"That's a stunnin' dress," he added. "Keep your cloak well over it."
She said nothing.
"What's the row?" he asked. "Anythin' up?"
"I'm thinking over my songs."
"Oh, I see."
She had silenced him for the moment.
Very soon they were in a long line of carriages and motors moving slowly
towards Manchester House.
"Goin' to be a deuce of a crowd," said Fritz.
"Naturally."
"Wonder who'll be there?"
"Everybody who's still in town."
She bowed to a man in a hansom.
"Who's that?"
"Plancon. He's singing."
"How long'll it be before you come on?"
"Quite an hour, I think."
"Better than bein' first, isn't it?"
"Of course."
"What are you goin' to sing?"
"Oh--"
She was about to say something impatient about his not knowing one tune
from another, but she checked herself, and answered quietly:
"An Italian song and a French song."
"What about?"
"Take care of that carriage in front--love."
He looked at her sideways.
"You're the one to sing about that," he said.
She felt that he was admiring her beauty as if it were new to him. She
did not care.
At last they reached Manchester House. Fritz's place was taken by his
chauffeur, and they got out. The crowd was enormous. Many people
recognised Lady Holme and greeted her. Others, who did not know her
personally, looked at her with open curiosity. A powdered footman came to
show her to the improvised artists' room.
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