The performance was of the usual class, and showed little originality, although it was entirely new to the girl, who had lived most of her life in Crumel. Acrobats tumbled, thought-readers performed their wonders, musical Americans played various instruments, and interspersed their jangling with United States slang, delivered in nasal voices, and various crack comedians sang the comic songs of the day, which were--Clarice thought--but dreary productions. She enjoyed the performance, however, as it was all new to her, but wondered what Ferdy could find in the "turns" to come there night after night. Perhaps "The Birth of the Butterfly" would be more artistic and amusing, and it came on at nine o'clock. This was the especial moment for which Clarice had waited all the evening. Immediately before the curtain rose on the sketch, a little overdressed woman came pushing along to the vacant seat beside Miss Baird. She turned to see who it was, and to her dismay recognised Mrs. Dumps. The little woman also recognised--as she thought--Clarice's brother, and exchanged greetings very affably. "Though I'm not astonished to see you here, Mr. Ferdinand," said Mrs. Dumps, in her voluble way, "Zara says that you come nearly every night to see her sketch." "Don't you come yourself, Mrs. Dumps?" said Clarice, carefully imitating her brother's voice, and rejoiced to see that even keen-eyed Mrs. Dumps did not know her. "I don't," said Mrs. Dumps, screwing up her mouth. "I've been weeks in London, but this is the first time I've been to see Zara play, although she has begged me on her bended knees. But I was brought up a Churchwoman, and I don't hold with theatres, much less with ungodly music-halls. Zara would go on the stage, being always bent on having her own way, although I said I'd curse her if she did." "And did you?" asked Clarice, quietly, perfectly certain that her disguise could not be penetrated. "What would have been the good?" said Mrs. Dumps, crossly, "seeing that Zara is my own daughter, and my only one, and not Dumps' child either, though she took his name. My first husband was her father, Mr. Ferdinand, so when you marry her, you will have to take her as Sarah Twine, that being the poor man's name. Hush! here's the piece beginning. I do hope it's respectable. Zara said it was, else I should not have come. Oh, dear me," wailed Mrs. Dumps, in an under tone, "how dreadful it is to have my child and Twine's appearing on the wicked, wicked, bad, evil, shameless stage."