er for anything so characteristic as an
English music-hall, with its half-participating audience. "Hurrah for
Maudie!" as some favourite took the boards to sing, with her shoulders
hunched up to the brim of her enormous hat, a heartrending song about
her mother.

Joanna watched Bertie as he lounged beside her. She knew that he was
sulking--the mere fact that he was entertaining her cheaply, by 'bus and
music-hall instead of taxi and theatre, pointed to his displeasure. She
wondered if he was enjoying this queer show, which struck her
alternately as inexpressibly beautiful and inexpressibly vulgar. The
lovely ladies like big handsome barmaids, who sang serious songs in
evening dress and diamonds, apparently in the vicinity of Clapham High
Street or the Monument, were merely incomprehensible. She could not
understand what they were doing. The comedians she found amusing, when
they did not shock her--Bertie had explained to her one or two of the
jokes she could not understand. The "song-scenas" and acrobatic displays
filled her with rapture. She would have liked that sort of thing the
whole time.... Albert said it was a dull show, he grumbled at
everything, especially the turns Joanna liked. But gradually the warm,
friendly, vulgar atmosphere of the place infected him--he joined in one
or two of the choruses, and seemed almost to forget about Joanna.

She watched him as he leaned back in his seat, singing--

"Take me back to Pompeii--
To Pompey-ompey-i--"

In the dim red light of the place, he looked incredibly young. She could
see only his profile--the backward sweep of glistening, pomaded hair,
the little short straight nose, the sensual, fretful lips--and as she
watched him she was smitten with a queer sense of pity. This was no
strong man, no lover and husband--just a little clerk she was going to
shut up in prison--a little singing clerk. She felt a brute--she put
out her hand and slid it under his arm, against his warm side.

"To Pompey-ompey-i"

sang Bert.

Sec.30

The curtain came down and the lights went up for the interval. A brass
band played very loud. Joanna was beginning to have a bit of a headache,
but she said nothing--she did not want him to leave on her account--or
to find that he did not think of leaving.... She felt very hot, and
fanned herself with her programme. Most of the audience were hot.

"Joanna," said Bert, "don't you ever use powder?"

"Powder? What d'you mean?"