The grounds and winter-gardens were crowded.
Their guide led the way to a large apartment on the other side of
the hall, from which the sound of music was proceeding.
"My theatre," he said. "I wonder what is going on."
They passed inside. There was a small stage with steps leading
down to the floor, easy-chairs and round tables everywhere, and
waiters serving refreshments. A girl was dancing. Sir Timothy
watched her approvingly.
"Nadia Ellistoff," he told them. "She was in the last Russian
ballet, and she is waiting now for the rest of the company to
start again at Covent Garden. You see, it is Metzger who plays
there. They improvise. Rather a wonderful performance, I
think."
They watched her breathlessly, a spirit in grey tulle, with great
black eyes now and then half closed.
"It is 'Wind before Dawn,'" Lady Cynthia whispered. "I heard him
play it two days after he composed it, only there are variations
now. She is the soul of the south wind."
The curtain went down amidst rapturous applause. The dancer
had left the stage, floating away into some sort of
wonderfully-contrived nebulous background. Within a few moments,
the principal comedian of the day was telling stories. Sir Timothy
led them away.
"But how on earth do you get all these people?" Lady Cynthia
asked.
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