The applause had died away.
"I wish," said Mabel, taking on herself the weight of the tea-urn, "I
wish those creatures we made were alive. We should get
something like applause then."
"I'm jolly glad they aren't, said Gerald, arranging the baize and the
towel-horse. "Brutes! It makes me feel quite silly when I catch
their paper eyes."
The curtains were drawn back. There lay the hearthrug-coated
beast, in flat abandonment among the tropic beauties of the
garden, the pampas-grass shrubbery, the india-rubber plant bushes,
the geranium-trees and the urn fountain. Beauty was ready to make
her great entry in all the thrilling splendour of despair. And then
suddenly it all happened.
Mademoiselle began it: she applauded the garden scene with
hurried little clappings of her quick French hands. Eliza's fat red
palms followed heavily, and then someone else was clapping, six
or seven people, and their clapping made a dull padded sound.
Nine faces instead of two were turned towards the stage, and seven
out of the nine were painted, pointed paper faces. And every hand
and every face was alive. The applause grew louder as Mabel
glided forward, and as she paused and looked at the audience her
unstudied pose of horror and amazement drew forth applause
louder still; but it was not loud enough to drown the shrieks of
Mademoiselle and Eliza as they rushed from the room, knocking
chairs over and crushing each other in the doorway.
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