"I'm glad it's better, because it is our first night at the Petit Maxim to-night. I wonder if I will be having much applause." "So it is," Sylvia said. "I'd forgotten my approaching triumph with the waiters; it's not likely that there'll be any audience when I appear. At nine P.M. sharp the program of the Petit Maxim opened with Miss Sylvia Scarlett's three songs. The gifted young lady--I've reached the age when it's a greater compliment to be called young than beautiful--played and sang with much _verve_. Several waiters ceased from dusting the empty tables to listen, and at the close her exit was hailed by a loud flourish of _serviettes_. The solitary visitor who clapped his hands explained afterward that he was trying to secure some attention to himself, and that thirst, not enthusiasm, had dictated his action." "How you were always going on, Sylvia," said Queenie. "Nobody was ever going to understand you when you talk so quick as that." "Miss Sylvia Scarlett's first song was an old English ballad set to the music of Handel's 'Dead March.'" "If we were ever going to have any dinner, we must go and eat now," Queenie interrupted. "Yes, I don't want to miss the sunset with my last song." "But what does it matter, if you are paid to sing, if you sing first or last?" "The brightest star, my dear, cannot shine by daylight." "But you are stupid, Sylvia. It is no more daylight at nine o'clock." "Yes, I am very stupid," Sylvia agreed, and, catching hold of Queenie's arms, she looked deep into her eyes. "Believe me, you little fairy thing, that I should be much more angry if you were put first on a program than because I am."