. The white rose . ere, to whom five minutesdelay must cost fifty thousand pounds. Ah! hlagueur !I shall smoke one cigar; you will stay and 221 smoke with. me. I tell you, my friend, it isbetter. Something admonitory, almost dictatorial, in theCounts tone, jarred on the other. Ainslies frame ofmind was that in which men start off at a tangentfrom anything like advice, resenting it as theywould coercion. I dont see why, he answered, rather shortly. I shall have plenty of time to smoke between thisand the Accordion. After all, hang it ! I ought tostick by the manager. Im ready, Dolly, if youare.
. The white rose . ere, to whom five minutesdelay must cost fifty thousand pounds. Ah! hlagueur !I shall smoke one cigar; you will stay and 221 smoke with. me. I tell you, my friend, it isbetter. Something admonitory, almost dictatorial, in theCounts tone, jarred on the other. Ainslies frame ofmind was that in which men start off at a tangentfrom anything like advice, resenting it as theywould coercion. I dont see why, he answered, rather shortly. I shall have plenty of time to smoke between thisand the Accordion. After all, hang it ! I ought tostick by the manager. Im ready, Dolly, if youare. Count Tourbillon, I wish you a good said not a word. The judicious anglerknows when to let his fisb alone, giving it line, andsuffering it to play itself. The Count looked alittle surprised, but attributed Gerards unexpectedabruptness to the champagne. IIpcnyjit qiCil a le vin mauvais. Cest egal! saidhe; and, undisturbed by the departure of the others,proceeded to smoke a tranquil cigar in CHAPTER XYIIl. THE MANAGER S BOX. The Accordion, from its front row of stalls to theextreme verge of its gallery under tlie very roof,was one dense mass of faces, all turned eagerlytowards the stage. Playgoing people had beensubsisting for a long time on musical extravaganzas,of which the extravagance outdid the music; far-fetched burlesques, of little humour and less wit;drowsy readings from Shakespeare ; translations illtranslated ; and adaptations, worse adapted, fromthe French. The public were hungry for a real,old-fashioned melodrama once more, with love,murder, glittering swords, stage jewellery, franticdialogue, and appropriate action. They longed tosee the stride, the strut, the stop,—a scowlingvillain, a daring lover,—a Gothic hall, a moon-lit 223 pass,—above all, an injured heroine, now tearfuland dishevelled, with pale face and hollow eyes,despairing at the back; anon, radiant in smiles,white satin, and imitation pearls, exulting be-fore the foot-li
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