily. She subsided, somewhat to Jim’s relief. He was not sure that he had liked the baby orchid himself.
Then came the final scene, a vision of Aladdin’s Cave, massed with every gem known of man, and a great number more known only of the stage; and all gorgeous and glittering beyond any mortal dreams. Rubies as big as turkeys’ eggs, and emeralds the size of barrels; and walls and ceiling a flashing, scintillating mass of diamonds. “Worth while having a vacuum cleaner there,” Wally commented—“you’d only get diamond dust!” And in this wondrous setting, a shifting panorama of moving figures, almost as vivid as the gems themselves; fairies and sprites and marvellous flowers, and tall, slender soldiers in gleaming coats of silver mail. And always the music that made the magic by which everything grew real.
Then, suddenly the curtain; and Norah came out of her trance, blinking a little.
“Is that the end?”
“Quite the end,” said her father. “Come on, my girl; it’s high time you were in bed.” He put a protecting hand on her shoulder, and piloted her through the crowd, while Jim and Wally performed a like kind office for the similarly dazed Jean.
Out in Bourke Street, the cooler air blew gratefully upon Norah’s hot face. But she was very silent as the tram took them back to the hotel; and when she said good-night, her father scanned her face keenly.
“Sure you’re not over-tired, Norah?”
“Not me!” said Norah, absent-mindedly and inelegantly. “I’m all right, Daddy.”
“Then you’re half in the theatre yet,” said he, laughing. “Go to bed.”
Norah went, obediently. Just as Jean was falling asleep, a voice came from the bed across the room—