Mrs. M. I won't have you predicting evil like that; it's not at all nice of you, and you're quite wrong, too; for there's his number in the frame now!
[The Scene on the Stage changes once more from an Oriental Palace to a London Street; a bell tingles; the Orchestra dashes into the air of "The Hansom Cabman," which the bulk of the audience hail with delight; then a stream of limelight is thrown on the boards, and Walter Wildfire appears.
Mrs. M. (after the first verse). I don't know what it is, but there's something about him very different from all the others. And they say he writes all his own songs and music—so clever of him! Quite a striking face he has, rather handsome, with that drooping moustache. Don't you think he's handsome, Thea? (Althea does not answer; Wildfire sings the last verse; as he concludes, the house is hushed for an instant, and then breaks into a thunder of applause.) It's quite beautiful that last verse; poor, poor fellow! it all seemed so real, somehow! Ah, he's not going to sing the last verse again. I'm rather glad, for I very nearly howled, and it would be too silly to cry at a music-hall. (Interval.) Here he is again; how different he looks. I suppose it's the sandwich-boards. (Wildfire goes through the second song with the small child; in the midst of the second stanza, he suddenly falters, and only recovers himself by a violent effort; Althea has bent forward out of the shadow of the curtain.) It's too frightfully pathetic; he's such a dear, isn't he? (The applause is more rapturous than ever; an encore is clamoured for; Wildfire reappears, looking ghastly pale, and makes a mute plea for indulgence; after he has finally retired, the clamour still continues, until the scene and the number are shifted.) He won't sing any more—how sad! Wasn't he charming with that child? (In an undertone.) Why, Althea, darling!
Alth. (in a shaken voice). D—don't speak to me just yet, Cissie. I know it's very foolish of me; but I can't bear it.
Capt. Alch. (to himself). Gad, I'd give somethin' to sing like that Johnny, and make her eyes shine like that!
Mrs. M. Frank, we may as well go now, there's nothing else worth staying for, and I'm sure this horrid tobacco is ruining my poor pearls; or would you rather stay a little longer, Thea?
Alth. Oh, no, no; I don't want to hear anybody else—after that. (To herself, as Capt. A. helps her on with her cloak.) And that is the man Mr. Curphew said nothing would induce him to go and see. And I actually persuaded myself that—— But I am wiser now. He can never be anything to me!
[She leaves the box with her party.
END OF SCENE XII.