She
did not utter a word, she never looked at the audience, she was
apparently unconscious of everything but what she had in her own mind;
yet before she was half across the stage the people rose to their feet
with a roar. Ideala's coming amongst us had produced some such
startling effect; but _her_ power was altogether occult. The audience
knew what the actress meant, but we did not understand Ideala, and yet
we applauded by laying our best before her, and acknowledged the charm
of her presence in every word. She spoke very little, however. Indeed,
I remember nothing she said until we went to the drawing-room. On the
way thither Claudia had picked up a crumpled paper, and, glancing at
it, had exclaimed--"Why, Ideala, here are some of your verses! Do you
still write verses?"
It was curious that we all spoke as if she had been away for years.
"Yes," she answered, tranquilly; and Claudia coolly proceeded to read
the verses aloud, a difficult task, as they were scribbled in pencil on
half a sheet of note-paper, and were scarcely decipherable. Ideala,
meanwhile, listened, with calm eyes fixed on vacancy, like one trying
to be polite, but finding it hard for lack of interest.
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