A silence followed this, and at last from the left wing of the stage a gentleman appeared. So far as I knew I had never seen him before, and Plucritus, who sat beside me, explained that he had lived a hundred years ago, when the great European War was in progress.
The one who had called for him sat in the centre of the theatre, and round him were grouped many spirits, Vestné being at his right hand.
“That is my brother-in-law,” said Plucritus, “and we really get on excellently well. Some day I will introduce you to him, and there is no doubt you will form a great admiration for each other.”
“We will leave the future to speak for itself,” I observed drily.
“My brother-in-law is very talented,” continued he; “but he is of such a modest nature that he has never yet allowed himself to be called by the name of Genius.”
“Indeed!” I laughed. “What is his particular gift?”
“He has none in particular. They all belong to him.”
I laughed again.
We were interrupted by his calling to us.
“Plucritus,” he exclaimed, “you might at least have the kindness to keep that conversation at a lower pitch.”