A flautist piped romantically an Arcadian
measure, while his prominent eyes stared about over the chattering
audience as if in search of some one. Suddenly he gave a "couac." He had
seen his sweetheart in the distance with a youth from Christ Church. The
conductor turned on the estrade in the centre of the orchestra and
scowled at him, and he hastened to become Arcadian once again, gazing at
his flute as if the devil had entered into it. In a doorway shrouded with
heavy curtains two acting managers talked warily, their hands in retreat
behind their coat-tails. They surveyed the house and mentally calculated
the amount of money in it, raising their eyes to the more distant
promenade, at the back of which large hats covered with flowers and
feathers moved steadily to and fro. One of them curled his lips and
murmured the word "Chant." Then they both laughed and strolled out to
the bar. More men passed in. Many could not get seats, and these stood,
smoking and exchanging remarks in the broad space between the stalls and
the wall. Some of them leaned nonchalantly against it and criticised the
appearance of the seated audience, or nodded to acquaintances. Others
gathered round the bar, and a few looked at the drop-curtain as if they
thought their ascetic glances would cause it to roll up and disappear.
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