_Vere_ thinks it simply adorable--as do we all. _Lady Vere_, his
mother, can't get used to being kissed by _Karissima_, who _will_
stand upon her lightly with one foot, oddly waving the other
meanwhile in the air. Besides it takes too long and _is_ rather too
demonstrative. And couldn't _Karissima_ dear just try to walk with
her soles really flat on the ground in the solid English county way?
Certainly. _Karissima_ will try, to please Madame, and with painful
effort achieves a half-dozen clumsy steps till unconquerable habit and
Mr. ARNOLD BAX'S allusively witty music lift her on tiptoe again. And
really she is such a darling that the once reluctant dowager finally
consents to the marriage; wedding bells forthwith (within); a
white-haired clergyman, surprised at nothing, as becomes the very
best type of padre, appears; follow _corps de ballet_ bridesmaids; and
_Bill_ gives her away.

_Karissima_, says _Vere_ to _Maestro_ later in the evening, is
depressed. Because she hasn't a child. They both tremendously want a
child. _Maestro_, silently showing his watch-dial, would seem to wish
to suggest that they were unreasonably impatient. _Karissima_ also
pleads. Well, he will see what he can do. But there's an awful
penalty. For a new Russian dancer cannot be made unless another
surrenders life. Anyway he fetches his black bag. And _Karissima_
dances down the main staircase with her babe, who grows apace and is
shortly seen prancing in the garden (on his toes--"Thank Heaven!" says
the _Maestro_).

And _Karissima_ dies and is brought in on her bier, and dances (she
_would_!) her own funeral service. _Maestro's_ heart is touched; he
lies down in her stead, and she, dancing on a carpet of thistle-down
shot with stars (I think), and her lord (I am sure), perpetually