were nearly as big as dimes. She was wearing a wickedly-cut dress of black velvet shot with silver.
The applause crashed a welcome. Garnet leaned nearer, looking. She had never, never seen anybody like this.
The girl on the stage was beautiful, but she was more than merely beautiful; she had a radiant vitality that made you want to stand up and cheer. Her figure was superb, and the black and silver dress left no doubt about it. Her hair was so pale that it had a white sheen, like moonbeams. Everything about her was shining: her hair, and her healthy skin, and the long silver gloves that beckoned your eyes upward to her white shoulders. At her throat she wore a diamond pendant. There were more diamonds in her hair, and bracelets outside her gloves. The stones were so small that they had to be real. She looked humorous, and tempting; and with it all she had a certain teasing innocence, as though she knew she had been born to give pleasure and she simply loved doing what she was born for.
At first she stood where she was, laughing, while she let them look at her. After a moment she came toward them, her arms held out to them and her whole being as joyful as if she were going to meet a lover she had been waiting for all day. They clapped and shouted and stamped their feet; they could not have heard her if she had tried to say anything, and she did not try to. She kissed her hands to them over and over, her silver gloves twinkling and her fair hair shimmering in the light, and it was as though she were exclaiming to them, “Oh, I love you, I love you, and we’re going to have such a grand time!”
The orchestra went into the opening bars of a quick tripping melody. The girl on the stage made a gesture of restraint toward her admirers. Ready now to hear her, they began to get quiet, and she broke into a song that seemed to bubble up spontaneously from her own merriment.
Oh I do love living and I have such fun!
And I’ll have a whole lot more before I’m through—
There was nothing remarkable about her voice except that she easily filled the theater with it. She had a decidedly medium range, and had sense enough not to try to go beyond it. But she sang with laughter under the notes, and so clearly that they could understand every word. They loved it.
For I never have been sorry for the things I’ve done,
I’m just sorry for the things I didn’t do.
Garnet reflected that she couldn’t have very much to be sorry for. But with twinkling self-reproach the girl explained,
The balls I never danced at,
The men I never glanced at,
The evenings I would sit at home and sew,
The drinks I never tasted,
And all the time I’ve wasted—
My God, the time I’ve wasted saying no!
Garnet began to laugh. She had been shocked by the chorus girls. But somehow this singer did not shock her at all. This girl was so full of mirth and joy; she looked like an embodiment of pleasure, doing what she wanted to do and having a wonderful time. The rhythm of the music changed again. The singer swished her skirts enough to let them see that she had legs, but not enough to take their minds off the song as she continued,
My mother used to say to me that men were most unpleasant,
And I believed her—yes I did, for that was long ago—
So this is why you find that I’m so busy just at present,
I’m making up for all the time I’ve wasted saying no.
She went on to tell them what a shy maiden she used to be. Then she told them about her adventures, gaily spinning her tuneful yarn. Some of her phrases were quite new to Garnet, but she used her eyes and hips so expertly that a Chinaman could have guessed what she was talking about. Her hearers shouted with laughter. Many of them had evidently heard her sing the song before, for when she came to the choruses they sang with her, tapping their feet and clinking their glasses until the newcomers shouted to them to be quiet. They verged on rowdiness, but this singer did not get rattled like
The applause crashed a welcome. Garnet leaned nearer, looking. She had never, never seen anybody like this.
The girl on the stage was beautiful, but she was more than merely beautiful; she had a radiant vitality that made you want to stand up and cheer. Her figure was superb, and the black and silver dress left no doubt about it. Her hair was so pale that it had a white sheen, like moonbeams. Everything about her was shining: her hair, and her healthy skin, and the long silver gloves that beckoned your eyes upward to her white shoulders. At her throat she wore a diamond pendant. There were more diamonds in her hair, and bracelets outside her gloves. The stones were so small that they had to be real. She looked humorous, and tempting; and with it all she had a certain teasing innocence, as though she knew she had been born to give pleasure and she simply loved doing what she was born for.
At first she stood where she was, laughing, while she let them look at her. After a moment she came toward them, her arms held out to them and her whole being as joyful as if she were going to meet a lover she had been waiting for all day. They clapped and shouted and stamped their feet; they could not have heard her if she had tried to say anything, and she did not try to. She kissed her hands to them over and over, her silver gloves twinkling and her fair hair shimmering in the light, and it was as though she were exclaiming to them, “Oh, I love you, I love you, and we’re going to have such a grand time!”
The orchestra went into the opening bars of a quick tripping melody. The girl on the stage made a gesture of restraint toward her admirers. Ready now to hear her, they began to get quiet, and she broke into a song that seemed to bubble up spontaneously from her own merriment.
Oh I do love living and I have such fun!
And I’ll have a whole lot more before I’m through—
There was nothing remarkable about her voice except that she easily filled the theater with it. She had a decidedly medium range, and had sense enough not to try to go beyond it. But she sang with laughter under the notes, and so clearly that they could understand every word. They loved it.
For I never have been sorry for the things I’ve done,
I’m just sorry for the things I didn’t do.
Garnet reflected that she couldn’t have very much to be sorry for. But with twinkling self-reproach the girl explained,
The balls I never danced at,
The men I never glanced at,
The evenings I would sit at home and sew,
The drinks I never tasted,
And all the time I’ve wasted—
My God, the time I’ve wasted saying no!
Garnet began to laugh. She had been shocked by the chorus girls. But somehow this singer did not shock her at all. This girl was so full of mirth and joy; she looked like an embodiment of pleasure, doing what she wanted to do and having a wonderful time. The rhythm of the music changed again. The singer swished her skirts enough to let them see that she had legs, but not enough to take their minds off the song as she continued,
My mother used to say to me that men were most unpleasant,
And I believed her—yes I did, for that was long ago—
So this is why you find that I’m so busy just at present,
I’m making up for all the time I’ve wasted saying no.
She went on to tell them what a shy maiden she used to be. Then she told them about her adventures, gaily spinning her tuneful yarn. Some of her phrases were quite new to Garnet, but she used her eyes and hips so expertly that a Chinaman could have guessed what she was talking about. Her hearers shouted with laughter. Many of them had evidently heard her sing the song before, for when she came to the choruses they sang with her, tapping their feet and clinking their glasses until the newcomers shouted to them to be quiet. They verged on rowdiness, but this singer did not get rattled like
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