raise a laugh--that was not at all to his liking. It would have been
different had he been able to talk to the girl who had shown such a
strange interest in the gloomy stories of the Northern seas; perhaps,
though he would scarcely have admitted this to himself, it might have
been different if only he had been allowed to see her at some distance.
But her being absent altogether? The more the seats in the stalls were
filled--reducing the chances of her coming--the more empty the theatre
seemed to become.

"At least we can go along to that house you mentioned," said he to his
companion.

"Oh, don't be disappointed yet," said Ogilvie; "I know she will be
here."

"With Mrs. Ross?"

"Mrs. Ross comes very often to this theatre. It is the correct thing to
do. It is high art. All the people are raving about the chief actress;
artists painting her portrait; poets writing sonnets about her different
characters--no end of a fuss. And Mrs. Ross is very proud that so
distinguished a person is her particular friend."

"Do you mean the actress?"

"Yes; and makes her the big feature of her parties at present; and
society is rather inclined to make a pet of her, too--patronizing high
art, don't you know. It's wonderful what you can do in that way. If a
duke wants a clown to make fellows laugh after a Derby dinner, he gets
him to his house and makes him dance; and if the papers find it out, it