Then there began a delicate
symphony which could mean nothing but spring in a forest, and on that
the curtain went up. The prophecy of the music was fulfilled, for the
scene was a woodland in April, with young leaves a-flicker and blossoms
in birth, the light song of the flutes and violins being the song of
birds in love. All the trees were brocaded with dainty, gold-green lace,
and daffodils sprouted from the moss at their feet.
The birds sang more gaily, and out from behind a silver-trunked beech
tree danced a figure in spring green. Her arms were full of flowers,
which she scattered as she danced, curtseying, mocking, beckoning the
shadow that followed her along the daisied grass. Her little feet were
bare, and flitted through the green folding of her draperies like white
night-moths fluttering among rose leaves. Her hair fell over her
shoulders, and curled below her waist. It was red hair that glittered
and waved, and she looked a radiant child of sixteen. Victoria Ray the
dancer, and the girl on the Channel boat were one.
IV
The Shadow Dance was even more beautiful than the Dance of the Statue,
but Stephen had lost pleasure in it. He was supersensitive in these
days, and he felt as if the girl had deliberately made game of him, in
order that he should make a fool of himself. Of course it was a pose of
hers to travel without chaperon or maid, and dress like a school girl
from a provincial town, in cheap serge, a sailor hat, and a plait of
hair looped up with ribbon.
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