But Leonora, cut off by empty seats on either hand, sat silent.  She was glad to be able to do so.  She would have liked to be at home in solitude, to think.  For she was, if not unhappy, at any rate disturbed and dubious.  She felt embarrassed amid this glare and this bright murmur of conversation, as though she were being watched, discussed, and criticised.  She was the mother of the star, responsible for the star, guilty of all the star’s indiscretions.  And it was a timorous, reluctant pride which she took in her daughter’s success.  The truth was that Milly had astonished and frightened her.  When Ethel and Milly were allowed to join the Society, the possible results of the permission had not been foreseen.  Both Leonora and John had thought of the girls as modest members of the chorus in an affair unmistakably and confessedly amateur.  Ethel had kept within the anticipation.  But here was Milly an actress, exploiting herself with unconstrained gestures and arch glances and twirlings of her short skirt, to a crowded and miscellaneous audience.  Leonora did not like it; her susceptibilities were outraged.  She blushed at this amazing public contradiction of Milly’s bringing-up.  It seemed to her as if she had never known the real Milly, and knew her now for the first time.  What would the other mothers think?  What would all Hillport think secretly, and say openly behind the backs of the Stanways?  The girl was as innocent as a fawn, she had the free grace of extreme youth; no one could utter a word against her.  But she was rouged, her lips were painted, several times she had shown her knees, and she seemed incapable of shyness.  She was at home on the stage, she faced a thousand people with a pert, a brazen attitude, and said, ’Look at me; enjoy me, as I enjoy your fervent glances; I am here to tickle your fancy.’  Patience!  She was no more Patience than she was Sister Dora or a heroine of Charlotte Yonge’s.  She was the eternal unashamed doll, who twists ‘men’ round her little finger, and smiles on them, always with an instinct for finance.

‘Quite a score for Milly!’ said a polite voice in Leonora’s ear.  It was Mrs. Burgess, who sat in the next row.

‘Do you think so?’ Leonora replied, perceptibly reddening.

‘Oh, yes!’ said Mrs. Burgess with smooth insistence.  ’And dear Ethel is very sweet in the chorus, too.’

Leonora tried to fix her thoughts on the grateful figure of mild, nervous, passionate Ethel, the child of her deepest affection.

She turned sharply.  Arthur Twemlow was standing in the shadow of the side-aisle near the door.  She knew he was there before her eyes saw him.  He was evidently rather at a loss, unnoticed, and irresolute.  He caught sight of her and bowed.  She said to herself that she wished to be alone in her embarrassment, that she could not bear to talk to any one; nevertheless, she raised her finger, and beckoned to him, while striving hard to refrain from doing so.  He approached at once.  ’He is not in America,’ she reflected in sudden agitation, ’He is here, actually here.  In an instant we shall speak.’