every part of Europe, since he had returned from New Guinea with the
tail feathers of the meteor-bird, which were now being made into a fan
for Mrs. Linton.



CHAPTER IX.

MY FATHER HAS HIS IDEAS ON WHAT'S CALLED REALISM.

The last rumble of applause had died away at the Parthenon Theater, but
the audience were leaving very slowly; they wished to linger as long
as possible within the atmosphere of the building; though, like the
atmosphere of many sacred places, that of the Parthenon was, just at
that time, a trifle unsavory. The first performance of the drama of
"Cagliostro" had just taken place, and, as the first nights at the
Parthenon are invariably regarded as the most exclusive functions of the
year, the stalls and boxes had been crowded. And the distinction which
in Mayfair and Belgravia attaches to those who have been in the boxes
and stalls on Parthenon first night is not greater than that which,
in Bloomsbury and Camden Town, accrues to those who have occupied
places--not necessarily seats--in the other parts of the house. It is
understood, too, that the good will of Bloomsbury and Camden Town
is much more valuable to a play than the best wishes of Mayfair and
Belgravia.

The gracious manager had made his customary speech of thanks,--for
everything produced at the Parthenon was a success,--and while the
general audience were moving away very reluctantly, some distinguished
men and women followed the guidance of a strong Irish brogue as a flock