"
"The toilettes in _Her Second Son_ were simply magnificent. Not to be
surpassed on the boards of the Lyceum in tasteful design or richness of
material. They were _ne plus ultra_!" cried Mr. Sinclair. "You will
remember I said so in my critique."
"I remember. If I were you I wouldn't go so far another time. There's a
lot of cotton velvet and satin about it, you know, between ourselves,
and Finnigan's people will be getting the laugh on us. That's one of the
things I wanted to mention. Don't be quite so good to us. See?
Otherwise--well, you know how Calcutta talks, and what a pretty girl
Beryl Stacey is, for example. Mrs. Sinclair mightn't like it, and I
don't blame her."
"As I said before, Miss Howe, you know the world."
Mr. Sinclair replied with infinite mellow humour, and as Miss Howe had
risen, he rose too, pulling down his waistcoat.
"There was just one other thing," Hilda said, holding out her hand.
"Next Wednesday, you know, Rosa Norton takes her benefit. Rosy's as well
known here as the Ochterlony monument; she's been coming every cold
weather for ten years, poor old Rosy. Don't you think you could do her a
bit of an interview for Wednesday's paper? She'll write up very
well--get her on variety entertainments in the Australian bush.
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