Blinking up at the lights, Mainhall added
in his luxurious, worldly way: "She's an elegant
little person, and quite capable of an extravagant
bit of sentiment like that. Here comes
Sir Harry Towne. He's another who's
awfully keen about her. Let me introduce you.
Sir Harry Towne, Mr. Bartley Alexander,
the American engineer."
Sir Harry Towne bowed and said that he had
met Mr. Alexander and his wife in Tokyo.
Mainhall cut in impatiently.
"I say, Sir Harry, the little girl's
going famously to-night, isn't she?"
Sir Harry wrinkled his brows judiciously.
"Do you know, I thought the dance a bit
conscious to-night, for the first time. The fact
is, she's feeling rather seedy, poor child.
Westmere and I were back after the first act,
and we thought she seemed quite uncertain of
herself. A little attack of nerves, possibly."
He bowed as the warning bell rang, and
Mainhall whispered: "You know Lord Westmere,
of course,--the stooped man with the
long gray mustache, talking to Lady Dowle.
Lady Westmere is very fond of Hilda."
When they reached their box the house
was darkened and the orchestra was playing
"The Cloak of Old Gaul." In a moment
Peggy was on the stage again, and Alexander
applauded vigorously with the rest. He even
leaned forward over the rail a little. For some
reason he felt pleased and flattered by the
enthusiasm of the audience. In the half-light
he looked about at the stalls and boxes and
smiled a little consciously, recalling with
amusement Sir Harry's judicial frown.
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