Violet retraced her steps and came on again with the nervous air of an amateur walking the tightrope.
Eliphalet tapped with his stick on the brass rail of the orchestra pit.
“A little more natural grace, please,” he suggested. “And shouldn’t you be singing here?”
“Oh, yes, I forgot.”
“Quite—but please don’t forget.”
Then Mr. Manning, “Once more, please!” And a glance at his watch, for the stage-manager was a person who took lunch seriously.
This time she succeeded better with the manœuvre and produced a humming sound intended to indicate a carefree damsel enjoying the evening air.
Then from the assumed shadow of the mill leapt two figures and barred her way.
“Sir Jasper—you!” cried the girl.
“Yes, me.”