"Billy, when the dismal thing had dragged its way through the final note, sat "down front," crying softly in the semi-darkness while she was waiting for Alice Greggory to "run it through just once more" with a pair of tired-faced, fluffy-skirted fairies who could _not_ learn that a duet meant a _duet_ -- not two solos, independently hurried or retarded as one's fancy for the moment dictated."