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Updated: May 19, 2025
Beauvayse grips either arm of the chair he sits in so fiercely that they crack again. "I I was desperately hard hit over Lessie a year ago " "So were a lot of other young idiots." "That's a pleasant reflection. They were." "Of course, I" Bingo's large face becomes very red "I inferred nothing in any way against Miss Lavigne's chara Dash it, I beg your pardon! I ought to call her Lady Beauvayse."
The housekeeper at the cottage and my man Saunders the discreet Saunders who's with me here. And a fortnight later came the appointment," goes on the boy. "And I was gladder than I cared to know at getting away. She Lessie meant to play her part in the 'Chiffon Girl' up to the end of the Summer Season, and then rest until ..." He does not finish the sentence.
And then he frowned, thinking of that adaptable instrument that had thrummed an accompaniment to the arias of the Opera soprano, as to the Society drawing-room duets sung with the frisky married ladies who liked nice boys, and had made tinkling music for the twinkling small feet, and the strident voice of Lessie Lavigne of the Jollity Theatre, and now must serenade outside a Convent-close in beleaguered Gueldersdorp, where the whitest of maiden lilies bloomed, tall and pure and slender and unharmed, in a raging tempest of fire and steel and lead.
A swift change of sudden, quickening, poignant emotion passes over the still face. A sudden swelling of the white throat, a rising mist in the golden eyes, suggests to Lessie that she has been fortunate enough to touch upon a painful subject, and that possibly this presumptuous young woman who has pitied a Viscountess may be going to cry! But Lynette drives back the tears.
"I know her, certainly; as far as one can be said to know oneself. My unmarried name was Mildare." "You don't say so! Lord, how funny!" The seagulls fishing in the shallows beyond the foam-line, rise up affrighted by the shrill peal of triumphant laughter with which Lessie makes her discovery. "Ha, ha, ha! Talk of a situation!... On the boards I've never seen one to touch it!"
"Not that I object to the stage myself," Captain Bingo says, waving a large, tolerant hand; "and it seems getting to be rather the fashion to recruit the female ranks of the Peerage from Musical Comedy, and a prettier and cleverer little woman than Lessie ... What are you stoppin' your ears for?" "I'm not," says a muffled, surly voice. "It's a twinge of toothache."
And Lessie Lavigne and the rest of the nimble sisterhood devote their gifts Thespian and Terpsichorean to demonstrating the fact. Oh, damned cowardly hounds!" The voice jarred and clanged with irrepressible anger. "Saxham, can't you see? Brouncker's sharpshooters are sniping at the women the Sister of Mercy and the girl!"
She, Lessie Lavigne, the original exponent of the rôle of "The Chiffon Girl," the idol of the pit and gallery, Queen regnant over the hearts beating behind the polished shirt-fronts in the stalls, has lived to hear herself pitied not envied, but commiserated for the scantiness of the costume in which it is alike her privilege and her joy to trill and caper seven times in the week before her patrons and adorers.
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