"It's
only fashionable Americans who take it, and I'm not that kind, as you
can see. I come from the country--or almost the country."
"Weren't you drawn into any of our little ways in London?" He was
working up to a certain point.
"I was too busy."
"I'm sure you weren't too busy for one thing: reading the papers for
your notices."
Victoria shook her head, smiling. "There you're mistaken. The first
morning after I danced at the Palace Theatre, I asked to see the papers
they had in my boarding-house, because I hoped so much that English
people would like me, and I wanted to be a success. But afterwards I
didn't bother. I don't understand British politics, you see--how could
I?--and I hardly know any English people, so I wasn't very interested in
their papers."
Again Stephen was relieved. But he felt driven by one of his strange new
impulses to tell her his name, and watch her face while he told it.
"'Curiouser and curiouser,' as our friend Alice would say," he laughed.
"No newspaper paragraphs, and a boarding-house instead of a fashionable
hotel. What was your manager thinking about?"
"I had no manager of my very own," said Victoria. "I 'exploited' myself.
It costs less to do that. When people in America liked my dancing I got
an offer from London, and I accepted it and made all the arrangements
about going over. It was quite easy, you see, because there were only
costumes to carry.
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