But Conolly sat motionless, with his arms folded, his cheek flushed, and his brow lowered.
"You dont seem used to this sort of thing," said Lind, somewhat disgusted.
"It was well sung," replied Conolly "-- better than most of these blackguards know." "Then why dont you clap ?" "Because she is not giving herself any trouble.

That sort of thing, from a woman of her talent, is too cheap to say 'thank you' for." Marmaduke looked at him, and began to think that he was a priggish fellow after all.

But as the burlesque went on, Mademoiselle Lalage charmed away this disagreeable impression.

She warbled in an amorous duet, and then sang the pleasures of champagne; tossing her head; waving a gilt goblet; and, without the least appearance of effort, working hard to captivate those who were to be won by bold smiles and arch glances.
She displayed her person less freely than her colleagues, being, not more modest, but more skilful in the art of seduction.

The slang that served for dialogue in her part was delivered in all sorts of intonations, now demure and mischievous, anon strident and mock tragic.
Marmaduke was delighted.
"What I like about her is that she is such a genuine little lady," he said, as her exit released his attention.