aper by the light
of a lamp on the table. Mrs. Perkins is seated on the other side of
the table, buttoning her gloves. Her wrap is on a chair near at
hand. The room is gracefully over-furnished.

Mrs. Perkins. Where are the seats, Thaddeus?

Perkins. Third row; and, by Jove! Bess (looking at his watch), we
must hurry. It is getting on towards eight now. The curtain rises
at 8.15.

Mrs. Perkins. The carriage hasn't come yet. It isn't more than a
ten minutes' drive to the theatre.

Perkins. That's true, but there are so many carriage-folk going to
see Irving that if we don't start early we'll find ourselves on the
end of the line, and the first act will be half over before we can
reach our seats.

Mrs. Perkins. I'm so glad we've got good seats--down near the front.
I despise opera-glasses, and seats under the galleries are so
oppressive.

Perkins. Well, I don't know. For The Lyons Mail I think a seat in
the front row of the top gallery, where you can cheer virtue and hiss
villany without making yourself conspicuous, is the best.

Mrs. Perkins. You don't mean to say that you'd like to sit up with
those odious gallery gods?

Perkins. For a melodrama, I do. What's the use of clapping your
gloved hands together at a melodrama? That doesn't express your
feelings. I always want to put two fingers in my mouth and pierce
the atmosphere with a regular gallery-god whistle when I see the
villain laid low by the tow-headed idiot in the last act--but it
wouldn't do in the orchestra. You might as well expect the people in
the boxes to eat peanuts as expect an orchestra-chair patron to
whistle on his fingers.

Mrs. Perkins. I should die of mortification if you ever should do
such a vulgar thing, Thaddeus.

Perkins. Then you needn't be afraid, my dear. I'm too fond of you
to sacrifice you to my love for whistling. (The front-door bell
rings.) Ah, there is the carriage at last. I'll go and get my coat.

[Mrs. Perkins rises, and is about to don her wrap as Mr. Perkins goes
towards the door.

Enter Mr. and Mrs. Bradley. Perkins staggers backward in surprise.
Mrs. Perkins lets her wrap fall to the floor, an expression of dismay
on her face.

Mrs. Perkins (aside). Dear me! I'd forgotten all about it. _This_
is the night the club is to meet here!

Bradley. Ah, Perkins, how d' y' do? Glad to see me? Gad! you don't
look it.

Perkins. Glad is a word which scarcely expresses my feelings,
Bra