As for himself, he was at his best, and he knew it; he sang, 'The starry
night brings me no rest' with such a _verve_ that the enthusiasm of the
audience was unbounded; even Miss Burgoyne--Miss Grace Mainwaring, that
is, who was perched up on a bit of scaffolding in order to throw a rose
to her lover--listened with a new interest, instead of being busy with
her ribbons and the set of her hair; and when she opened the casement in
answer to his impassioned appeal, she kissed the crimson-cotton blossom
thrice ere she dropped it to her enraptured swain below. This was all
very well; but when the comic man took possession of the stage,
Lionel--instead of going off to his dressing-room to glance at an
evening paper or have a chat with some acquaintance--remained in the
wings, looking on with an indescribable loathing. This hideous
farcicality seemed more vulgar than ever? what would Honnor Cunyngham
think of his associates? He felt as if he were an accomplice in foisting
this wretched music-hall stuff on the public. And the mother--the tall
lady with the proud, fine features and the grave and placid voice--what
would she think of the new acquaintance whom her daughter had introduced
to her? Had it been Lady Adela or her sisters, he would not have cared
one jot.
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