I
saw thousands of them in Piccadilly and Regent Street, and at Church
Parade in the Park, with high, French-heeled slippers over colored
stockings. And as to sizes, I should say nines were the average. There
are some smaller, but the most are larger.
The Prince of Wales was in the box opposite to ours, and when we were
not looking at him we gazed at the impassive faces of the audience.
They never smiled. They never laughed. The subtlest points in the play
went unnoticed, yet it is one which has had a record run and bids fair
to keep the boards for the rest of the season.
Suddenly my sister, although we had not spoken of the homesickness
that was weighing us down, touched my arm and said, "Look quick!
There's one!"
"Where? Where?"
"Down there just in front of the pit, talking to that bald-headed
idiot with the monocle."
"Do you think she is American?" I said, dubiously. I couldn't see her
feet. "She might be French. She talks all over."
"No. She is an American girl. See how thin she is. The French are
short and fat."
"Look at her face," I said, enviously.
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