“Do you know, I have the oddest sensation that I have met you before.”
“I don’t think so,” said Rosalie. “I have a very good memory for faces, and I have never seen you anywhere.”
“Perhaps I am mistaken. People often resemble each other so curiously.”
But now silence was imposed. The play had begun in earnest, and it was quite interesting enough to retain the attention. When the act was over, a song by a very well-known singer was announced; but before this came off a few late arrivals made their entrance.
“There is the Golden Priest,” said Miss Crokerly.
He came in with two more gentleman. He was tall and thin, with a narrow face and black hair. His eyes were deeply set and fixed close together. His nose was long, and his lips very thin and straight. He looked clever; beyond that he was scarcely prepossessing, but he was evidently made much of in that assembly. They gave him a seat upon the very first row. And yet he never ceased to preach that the pig was unclean! It was a canon of the Church.
The play had more fine dresses in it than cleverness or substance, but it was received as warmly as the more deserving performances during the interludes.
Everybody was in high good-humour apparently, and the next day the paper said it was the most successful entertainment and supper party Mrs. Sebberen had ever given, which, coming from such good authority, must have been the truth.
When the temporary curtain had fallen for the last time upon general and good-natured applause, a movement was made toward the supper-room.
They put a little round-headed man with weak eyes to look after Rosalie. He blinked upon her critically, and then smiled. Rosalie did not like him.