"That your Ophelia was equal to anything he had seen on the London stage, and that he believed you would create a sensation there. He is first cousin to the Earl of Badmington, you know, who has a theatre in London. I thought you would like to hear it. He is very anxious to make your acquaintance--as all gentlemen of taste and refinement would be."
He glanced slyly at the Leading Lady, whose head was nodding gently up and down, in sweet contentment.
"And now, my dear lady, tell me your grievance."
"It's yours as well as mine, but if you like to stand it, I shan't. If bouquets of flowers are to be thrown on the stage, they must be thrown to me--do you understand, sir? to me, as the Leading Lady, and as the star of the company!"
It happened that Mr. Hart had been busy elsewhere during the episode that had very nearly brought the ship to wreck, and had heard nothing of it. He asked the Leading Lady for an explanation, which was given to him.
"And if you don't stop these shameful goings-on," were her concluding words, "I give you fair warning, I will not stay with you. I have a character to lose, thank God!"
Which was to be construed in so many queer ways, that Mr. Hart could scarcely refrain from laughing. "Confound Master Philip!" he thought, and said aloud, "Well, well, my dear creature, I will see to it. And no flowers shall be thrown--by Mr. Philip Rowe, at all events--on the stage to any one but you."
This difficulty being soothed over, he went in search of Philip Rowe, and found him leaning against a fence outside the hotel, gazing up at a light in a bedroom window on the first floor.
"Rehearsing 'Romeo and Juliet?'" asked Mr. Hart kindly, taking the young man's arm.
Philip blushed, and stammered some unintelligible words.