the chorus girl. With no appearance of effort, she kept her audience under control. She was a radiant temptation, but she was also a highly finished artist who knew exactly what she was doing, and she did it so well that Garnet laughed and laughed. When at last the singer ended her audacious performance and tripped off the stage, Garnet clapped her hands until the palms felt scorched.
Oliver was laughing too. Leaning across the table again, he asked,
“Is that what you wanted?”
The singer had come back to take her bows. Turning her eyes from the stage, Garnet looked up at him in delight.
“Oh yes, yes, yes! Only I didn’t know—Oliver, I just didn’t know variety actresses were as good as that!”
“Most of them aren’t,” said Oliver.
The girl went off and came back several times, but at length it was obvious that the audience was not going to get quiet without another morsel. She paused, just beyond the wings. The orchestra repeated the tune, and she added,
So when the preachers scowl at me and say, “What are you doin’?”
I tell them they should really see the folks who watch my show—
She kissed her hands to them, merrily exclaiming,
You meet the nicest people when you’re on the road to ruin!
Turning, and waving goodby, she finished over her shoulder,
I’ll never, never waste another evening saying no!
Then at last she flashed off into the wings. Garnet turned to Oliver again. She beckoned him to bend his head nearer hers.
“Oliver,” she whispered, “that actress—is she a—is she a fallen woman?”
It was the only term she knew for what she was thinking of. Oliver replied with smothered laughter.
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she looks like it, for one thing. And she didn’t buy those jewels out of her salary. Besides, what would she be doing here if she wasn’t?”
Oliver was having the time of his life. Garnet knew he was having it because she amused him so much, but she did not mind that. She plucked at his sleeve and whispered again.
“Oliver, tell me a word for it. I mean, tell me the words you thought of when you saw her.”
Bringing a pencil from his pocket, Oliver tore a strip from the margin of the printed program. His eyes teased her as he scribbled on it and pushed the bit of paper across the table. On it Garnet read, “Splendid strumpet.”
Garnet nodded thoughtfully. She crumpled up the paper with a vague feeling of astonishment. She didn’t know just what she had expected, but she had not known that when she saw a strumpet she would see a person of such rare quality. Looking down at her program, she said,
“Juliette La Tour—the name sounds French. There aren’t many Frenchwomen as fair as that.”
“I don’t think she’s French. Nearly all performers in this sort of show take highflown names. She’s probably called Bessie Jones back where she comes from.”
“Oh, stop being so matter-of-fact. It’s a lovely name anyway.”
There was a male quartet, then a troupe of acrobats, then Juliette or whatever her name was came back. She was more provocative than before in a princess gown of blue velvet, with a gold chain around her neck and gold bracelets outside her gloves. This time she was accompanied by several men, and she exchanged a musical argument with them, beginning, “What do you expect of a girl who looks like me?”
When the curtains closed for the intermission Oliver asked Garnet if she would like more champagne. She shook her head. She was too excited to want anything.
The curtains opened again. The star displayed her charms in a series of breathtaking gowns, then there were several numbers without her. Then at last, she climaxed the show with an exhibition that was announced on the printed program as a dance.
She appeared in a dress of filmy black over pink, and long black lace gloves. The music began slowly, and she kept time to it with a graceful swaying that showed them a lot of gauzy pink petticoats frothing
Oliver was laughing too. Leaning across the table again, he asked,
“Is that what you wanted?”
The singer had come back to take her bows. Turning her eyes from the stage, Garnet looked up at him in delight.
“Oh yes, yes, yes! Only I didn’t know—Oliver, I just didn’t know variety actresses were as good as that!”
“Most of them aren’t,” said Oliver.
The girl went off and came back several times, but at length it was obvious that the audience was not going to get quiet without another morsel. She paused, just beyond the wings. The orchestra repeated the tune, and she added,
So when the preachers scowl at me and say, “What are you doin’?”
I tell them they should really see the folks who watch my show—
She kissed her hands to them, merrily exclaiming,
You meet the nicest people when you’re on the road to ruin!
Turning, and waving goodby, she finished over her shoulder,
I’ll never, never waste another evening saying no!
Then at last she flashed off into the wings. Garnet turned to Oliver again. She beckoned him to bend his head nearer hers.
“Oliver,” she whispered, “that actress—is she a—is she a fallen woman?”
It was the only term she knew for what she was thinking of. Oliver replied with smothered laughter.
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she looks like it, for one thing. And she didn’t buy those jewels out of her salary. Besides, what would she be doing here if she wasn’t?”
Oliver was having the time of his life. Garnet knew he was having it because she amused him so much, but she did not mind that. She plucked at his sleeve and whispered again.
“Oliver, tell me a word for it. I mean, tell me the words you thought of when you saw her.”
Bringing a pencil from his pocket, Oliver tore a strip from the margin of the printed program. His eyes teased her as he scribbled on it and pushed the bit of paper across the table. On it Garnet read, “Splendid strumpet.”
Garnet nodded thoughtfully. She crumpled up the paper with a vague feeling of astonishment. She didn’t know just what she had expected, but she had not known that when she saw a strumpet she would see a person of such rare quality. Looking down at her program, she said,
“Juliette La Tour—the name sounds French. There aren’t many Frenchwomen as fair as that.”
“I don’t think she’s French. Nearly all performers in this sort of show take highflown names. She’s probably called Bessie Jones back where she comes from.”
“Oh, stop being so matter-of-fact. It’s a lovely name anyway.”
There was a male quartet, then a troupe of acrobats, then Juliette or whatever her name was came back. She was more provocative than before in a princess gown of blue velvet, with a gold chain around her neck and gold bracelets outside her gloves. This time she was accompanied by several men, and she exchanged a musical argument with them, beginning, “What do you expect of a girl who looks like me?”
When the curtains closed for the intermission Oliver asked Garnet if she would like more champagne. She shook her head. She was too excited to want anything.
The curtains opened again. The star displayed her charms in a series of breathtaking gowns, then there were several numbers without her. Then at last, she climaxed the show with an exhibition that was announced on the printed program as a dance.
She appeared in a dress of filmy black over pink, and long black lace gloves. The music began slowly, and she kept time to it with a graceful swaying that showed them a lot of gauzy pink petticoats frothing
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