LITMIR.BIZ

XIV.

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      A week later Glory made her first visit to the theatre. Her companions were Drake, who was charmed with her naïveté; Lord Robert, who was amused by it; and Polly Love, who was annoyed and ashamed, and uttered little peevish exclamations.

      As they entered the box which they were to occupy, the attendant drew back the curtain, and at sight of the auditorium she cried, “Oh!” and then checked herself and coloured deeply. With her eyes down she sat where directed in one of the three seats in front, Polly being on her right and Drake on her left, and Lord Robert at the back of the lace curtain. For some minutes she did not smile or stir, and when she spoke it was always in whispers. A great awe seemed to have fallen upon her, and she was behaving as she behaved in church.

      Drake began to explain the features of the theatre. Down there were the stalls, and behind the stalls was the pit. The body? Well, yes—the body, so to speak. And the three galleries were the dress circle, the family circle, and the gallery proper. The organ loft? No, there was no organ, but that empty place below was the well for the orchestra.

      “And what is this little vestry?” she said.

      “Oh, this is a private box where we can sit by ourselves and talk!” said Drake.

      At every other explanation she had made little whispered cries of astonishment and delight; but when she heard that conversation was not forbidden she was entirely happy. She thought a theatre was even more beautiful than a church, and supposed an actor must have a wonderful living.

      The house was filling rapidly, and as the people entered she watched them intently.

      “What a beautiful congregation!” she whispered—“audience, I mean!”

      “Do you think so?” said Polly; but Glory did not hear her.

      It was delightful to see so many lovely faces and listen to the low hum of their conversation. She felt happy among them already and quite kind to everybody, because they had all come together to enjoy themselves. Presently she bowed to some one in the stall with a face all smiles, and then said to Polly:

      “How nice of her! A lady moved, to me from the body. How friendly they are in theatres!”

      “But it was to Mr. Drake,” said Polly; and then Glory could have buried her face in her confusion.

      “Never mind, Glory,” said Drake; “that's a lady who will like you the better for the little mistake.—Rosa,” he added, with a look toward Lord Robert, who smoothed his mustache and bent his head.

      Polly glanced up quickly at the mention of the name; and Drake explained that Rosa was a friend of his own—a lady journalist, Miss Rosa Macquarrie, a good and clever woman. Then, turning back to Glory, he said:

      “She has been standing up for your friend Mr. Storm this week. You know there have been attacks upon him in the newspapers?”

      “Has she?” said Glory, recovering herself and looking down again. “Which pew—stall, I mean——”

      But the people were clapping their hands and turning their faces to the opposite side of the theatre. Some great personage was entering the royal box.

      “My chief, the Home Secretary,” said Drake; and, when the applause had subsided and the party were seated, the great man recognised his secretary and bowed to him; whereupon it seemed to Glory that every face in the theatre turned about and looked at her.

      She did not flinch, but bore herself bravely. There was a certain thrill and a slight twitching of the head, such as a charger makes at the first volley in battle—nothing more, not even the quiver of an eyelid. This was the atmosphere in which Drake lived, and she felt a vague gratitude to him for allowing her to move in it.

      “Isn't it beautiful!” she whispered, turning toward Polly; but Polly's face was hidden behind the curtain.

      The orchestra was coming in, and Glory leaned forward and counted the fiddles, while Drake talked with Lord Robert across her shoulder.

      “I found him reading Rosa's article this morning, and it seems he was present himself and heard the sermon,” said Drake.

      “And what's his opinion?” asked Lord Robert.

      “Much the same as your own. Affectation—the man is suffering from the desire to be original—more egotism than love of truth, and so forth.”

      “Right, too, dear boy. All this vapouring is as much as to say: 'Look at me! I am the Hon. and Rev. Mr. Thingamy, nephew of the Prime Minister; and yet——'”

      “I don't at all agree with the chief,” said Drake, “and I told him so. The man has enthusiasm, and that's the very salt of the earth at present. We are all such pessimists in these days! Thank God for anybody who will warm us up with a little faith, say I!”

      Glory's bosom heaved, and she was just about to speak, when, there was a sudden clap as of thunder, and she leaped up in her seat. But it was only the beginning of the overture, and she sat down laughing. There was a tender passage in the music; and after it was over she was very quiet for a while, and then whispered to Polly that she hoped little Johnnie wasn't worse to-night, and it seemed wicked to enjoy one's self when any one was so poorly.

      “Who is that?” said Drake.

      “My little boy whose leg was amputated,” said Glory.

      “This Glory is so funny!” said Polly. “Fancy talking of that here!”

      “Hush!” said Lord Robert; “the curtain is going up.” And at the next moment Glory was laughing because they were all in the dark.

      The play was Much Ado about Nothing, and Glory whispered to Drake that she had never seen it before, but she had read Macbeth, and knew all about Shakespeare and the drama. The first scene took her breath away, being so large and so splendid. It represented the outside of a gentleman's house, and she thought what a length of time it must have taken to build it, considering it was to last only a single night. But hush! The people were going indoors. No; they preferred to talk in the street. Oh, we were in Italy? Yes, indeed, that was different.

      Leonato delivered his first speeches forcibly, and was rewarded with applause. Glory clapped her hands also, and said he was a very good actor for such a very old gentleman.

      Then Beatrice made her entrance, and was greeted with cheers, whereupon Glory looked perplexed.

      “It's Terry,” whispered Polly; and Drake said, “Ellen Terry”; but Glory still looked puzzled.

      “They are calling her 'Beatrice,'” she said. Then, mastering the situation, she looked wise and said: “Of course—the actress—I quite understand; but why do they applaud her—she has done nothing yet?”

      Drake explained that the lady playing Beatrice was a great favourite, and that the applause of the audience had been of the nature of a welcome to a welcome guest, as much as to say they had liked her before, and were glad to see her again. Glory thought that was beautiful, and, looking at the gleaming eyes that shone out of the darkness, she said:

      “How lovely to be an actress!”

      Then she turned back to the stage, where all was bright and brilliant, and said, “What

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