Be that true or only invented, it is very clear that in spite of the War
and its shattering way with so many ancient shibboleths the cult of the
actor is still strong; for this is the kind of thing that lasted all the
way from Hyde Park Corner to Vere Street:--

"Did you see him the other day in that ballet? Of course I knew he could
dance, because he can do everything, but I never thought he was going to be
so gloriously graceful as he was."

"But surely you ought to have known. Don't you remember him as the Prince
at the LORD MAYOR'S Ball?"

"And what a wonderful figure he has!"

"I couldn't help wishing that he had only stained his legs instead of
putting on red tights."

"My dear!!!"

"It's his grace that's the wonderful thing about him, I always think. His
ease. He moves so--how shall I put it?--so, well, so easily and
gracefully."

"Don't you love him when he stands with his hands in his pockets?"

"My dear, yes. But what a wonderful tailor he goes to. I always used to
tell my brother to try and find out where his things were made and go to
the same place."

"But of course it's the way clothes are worn much more than the clothes