There was an almost soundless murmur from the mob, expressive of
wonder and awe, like a gentle breeze rustling leaves. Billie Dore
resumed her conversation in a whisper.
"Yes, there was an awful lot of excitement when they found that you
had disappeared. They were phoning the Carlton every ten minutes
trying to get you. You see, the summertime number flopped on the
second night, and they hadn't anything to put in its place. But
it's all right. They took it out and sewed up the wound, and now
you'd never know there had been anything wrong. The show was ten
minutes too long, anyway."
"How's the show going?"
"It's a riot. They think it will run two years in London. As far
as I can make it out you don't call it a success in London unless
you can take your grandchildren to see the thousandth night."
"That's splendid. And how is everybody? All right?"
"Fine. That fellow Gray is still hanging round Babe. It beats me
what she sees in him. Anybody but an infant could see the man
wasn't on the level. Well, I don't blame you for quitting London,
George. This sort of thing is worth fifty Londons."
The procession had reached one of the upper rooms, and they were
looking down from a window that commanded a sweep of miles of the
countryside, rolling and green and wooded. Far away beyond the last
covert Belpher Bay gleamed like a streak of silver. Billie Dore
gave a little sigh.
"There's nothing like this in the world. I'd like to stand here for
the rest of my life, just lapping it up."
"I will call your attention," boomed Keggs at their elbow, "to this
window, known in the fem'ly tredition as Leonard's Leap. It was in
the year seventeen 'undred and eighty-seven that Lord Leonard
Forth, eldest son of 'Is Grace the Dook of Lochlane, 'urled 'imself
out of this window in order to avoid compromising the beautiful
Countess of Marshmoreton, with oom 'e is related to 'ave 'ad a
ninnocent romance. Surprised at an advanced hour by 'is lordship
the earl in 'er ladyship's boudoir, as this room then was, 'e
leaped through the open window into the boughs of the cedar tree
which stands below, and was fortunate enough to escape with a few
'armless contusions."
A murmur of admiration greeted the recital of the ready tact of
this eighteenth-century Steve Brodie.
"There," said Billie enthusiastically, "that's exactly what I mean
about this country. It's just a mass of Leonard's Leaps and things.
I'd like to settle down in this sort of place and spend the rest of
my life milking cows and taking forkfuls of soup to the deserving
villagers."