model cottages; a chorus of pretty girls in striped cotton
were singing. The heroine came on; she was well known for her smile,
which had become public property on picture post-cards and the Obosh
bottles. She was dressed as a work-girl also, but in striped silk with
a real lace apron and a few diamonds. Then the hero arrived. He wore a
red shirt, brown boots, and had a tenor voice. He explained an
interesting little bit of the plot, which included an eccentric will
and other novelties. The humorous dandy of the play was greeted with
shouts of joy by the chorus and equal enthusiasm by the audience. He
agreed to change places with the hero, who wished to give up one
hundred and forty thousand pounds a year to marry the heroine.

'Very disinterested,' murmured Lady Everard. 'Very nice of him, I'm
sure. It isn't many people that would do a thing like that. A nice
voice, too. Of course, this is not what _I_ call good music, but it's
very bright in its way, and the words--I always think these words are
so clever. So witty. Listen to them--do listen to them, dear Mrs
Ottley.'

They listened to the beautiful words sung, of which the refrain ran as
follows:--

'The Author told the Actor,
(The Actor had a fit).
The Box Office man told the Programme-girl,
The Theatre all was in quite a whirl.
The call-boy told the Chorus.
(Whatever could it be?)
The super asked the Manager,
What did the Censor see?'

'Charming,' murmured Lady Everard; 'brilliant--I know his father so
well.'

'Whose father--the censor's?'

'Oh, the father of the composer--a very charming man. When he was young
he used to come to my parties--my Wednesdays. I used to have Wednesdays
then. I don't have Wednesdays now. I think it better to telephone at
the last minute any particular day for my afternoons because, after
all, you never know when the artists one wants are disengaged, does
one? You're coming on Wednesday to hear Paul La France sing, dear Mrs
Ottley?'

Edith smiled and nodded assent, trying to stop the incessant trickle of
Lady Everard's leaking conversation. She loved theatres, and she
enjoyed hearing every word, which was impossible while there was more
dialogue in the box than on the stage; also, Aylmer was sitting behind
her.

The comic lady now came on; there were shrieks of laughter at her
unnecessary and irrelevant green boots and crinoline and Cockney
accent. She proposed to marry the hero, who ran away from her. The