"Oh! Well!" Marrier drawled. "What would you expect?"
"That's just what I said!" observed Edward Henry.
"You did, did you?" Mr. Marrier exclaimed, as if extremely interested by this corroboration of his views.
Carlo Trent strolled in; he remarked that he happened to be just passing. But discussion of the situation was not carried very far.
That evening the house was nearly full, except the pit and the gallery, which were nearly empty. Applause was perfunctory.
"How much?" Edward Henry inquired of the box-office manager when figures were added together.
"Thirty-one pounds, two shillings."
"Hem!"
"Of course," said Mr. Marrier, "in the height of the London season, with so many counter-attractions—! Besides, they've got to get used to the idea of it."
Edward Henry did not turn pale. Still, he was aware that it cost him a trifle over sixty pounds "to ring the curtain up" at every performance—and this sum took no account of expenses of production nor of author's fees. The sum would have been higher, but he was calculating as rent of the theatre only the ground-rent plus six per cent on the total price of the building.