ree from
its customary prison and joyously displayed its best side to the
company. The universal chatter amounted to a din.

But Leonora, cut off by empty seats on either hand, sat silent. She was
glad to be able to do so. She would have liked to be at home in
solitude, to think. For she was, if not unhappy, at any rate disturbed
and dubious. She felt embarrassed amid this glare and this bright murmur
of conversation, as though she were being watched, discussed, and
criticised. She was the mother of the star, responsible for the star,
guilty of all the star's indiscretions. And it was a timorous, reluctant
pride which she took in her daughter's success. The truth was that Milly
had astonished and frightened her. When Ethel and Milly were allowed to
join the Society, the possible results of the permission had not been
foreseen. Both Leonora and John had thought of the girls as modest
members of the chorus in an affair unmistakably and confessedly amateur.
Ethel had kept within the anticipation. But here was Milly an actress,
exploiting herself with unconstrained gestures and arch glances and
twirlings of her short skirt, to a crowded and miscellaneous audience.
Leonora did not like it; her susceptibilities were outraged. She blushed
at this amazing public contradiction of Milly's bringing-up. It seemed
to her as if she had never known the real Milly, and knew her now for
the first time. What would the other mothers think? What would all
Hillport think secretly, and say openly behind the backs of the
Stanways? The girl was as innocent as a fawn, she had the free grace of
extreme youth; no one could utter a word against her. But she was
rouged, her lips were painted, several times she had shown her knees,
and she seemed incapable of shyness. She was at home on the stage, she
faced a thousand people with a pert, a brazen attitude, and said, 'Look
at me; enjoy me, as I enjoy your fervent glances; I am here to tickle
your fancy.' Patience! She was no more Patience than she was Sister Dora
or a heroine of Charlotte Yonge's. She was the eternal unashamed doll,
who twists 'men' round her little finger, and smiles on them, always
with an instinct for finance.

'Quite a score for Milly!' said a polite voice in Leonora's ear. It was
Mrs. Burgess, who sat in the next row.

'Do you think so?' Leonora replied, perceptibly reddening.

'Oh, yes!' said Mrs. Burgess with smooth insistence. 'And dear Ethel is
very sweet in the chorus,