Frank looked up uneasily. "Who is he, anyhow?"
"Don't know," responded the millionaire, imperturbably. "He was running an apple orchard when I dropped across him. Clean shot, too."
Baird laughed. "Sounds like a retired pirate of sorts. But he's on the square now. He and Miss Berry have rooms in Bloomsbury, and go to church and have the entry of some decent houses. Frank knows all about them."
"Only that she's a nice woman and a good woman, and that Berry is a ruffian. He won't let Starth marry her."
"I hope not," said Darrel, darkly. "I've known Starth a long time, and he's a bounder. But he's got an uncommonly pretty sister, as beautiful and sweet-tempered as he is the reverse. Hush! Let's stick to the play; we're talking too much."
Frank certainly couldn't be accused of chattering, as he was rather silent. Even the rattling chorus and the jokes of the low comedian could not banish the frown from his brow. And he became aware that a man was looking at him--a fair-faced, effeminate little man, with light eyes and a deprecating manner. Lancaster, in no very good temper, scowled at the man, who immediately turned away his head. As he did so the first act ended amidst loud applause.
"An eighteen months' run if the other act is as silly," pronounced Baird; "but the management won't keep Fan all that time. She's as freakish as a cat, and her uncle is rich enough to allow her to snap her fingers at the Treasury."
"She _is_ a cat from the looks of her," said Darrel, grimly. "Come out, boys, I'll put up the drinks."
Dicky assented affably, as the night was warm. But Frank remained behind. "I don't want to run the risk of meeting Starth again. He might come back."
"To fetch his sister," said the big Rhodesian. "Yonder she is in a box with an old lady."