But when I spoke, and they recognised in the
old lady the frock-coated (and I trust sympathetic) official they
had interviewed earlier in the day, their astonishment knew no
bounds. The father gazed at me horror-stricken, as though I were a
madman; the mother kept on swallowing, as ladies of her type do
when they wish to convey strong disapprobation; and the prominent-
orbed boy's eyes nearly fell out of his head. I explained that
some theatricals were in progress, but that did not mend matters;
evidently in the serious circles in which they moved in St. Helens
(or Widnes), theatricals were regarded as one of the snares of the
Evil One. To make matters worse, one of my Chantilly lace sleeves
caught in the handle of a drawer, and perhaps excusably, but quite
audibly, I condemned all Chantilly lace to eternal punishment, but
in a much shorter form. After that they looked on me as clearly
beyond the pale. The difficulty about the passport was easily
adjusted. The police had threatened to arrest the young man, as
his new passport was clearly not the one with which he had entered
Russia.
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