He did not reply. He merely put his lips together and waved his hand
slowly from side to side.

Not perceiving, in my simplicity, that he was thus expressing a
sublime pity for the ignorance which my demand implied, I innocently
proceeded:

"Nor balcony?"

This time he condescended to speak.

"Noth--ing, sir."

Then I understood that what he meant was: "Poor fool! why don't you
ask for the moon?"

I blushed. Yes, I blushed before the clerk at Keith Prowse's, and
turned to leave the shop. I suppose he thought that as a Christian it
was his duty to enlighten my pitiable darkness.

"It's the first Rosa night to-night," he said with august affability.
"I had a couple of stalls this morning, but I've just sold them over
the telephone for six pound ten."

He smiled. His smile crushed me. I know better now. I know that clerks
in box-offices, with their correct neckties and their air of
continually doing wonders over the telephone, are not, after all, the
grand masters of the operatic world. I know that that manner of theirs
is merely a part of their attire, like their cravats; that they are