bottles,
gilt balls--and then waited humbly in the shadow.

Lily recognized Para, who used to exhibit a troupe of parrots; somebody
had put her "in his show," no doubt, the Para-Paras, a new turn.

"How poor she looks!" Lily could not help whispering to Ma.

"You'll be worse off yourself, some day," said Ma, "if you go on as you're
doing! Don't laugh at other people."

Lily had dressed quickly and had come down to the stage with the Three
Graces and they had ten minutes of joking behind the scenes, while Ma was
still up-stairs, busy with the girls. Thea walked on tip-toe to restore
the circulation to her legs; Kala practised back-bendings: Lily applauded
with the tip of her thumbnail, flung back her head and laughed and, from
time to time, looked round over her shoulder to see if Ma was coming
down.

She amused herself also by feeling Thea's arms, all those little muscles
which stood out, man's arms: she would have liked to nestle in them, to
feel herself squeezed till she cried out. And everything around them
savored of love: there were lots of Roofers; little intrigues were
embarked upon; there were stifled fits of laughter and cries of "Hands
off!" and "Stop!" Amorous speeches and stories of romantic adventures were
exchanged in whispers; the flight of the Gilson girl, the other day, at
Liverpool, was told in full detail; a Roofer, it seemed, giving a high
kick the day before, had sent her slipper flying into the audience; it was
returned to her filled with chocolate creams; and to-day there was a
boquet with a letter in it.

Ting! The curtain, the light; and, on the stage, the Roofers were
glittering with gold and silver and their boyish voices came in gusts,
punctuated by the jerky flights of their short skirts.

"Your old sweetheart, eh, Lily?" said Thea, pointing to the boy-violinist,
who had just arrived.

Lily had only a careless glance for the boy-violinist, who was wiping his
eye-glasses and pulling at his cuffs, while a call-boy was adjusting the
false seat into which two bulldogs would presently dig their teeth. All
the fascination was gone for Lily: it was no longer the child prodigy; a
grotesque Orpheus, in a laurel and parsley crown, he now introduced his
music-hating dogs, who interrupted his performance with plaintive and
angry howls and ended by leaping at the seat of his trousers in a mad rush
across the stage.

Lily, who had "gone through the mill," looked upon him as a mere josser,
had f