“Of course she’s here—_and_ pore Aggie Wilkinson, of course. Why, they wouldn’t have missed it for nothing. It’s only to be hoped that Mrs. B. don’t fall over in the excitement. She’s in the front row of the upper circle, and if she did come down she’d about wipe out the front six rows of the pit. Still, I daresay Aggie will hook one of her pore crutches in the back of Mrs. B’s bodice which is bound to bust open in the first five minutes. The last time she and me went to the theatre she looked more like a tug-of-war than a respectable woman before the piece was over.” “The overture’s beginning,” Nancy whispered, for people were beginning to turn round and stare at the apple-cheeked old lady who was talking so volubly in the middle of the stalls. “So any one can see by the airs that conductor fellow’s giving himself. Why band-conductors should be so cocky I never _could_ fathom. It isn’t as if they did anything except wave that blessed bit of wood like a kid with a hoopstick. It’s the same with bus-conductors. They give theirselves as many airs as if they was driving the blessed bus itself. That’s it, now start tapping,” she went on in a tone of profound contempt. “Yes, if he dropped that silly bit of wood and got down off that high chair and did an honest night’s work banging the drum, perhaps he might give himself a few airs. Ah, now they’re off, and depend upon it that conductor-fellow thinks, if he stopped waving, the band would stop playing, and which of course is radicalous.” The overture finished. The first bars of the opening chorus were being played. The curtain rose. “There she is! There she is!” Mrs. Pottage gasped when from the crowded stage she disentangled Letizia’s debonair self. “And don’t she look a picture, the pretty jool!” When the moment came for Letizia to sing her first song, her mother shut her eyes against the theatre that was spinning before them like a gigantic humming-top. It seemed an hour before she heard Letizia’s voice ringing out clear and sweet and cool across the footlights. She saw her win the hearts of the audience until they were all turned into one great heart beating for her. She heard the surge of her first encore, and then she might have fainted if Mrs. Pottage had not dug her sharply in the ribs at that moment. “Did you hear what that old buffer in front of us said?” Mrs. Pottage whispered hoarsely. “Something nice about Letizia?” she whispered back. “He said he was damned if she wasn’t the best girl John Richards had found for years. And how I didn’t get up and kiss the blessed top of his bald head I’m bothered if I know.” The curtain fell on the first act, and the loudest applause was always for Letizia. “Oh, she’s knocked ’em,” Mrs. Pottage declared. “She’s absolutely knocked ’em. But she’s lovely! And, oh, dear, God bless us both, but how she did remind me of her pore father once or twice.” The old lady fumbled for Nancy’s hand and squeezed it hard.