air. All the city seemed interested.

But from behind the heavy curtains that draped the entrance to the
theatre proper, came a muffled burst of music, followed by a long
salvo of applause. Laura's cheeks flamed with impatience, she
hurried after Mrs. Cressler; Corthell drew the curtains for her to
pass, and she entered.

Inside it was dark, and a prolonged puff of hot air, thick with the
mingled odours of flowers, perfume, upholstery, and gas, enveloped
her upon the instant. It was the unmistakable, unforgettable,
entrancing aroma of the theatre, that she had known only too seldom,
but that in a second set her heart galloping.

Every available space seemed to be occupied. Men, even women, were
standing up, compacted into a suffocating pressure, and for the
moment everybody was applauding vigorously. On all sides Laura
heard:

"Bravo!"

"Good, good!"

"Very well done!"

"Encore! Encore!"

Between the peoples' heads and below the low dip of the overhanging
balcony--a brilliant glare in the surrounding darkness--she caught
a glimpse of the stage. It was set for a garden; at the back and in