In due time the young gentleman--Clarice felt herself to be truly a young gentleman--arrived at Liverpool Street Station, and hailed a cab. She told the man to drive to a quiet West End hotel, where Ferdy sometimes stopped, when it was too late to return home to his quarters in Dr. Jerce's Harley Street house. Here Clarice was quite delighted with the result of her masquerade. Everyone, including the landlord, the barmaid, and the waiters, took her for Ferdy, and she was given the dinner table at which Ferdy usually sat. And from the smirk of the barmaid, who inquired if Mr. Baird would take a glass of sherry before dinner, Clarice gathered some information as to Ferdy's urban habits.
After Clarice had placed her bag in the bedroom--and only then did it occur to her that she could have assumed her evening dress in Town--she ordered a hansom, and drove to the Mascot Music Hall. It was a magnificent, palatial structure, decorated and painted and gilded like the Golden House of Nero. For the first time in her quiet life Clarice found herself in such a place, and was astonished at the blaze of light, the number of well-dressed people, the quantity of flowers, and the numerous aids to pleasure which she beheld on every hand. Also, she was surprised to see what a lot of liquor was drunk, and wondered if it was necessary to keep up her assumed character by ordering a whisky and soda. Although some acrobats were performing on the splendid stage, it was yet early, and the house was not yet quite full. Clarice was thus enabled to secure a very comfortable stall. As the evening grew later, the seats on all sides of her were gradually filled, but she found that the one next to her remained empty.
The performance was of the usual class, and showed little originality, although it was entirely new to the girl, who had lived most of her life in Crumel. Acrobats tumbled, thought-readers performed their wonders, musical Americans played various instruments, and interspersed their jangling with United States slang, delivered in nasal voices, and various crack comedians sang the comic songs of the day, which were--Clarice thought--but dreary productions. She enjoyed the performance, however, as it was all new to her, but wondered what Ferdy could find in the "turns" to come there night after night. Perhaps "The Birth of the Butterfly" would be more artistic and amusing, and it came on at nine o'clock. This was the especial moment for which Clarice had waited all the evening.