A Damsel in Distress

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."