She turned quickly on her heel and disappeared.
I was greatly upset, and immediately took steps to have the oversight corrected. I was miserable.
I sent for “Bertie” Hughes, the able general manager of the Sadler’s Wells Ballet company, told him what had happened, explained how distressed I was over the stupid incident.
Hughes smiled his quiet smile.
“Come on, have a drink and forget it,” he said. “‘Madame’ will have forgotten all about it within five minutes of watching the performance.”
As we sipped our drink, I was filled with mortification that “Madame,” of all people, should have run afoul of a too literal interpreter of the regulations.
“Look here,” said Hughes, “cheer up, don’t be disturbed.”
But the evening had been spoiled for me.
A really splendid party followed, given by H. M. Consul General in honor of the company, at San Francisco’s Bohemian Club. The Bohemian Club is one of San Francisco’s genuine landmarks, a famous organization of artists, writers, professional and business men, whose “High Jinks” and “Low Jinks” in midsummer are among the cultural highlights of the area.
Dispirited, I went only from a sense of duty. It turned out to be one of the fine parties of the entire tour; but I was fatigued, distraught, and the de Valois contretemps still oppressed me. I helped myself to some food, and hid away in a corner. I was, to put it bluntly, in a vile mood.