He stood for a moment, unconsciously and irresistibly admiring her.
Then, with a little shake of his head, answered her remark. "No, no, he
is most nervous always. It is your amateur who knows no stage-fright.
Papa," he went on, using the name that to English ears sounds so
strangely on grown-up lips, "says he invariably feels as though the
audience were wild beasts going to rush at him and tear him to
pieces--until he has played one number."
"And after the concert?"
As she spoke dinner was announced, and while they went down the passage
to the dining-room at the tail of the little procession, he answered
with a laugh, "Oh, _afterwards_ a child could eat out of his hand. He is
honey and milk, nectar and--_ambrrrrosia_!"
The dinner was noisy. Lady Kingsmead always shrieked, as did Mrs.
Newlyn, and her other guests either bellowed or screamed, with the
exception of Yelverton, who was hungry and said little.
Brigit sat between him and young Joyselle. It was nice to have the boy
next her, but his adoration was too obvious to be altogether
comfortable.
Freddy Newlyn told some new stories, all delightfully vulgar; Carron
gave a realistic _resume_ of a recent French play.
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