"Brayvo! Brayvo! By Jupiter--wouldn't 'a' credited it without the
evidence of my own eyes." The gorgeous curtains had just descended
upon a narrow parlor, which a Japanese necromancer had literally
filled to overflowing with colored cardboard boxes produced from the
interior of one single top hat. "See! Watch 'em, Mav." Footmen were
coming in front of the curtains to remove the plethora of cardboard
boxes. "They're real boxes, Mav."
Sweet music, happy laughter, brilliant light--the evening glided
entrancingly, like a dream in which neither Greenwich nor any other
time is kept.
During the interval before the ballet he took her out of the circle,
strolled with her up and down the promenade, and gave her an American
drink in a refreshment saloon. It was appallingly hot, and they were
both longing to quench their thirst with something big and cold. A
magnificent waiter brought them bigness and coldness in tall tumblers
with straws, and they sat on a velvet divan and sucked rapturously.
Standing or seated at tables, there were young bloods with white
waistcoats and cigarettes, and young ladies with rich gowns and
made-up faces; through a gilded doorway one had a vista of the
thronged promenade; the air was hot, exhausted, pungent with tobacco
smoke; and amid the chatter of voices, the clink of glasses, the
rustle of petticoats, one could only just hear the great orchestra
playing chords of some fantastic march.
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