A gentleman opened the door of the box and peered in.
“Ah, Rolf, how are you? Come in,” said Oxmoor, addressing the newcomer.
“Let me introduce you. Lady Marvlynn, Mr. Rolf, theatrical critic to the Portsoken Gazette—Lady Aveline, Miss Jamblin.”
They all bowed and smiled, as is usual in such cases.
“She’s very fine to-night, better than usual, I think—is she not?”
“Yes, excellent,” returned the critic.
“Wonderful singer, is she not, sir?” observed Lady Marvlynn, not knowing very well what to say.
“Yes, has a magnificent organ.”
“There you go again,” cried Oxmoor. “A magnificent organ! A voice is not an organ.”
“It is not a barrel organ, I admit,” said Rolf.