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quickly, “but this is the daughter of my Stepfather, if you can work that out, and she’s just arrived from Scotland and wants to see the Show. She’s never been in London before, so look after her for me—and no tricks!”
    “ I do not know what you mean!” Bertie said in affronted dignity which was obviously assumed.
    T hen he swept his silk hat from his head and put out his hand.
    “ How do you do? Perhaps the alluring Violet will introduce us a little more elegantly.”
    “ I expect you’ll introduce yourself, Bertie!” Violet said. “This is Davita Kilcraig, whose father was the Baronet my mother married.”
    “ And left!” Lord Mundesley added.
    “ All right, so she left him,” Violet retorted, “but that’s none o’ your business and it wasn’t Davita’s fault neither!”
    “ Of course not,” Lord Mundesley agreed.
    He was still holding Davita’s hand, which made her feel a little embarrassed.
    He was about to say something when a boy’s strident voice called: “Three minutes, lidies!” and Violet gave a little cry.
    “ See you after the Show!” she said, and picking up her skirts with both hands ran back up the staircase.
    “ We had better go to the front of the house,” Lord Mundesley said to Davita.
    H e opened a door for her, and, because he obviously expected it, Davita preceded him down some steps and found herself in the Auditorium of the Theatre.
    T he noise of the audience seemed to hit her almost like a wave, then there was a kaleidoscope of colour, and, as women passed her being shown to their seats in the Stalls, the fragrance of exotic perfumes.
    “ This way,” Lord Mundesley directed.
    D avita climbed a small staircase which was very different from the iron one behind the scenes. The walls were painted in an attractive colour, it was lit with electric light, and there was a thick carpet under her feet.
    A moment later she found herself in a Box draped with red velvet curtains and with seats covered in red plush.
    L ord Mundesley seated her on his right so that she had the best view of the stage, and he sat in the centre of the Box, picking up a pair of Opera-glasses which rested on the ledge.
    D avita stared about her with an excitement that made it impossible to speak.
    S he had several times been to a Theatre in Edinburgh, but it had been nothing like as large and certainly not as colourful as the scene before her now.
    E verything seemed to sparkle, and the crimson and gold of the Boxes, the splendour of the dropped curtain, and the lights were only part of the background for the audience.
    N ever had she imagined it possible to see so many attractive, beautiful women and distinguished-looking men congregated together in one place.
    T hen, as she was staring almost open-mouthed at the people being packed into the Stalls, at the Royal Circle filled without an empty seat to be had, and the Gallery sloping up to the ceiling and apparently just as full, the lights were dimmed.
    T he Orchestra that had been playing softly swelled in a crescendo until the sound seemed to vibrate through the whole Theatre and become part, Davita thought, of her very breathing.
    T hen she forgot everything except the excitement of seeing for the first time in her life a Show at the Gaiety.
    B ecause she had of course been interested in what was being produced at the Theatre in which first her Stepmother had played, and then Violet, she knew that the Show she was about to see was called Cinder-Ellen Up-Too-Late.
    T he Lead had originally been played by Nellie Farren, one of the great stars of the Gaiety, but now she had left because she had rheumatic trouble which made it impossible for her to carry on.
    The few newspapers that Davita had read in Scotland which reported what was happening in London had all declared what a tragedy it was for the Gaiety that one of the greatest Leading Ladies they had ever known should have been forced to retire.
    H ector, who had often seen Nellie when he was in