"I enjoy seeing the little girl absorbing our civilisation," he said to grandmother; "sometimes I fancy it seems rather uncivilised to her."
Grandmother demurred a good deal; she said she did not know but I would be quite as well, or better, if I never went near a theatre. But Uncle Theodore said that was an old-fashioned idea that grandmother held to because of her Puritan ancestry; that it was generally conceded now that the theatre is a great educator, the greatest educator of the people extant to-day.
"There is going to be a world-renowned actress to-night, a star of first magnitude in the theatrical world," he added, "and I want my niece to have the advantage of hearing her."
I dressed my very prettiest for the occasion. Uncle Theodore always has an eye for the artistic in dress. I donned soft silks, soft ribbons, and soft feathers. It is one of my uncle's ideas that women should be softly clad; he absolutely hates anything hard, stiff, or masculine-looking on a woman.
When we entered the theatre the orchestra was playing most ravishing music. I could have stayed there all night and listened to it without tiring, I believe. It must be the American half of me that is the music-lover, for the Chinese are not very musical.
The boxes were full of wonderfully well-dressed men and women. How beautiful women can look in this great country, dressed in every colour of the rainbow! Men are of less account in America; but they looked well enough, too, in black coats and white shirt-bosoms.
After awhile the heavenly music stopped, the curtain on the stage rolled up, and the play began.
At first it was entrancing, magnificent--the stage-furnishings, gorgeously dressed women, clever-looking men, all acting a part--a lovely world without anything to mar it, right there in that small space of the stage before our eyes.
Then a woman, the star actress, came in wearing a very décolleté gown (I am getting hardened to them now), and began to talk in a manner I never had imagined people in good society would talk--right before those hundreds of men and women. I'll not write it down; I do not wish to remember it. But the party of women on the stage, instead of being shocked or ashamed, all laughed little, rippling, merry laughs. My cheeks burned, and I did not dare to look at anybody, not even Uncle Theodore.