“To the left!” the people cried. “The innamorato is to the left.”
He deserted his ladies and plunged towards the box. A young man was flung stomach downwards across the balustrade. Philip handed him up the bouquet and the note. Then his own hands were seized affectionately. It all seemed quite natural.
“Why have you not written?” cried the young man. “Why do you take me by surprise?”
“Oh, I’ve written,” said Philip hilariously. “I left a note this afternoon.”
“Silence! silence!” cried the audience, who were beginning to have enough. “Let the divine creature continue.” Miss Abbott and Harriet had disappeared.
“No! no!” cried the young man. “You don’t escape me now.” For Philip was trying feebly to disengage his hands. Amiable youths bent out of the box and invited him to enter it.
“Gino’s friends are ours—”
“Friends?” cried Gino. “A relative! A brother! Fra Filippo, who has come all the way from England and never written.”
“I left a message.”
The audience began to hiss.