since ceased to notice defects; only the conductor,
the leader, and a few discerning members of the troupe were aware that a
catastrophe had been escaped by pure luck two minutes before the descent
of the curtains.

And at that descent the walls of the Town Hall, which had echoed to
political tirades, the solemn recitatives of oratorios, the mercantile
uproar of bazaars, the banal compliments of prize-givings, the arid
utterances of lecturers on science and art, and the moans of sinners
stricken with a sense of guilt at religious revivals--those walls
resounded to a gay and frenzied ovation which is memorable in the town
for its ungoverned transports of approval. The Operatic Society as a
whole was first acclaimed, all the performers posing in rank on the
stage. Then, as the deafening applause showed no sign of diminution, the
curtains were drawn back instead of being raised again, and the
principals, beginning with the humblest, paraded in pairs in front of
the footlights. Milly and her fortunate cavalier came last. The cavalier
advanced two paces, took Milly's hand, signed to her to cross over, and
retired. The child was left solitary on the stage--solitary, but
unabashed, glowing with delight, and smiling as pertly as ever. The
leader of the orchestra stood up and handed her a wreath, which she
accepted like an oath of fealty; and the wreath, hurriedly manufactured
by the barmaid of the Tiger out of some cut flowers and the old laurel
tree in the Tiger yard, became, when Milly grasped it, a mysterious and
impressive symbol. Many persons in the audience wanted to cry as they
beheld this vision of the proud, confident, triumphant child holding the
wreath, while the fierce upward ray of the footlights illuminated her
small chin and her quivering nostrils. She tripped off backwards, with a
gesture of farewell. The applause continued. Would she return? Not if
the ferocious jealousies behind could have paralysed her as she
hesitated in the wings. But the world was on her side that night; she
responded again, she kissed her hands to her world, and disappeared
still kissing them; and the evening was finished.

* * * * *

'Well,' said Twemlow calmly, 'I guess you've got an actress in the
family.'

Leonora and he remained in their seats, waiting till the press of people
in the aisles should have thinned, and also, so far as Leonora was
concerned, to avoid the necessity of replying to remarks