all, you never know when the artists one wants are disengaged, does
one? You're coming on Wednesday to hear Paul La France sing, dear Mrs
Ottley?'

Edith smiled and nodded assent, trying to stop the incessant trickle of
Lady Everard's leaking conversation. She loved theatres, and she
enjoyed hearing every word, which was impossible while there was more
dialogue in the box than on the stage; also, Aylmer was sitting behind
her.

The comic lady now came on; there were shrieks of laughter at her
unnecessary and irrelevant green boots and crinoline and Cockney
accent. She proposed to marry the hero, who ran away from her. There
was more chorus; and the curtain fell.

In the interval Vincy arrived. He and Bruce went into the little salon
behind the box. Lady Everard joined them there. Edith and Aylmer looked
round the house. The audience at the Society Theatre is a special one;
as at the plays in which the favourite actor-managers and _jeunes
premiers_ perform there are always far more women than men, at this
theatre there are always far more men than women.

The stage box opposite our friends was filled with a party of about ten
men.

'It looks like a jury,' said Edith. 'Perhaps it is.' 'Probably a board
of directors,' said Aylmer.

The first two rows of the stalls were principally occupied by
middle-aged and rather elderly gentlemen. Many had grey moustaches and