"Oh, Art!" he protested. And then,--not speaking his essential
thought,--"Aren't these pretty expensive?"
"The thing has got to be done right," returned Lemoyne. "Feet are about the
first thing they notice."
At the actual performance Lemoyne's feet were noticed, certainly; though
perhaps not more than his head. His wig, as is usually the case with dark
people, was of a sunny blond hue. Its curls, as palpably artificial as they
were voluminous, made his eyes look darker and somehow more liquid than
ever. The contrast was piquant, almost sensational. Of course he had
sacrificed, for the time, his small moustache. Lemoyne was not "Annabella"
herself, but only her chief chum; yet shorter skirts and shorter sleeves
and a deliberately assumed feminine air helped distinguish him from the
hearty young lads who manoeuvred in the chorus.
Just who are those who enjoy the epicene on the stage? Not many women, one
prefers to think; and surely it arouses the impatience, if not worse, of
many men. Most amateur drama is based, perhaps, on the attempted "escape":
one likes to bolt from his own day, his own usual costume, his own range of
ideas, and even from his own sex.
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