for one reason,
because she gave these broad-ribboned ladies a good excuse for
allowing their lords to stop where they were so comfortable,
a continually-extending five minutes longer.

Yet, though the words were foreign and the style of the song and the
singer were strange, many of the older fellows' eyes twinkled, and their
mouths pursed with a kind of half-protesting pleasure. All were reverent
to the compliment paid them by Emilia's presence. The general expression
was much like that seen when the popular ear is given to the national
anthem. Wilfrid hung at the opening of the booth, a cynical spectator.
For what on earth made her throw such energy, and glory of music, into a
song before fellows like these? He laughed dolorously, "she hasn't a
particle of any sense of ridicule," he said to himself. Forthwith her
voice took hold of him, and led him as heroes of old were led unwillingly
into enchanted woods. If she had been singing things holy, a hymn, a
hallelujah, in this company, it struck him that somehow it would have
seemed appropriate; not objectionable; at any rate, not ridiculous. Dr.
Watts would have put a girdle about her; but a song of romance sung in
this atmosphere of pipes and beer and boozy heads, chagrined Wilfrid in
proportion as the softer half of him began to succumb to the
deliciousness of her voice.

Emilia may have had some warning sense that admiration is only one
ingredient of homage, that to make it fast and true affection must be
won. Now, poor people, yokels, clods, cannot love what is
incomprehensible to them. An idol must have their attributes: a king must
show his face now and then: a song must appeal to their intelligence, to
subdue them quite. This, as we know, is not the case in the higher
circles. Emilia may have divined it: possibly from the very great respect
with which her finale was greeted. Vigorous as the "Brayvos" were, they
sounded abashed: they lacked abandonment. In fact, it was gratitude that
applauded, and not enthusiasm. "Hillford don't hear stuff like that, do
'em?" which was the main verbal encomium passed, may be taken
testificatorily as to this point.

"Dame! dame!" cried Emilia, finding her way quickly to one of the more
decently-bonneted women; "am I not glad to see you here! Did I please
you? And you, dear Farmer Wilson? I caught sight of you just as I was
finishing. I remember the song you like, and I want to sing it. I know
the tune, but the words! the words!