"Yes, do," added Esther, "I have only been to two first nights, and then
I had nobody to point out the lions."
"Well, first of all I see a very celebrated painter in a box—a man who has improved considerably on the weak draughtsmanship displayed by Nature in her human figures, and the amateurishness of her glaring sunsets."
"Who's that?" inquired Addie and Esther eagerly.
"I think he calls himself Sidney Graham—but that of course is only a nom de pinceau."
"Oh!" said, the girls, with a reproachful smile.
"Do be serious!" said Esther. "Who is that stout gentleman with the bald head?" She peered down curiously at the stalls through her opera-glass.
"What, the lion without the mane? That's Tom Day, the dramatic critic of a dozen papers. A terrible Philistine. Lucky for Shakspeare he didn't flourish in Elizabethan times."
He rattled on till the curtain rose and the hushed audience settled down to the enjoyment of the tragedy.
"This looks as if it is going to be the true Hamlet," said Esther, after the first act.
"What do you mean by the true Hamlet?" queried Sidney cynically.