No one in the room listened to the singing. The gentlemen had crossed
their legs comfortably and were expressing their regret to their
partners that so much time was wasted in sandwiching songs between the
waltzes, and the ladies were engaged in criticizing Celestine's hair,
which she wore in a bun. They thought that it might be English, but it
certainly was not their idea of good style.

Celestine was conscious of the fact that her husband and Lester were
hanging far over the balcony, holding their hands to their eyes as
though they were opera-glasses, and exclaiming with admiration and
delight; and when she had finished the first verse, they pretended to
think that the song was over, and shouted, "Bravo, encore," and
applauded frantically, and then apparently overcome with confusion at
their mistake, sank back entirely from sight.

"I think Miss Terrell's an elegant singer," Van Bibber's partner said to
him. "I seen her at the hotel frequently. She has such a pleasant way
with her, quite lady-like. She's the only actress I ever saw that has
retained her timidity. She acts as though she were shy, don't she?"

Van Bibber, who had spent a month on the Thames the summer before, with
the Grahame Wests, surveyed Celestine with sudden interest, as though he
had never seen her before until that moment, and agreed that she did
look shy, one might almost say frightened to death. Mrs. West rushed
through the second verse of the song, bowed breathlessly, and ran down
the steps of the stage and back to the refuge of the balcony, while the
audience applauded with perfunctory politeness and called clamorously to
the musicians to "Let her go!"