Nelly O'Neill threw herself into her work with greater ardour than
ever. But her triumphs were shadowed by worries. She was nervous lest
the Hon. Reginald should turn up at one of her Halls--she had three now;
she was afraid her voice was spoiling in the smoky atmosphere; sometimes
the image of the Hon. Reginald came back reproachfully, sometimes
tantalisingly. Oh, why was he so stupid? Or was it she who had been
stupid?
Then there was the apprehension of the end of her career at the Lee
Carters'. The young generation was nearly grown up. The eldest boy she
even suspected of music-halls. He might stumble upon her.
Her popularity, too, was beginning to frighten her. Adventurous young
gentlemen followed her in cabs--cabs were now a necessity of her triple
appearance--and she never dared drive quite to her door or even the
street. Bracelets she always returned, if the address was given; flowers
she sent to hospitals, anonymous gifts to her family. Nobody ever saw her
wearing his badge.
A sketch of her even found its way to one of Mrs. Lee Carter's journals.
"Why, she looks something like me!" Eileen said boldly.
"You flatter yourself," said Mrs. Lee Carter. "You're both Irish, that's
all. But I don't see why these music-hall minxes should be pictured in
respectable household papers."
"Some people say that the only real talent is now to be found in the
Halls," said Eileen.
"Well, I hope it'll stay there," rejoined her mistress, tartly. Eileen
recalled this conversation a few nights later, when she met Master
Harold Lee Carter outside the door at midnight with a rival latch-key.
"Been to a theatre, Miss O'Keeffe?" asked her whilom pupil.
"No; have you?"
"Well, not exactly a theatre!"
"Why, what do you mean?"
"Sort of half-and-half place, you know."
By the icy chill at her heart at his innocent phrase, she knew how she
dreaded discovery and clung to her social status.
"What is a half-and-half place?" she asked smiling.
"Oh, comic songs and tumblers and you can smoke."
"No? You're not really allowed to smoke in a theatre?"
"Yes, we are. They call it a music-hall--it's great fun. But don't tell
the mater."
"You naughty boy!"
"I don't see it. All the chaps go."