Between the peoples’ heads and below the low dip of the overhanging balcony⁠—a brilliant glare in the surrounding darkness⁠—she caught a glimpse of the stage. It was set for a garden; at the back and in the distance a château; on the left a bower, and on the right a pavilion. Before the footlights, a famous contralto, dressed as a boy, was bowing to the audience, her arms full of flowers.

“Too bad,” whispered Corthell to Laura, as they followed the others down the side-aisle to the box. “Too bad, this is the second act already; you’ve missed the whole first act⁠—and this song. She’ll sing it over again, though, just for you, if I have to lead the applause myself. I particularly wanted you to hear that.”