the shabby ermine, and her hand,
in its cleaned glove, lifted to dab her lips, was a tiny yellowish paw.
Oh, she was so pleased to see him--delighted! She rather thought
they were going to meet that afternoon. She described where she'd
been--everywhere, here, there, along by the sea. The day was so
charming--didn't he agree? And wouldn't he, perhaps?... But he shook his
head, lighted a cigarette, slowly breathed a great deep puff into her
face, and even while she was still talking and laughing, flicked the
match away and walked on. The ermine toque was alone; she smiled more
brightly than ever. But even the band seemed to know what she was
feeling and played more softly, played tenderly, and the drum beat, "The
Brute! The Brute!" over and over. What would she do? What was going to
happen now? But as Miss Brill wondered, the ermine toque turned, raised
her hand as though she'd seen some one else, much nicer, just over
there, and pattered away. And the band changed again and played more
quickly, more gayly than ever, and the old couple on Miss Brill's seat
got up and marched away, and such a funny old man with long whiskers
hobbled along in time to the music and was nearly knocked over by four
girls walking abreast.

Oh, how fascinating it was! How she enjoyed it! How she loved sitting
here, watching it all! It was like a play. It was exactly like a play.
Who could believe the sky at the back wasn't painted? But it wasn't till
a little brown dog trotted on solemn and then slowly trotted off, like
a little "theatre" dog, a little dog that had been drugged, that Miss
Brill discovered what it was that made it so exciting. They were all
on the stage. They weren't only the audience, not only looking on;
they were acting. Even she had a part and came every Sunday. No doubt
somebody would have noticed if she hadn't been there; she was part of
the performance after all. How strange she'd never thought of it like
that before! And yet it explained why she made such a point of starting
from home at just the same time each week--so as not to be late for
the performance--and it also explained why she had quite a queer,
shy feeling at telling her English pupils how she spent her Sunday
afternoons. No wonder! Miss Brill nearly laughed out loud. She was on
the stage. She thought of the old invalid gentleman to whom she read the
newspaper four afternoons a week while he slept in the garden. She had
got quite used to the frail head on the