“And you actually think that this Lalage Virtue is as respectable a woman as your cousin?”
“Oh, I dont bother myself about it. I shouldnt have thought of comparing them if you hadnt started the idea. Marian’s way is not the other one’s way, and each of them is all right in her own way. Look here. I’ll introduce you to Lalage. We can pick up somebody else to make a party for you, and finish with a supper at Jellicoe’s.”
“Are you privileged to introduce whom you like to Miss Lalage?”
“Well, as to that, she doesnt stand much on ceremony; but then, you see, that cuts two ways. The mere introducing is no difficulty; but it depends on the man himself whether he gets snubbed afterward or not. By the bye, you must understand, if you dont know it already, that Lalage is as correct in her morals as a bishop’s wife. I just tell you, because some fellows seem to think that a woman who goes on the stage leaves her propriety behind as a matter of course. In fact, I rather thought so myself once. Not that you wont find loose women there as well as anywhere else, if you want to. But dont take it for granted, that’s all.”
“Well,” said Conolly, “you may introduce me, and we can consider the supper afterwards. Would it be indiscreet to ask how you obtained your own introduction? You dont, I suppose, move in the same circle as she; and if she is as particular as your own people, she can hardly form promiscuous acquaintanceships.”
“A man at the point of death does not stop to think about etiquet. She saved my life.”
“Saved your life! That sounds romantic.”
“There was precious little romance about it, though I owe my being alive now to her presence of mind. It happened in the rummest way. I was brought behind the scenes one night by a Cambridge chum. We were painting the town a bit red. We were not exactly drunk; but we were not particularly sober either; and I was very green at that time, and made a fool of myself about Lalage: staring; clapping like a madman in the middle of her songs; getting into the way of everybody and everything, and so on. Then a couple of fellows we knew turned up, and we got chatting at the wing with some girls. At last a fellow came in with a bag of cherries; and we began trying that old trick — you know — taking the end of a stalk between your lips and drawing the cherry into the mouth without touching it with your hand, you know. I tried it; and I was just getting the cherry into my mouth when some idiot gave me a drive in the waistcoat. I made a gulp; and the cherry stuck fast in my throat. I began to choke. Nobody knew what to do; and while they were pushing me about, some thinking I was only pretending, the girls beginning to get frightened, and the rest shouting at me to swallow the confounded thing, I was getting black in the face, and my head was bursting: I could see nothing but red spots. It was a near thing, I tell you. Suddenly I got a shake; and then a little fist gave me a stunning thump on the back, that made the cherry bounce out against my palate. I gasped and coughed like a grampus: the stalk was down my throat still. Then the little hand grabbed my throat and made me open my mouth wide; and the cherry was pulled out, stalk and all. It was Lalage who did this while the rest were gaping helplessly. I dont remember what followed. I thought I had fainted; but it appears that I nearly cried, and talked the most awful nonsense to her. I suppose the choking made me hysterical. However, I distinctly recollect the stage manager bullying the girls, and turning us all out. I was very angry with myself for being childish, as they told me I had been; and when I got back to Cambridge I actually took to reading. A few months afterward I made another trip to town, and went behind the scenes again. She recognized me, and chaffed me about the cherry. I jumped at my chance; I improved the acquaintance; and now I know her pretty well.”
“You doubt whether any of the ladies that were with us at the concert would have been equally useful in such an emergency?”
“I should think I do doubt it, my boy. Hush! Now that the ballet is over, we are annoying people by talking.”
“You are right,” replied Conolly. “Aha! Here is Miss Lalage again.”
Marmaduke raised his opera-glass to his eyes, eager for another smile from the actress. He seemed about to be gratified; for her glance was travelling toward him along the row of stalls. But it was arrested by Conolly, on whom she looked with perceptible surprise and dismay. Lind, puzzled, turned toward his companion, and found him smiling maliciously at Mademoiselle Lalage, who recovered her vivacity with an effort, and continued her part with more nervousness than he had ever seen her display before.
Shortly before the curtain fell, they left the theatre, and reentered it by the stage door.
“Queer place, isnt it?” said Lind.
Conolly nodded, but went forward like one well accustomed to the dingy labyrinth of oldfashioned stages. Presently they came upon Lalage. She was much heated by her exertions, thickly painted, and very angry.
“Well?” she said quarrelsomely.
Marmaduke, perceiving that her challenge was not addressed to him, but to Conolly, looked from one to the other, mystified.
“I have come to see you act at last,” said Conolly.
“You might have told me you were coming. I could have got you a stall, although I suppose you would have preferred to throw away your money like a fool.”
“I must admit, my dear,” said Conolly, “that I could have spent it to much greater advantage.”
“Indeed! and you!” she said, turning to Lind, whose deepening color betrayed his growing mortification: “what is the matter with you?”
“I have played a trick on your friend,” said Conolly. “He suggested this visit; and I did not tell him of the relation between us. Finding us on terms of familiarity, if not of affection, he is naturally surprised.”
“As I have never tried to meddle with your private affairs,” said
Marmaduke to Lalage, “I need not apologize for not knowing your husband.
But I regret — —”
The actress laughed in spite of her vexation. “Why, you silly old thing!” she exclaimed, “he is no more my husband than you are!”
“Oh!” said Marmaduke. “Indeed!”
“I am her brother,” said Conolly considerately, stifling a smile.
“Why,” said Mademoiselle Lalage fiercely, raising her voice, “what else did you think?”
“Hush,” said Conolly, “we are talking too much in this crowd. You had better change your dress, Susanna, and then we can settle what to do next.”
“You can settle what you please,” she replied. “I am going home.”
“Mr. Lind has suggested our supping together,” said Conolly, observing her curiously.
Susanna looked quickly at them.
“Who is Mr. Lind?” she said.
“Your friend, of course,” said Conolly, with an answering flash of intelligence that brought out the resemblance between them startlingly. “Mr. Marmaduke Lind.”
Marmaduke became very red as they both waited for him to explain.
“I thought that you would perhaps join us at supper,” he said to
Susanna.
“Did you?” she said, threateningly. Then she turned her back on him and went to her dressing-room.
“Well, Mr. Lind,” said Conolly, “what do you think of Mademoiselle
Lalage now?”
“I think her annoyance is very natural,” said Marmaduke, gloomily. “No doubt