Mrs. Gregory, in spite of multifarious occupations as the firm’s vice-reine, had by no means forgotten pretty Miss Leigh, nor her cousin’s emphatic instructions; the girl had failed to accompany her to the Gymkhana dance—­“her aunt was ill; she had been unable to leave her”—­a stereotyped excuse to every invitation.  The truth was that Mrs. Krauss, after two or three social efforts, culminating in a large dinner-party to her German neighbours, had collapsed with one of her worst attacks, and between nursing her relative and housekeeping for Herr Krauss (who was shamelessly greedy and exacting), Sophy had not a moment to spare, and the Madras boy turned away all callers—­including Miss Leigh’s friends—­with his mechanical parrot cry, “Missis can’t see!”

CHAPTER XVII

AT THE PLAY

Theatrical performances are the chief entertainment in Burma; the Burmese as a nation delight in plays—­operatic, tragic, opera bouffe and ballets, such as the “Han Pwe,” when a number of young girls, all dressed as royalties, posture and dance with extreme grace; and as their training is perfect, the entertainment evokes unqualified applause.  So interested and absorbed do the audience become in long drawn-out dramatic performances, with interludes of dancing and singing, that they will bring their bedding, and not merely remain all night but several nights—­according as the play may hold them!  As a rule, the background is a palace, and the plot concerns the love story of a prince and princess, which is interrupted by all manner of vicissitudes—­some grotesque, others of genuine pathos; to these the accompaniment of soft, wailing Burmese music is admirably adapted.

Po Sine, the greatest actor in Burma—­an Eastern “star”—­had recently returned to Rangoon from a prolonged tour, and his admirers, who numbered thousands, were all agog to see and welcome him.

The principal theatre was established in a large space at the back of the Great Pagoda, trustfully open to the soft blue night, otherwise strictly encompassed with matting; for in these changed and money-making days, there was an official box-office at the entrance and no admittance without cash payment!  The stage was only raised a foot or two from the ground, and a long row of little lamps threw a becoming red light upon the scene.  Here many rows of chairs were arranged for the use of Europeans, whilst the Easterns sat upon the ground on mats and folded themselves up in easy native fashion.

On the first night of Po Sine’s reappearance, the arena was packed to the utmost limit of the matting.  In the front were assembled many European residents, who were treated to bunches of flowers, paper fans, cheroots and lemonade; also, in a reserved space and on gorgeous rugs, reclined a number of splendidly attired and bejewelled Burmese ladies—­princesses of the Royal house, a sprightly and animated group; their flashing diamond combs and long diamond chains made a feature amid the audience.