'There! The fifth row of stalls, the one, two, four, seven—the seventh man from the end. He's been looking at you all through, but now he's gone in for a good long stare. There! next to that pretty girl in pink.'
'Do you mean the young man with the dyed carnation in his buttonhole and the crimson handkerchief in his bosom?'
'Yes, that's the one. Do you know him?'
'No,' said Esther, lowering her eyes and looking away. But when Addie informed her that the young man had renewed his attentions to the girl in pink, she levelled her opera-glass at him. Then she shook her head. 'There seems something familiar about his face, but I cannot for the life of me recall who it is.'
'The "something familiar about his face" is his nose,' said Addie, laughing, 'for it is emphatically Jewish.'
'At that rate,' said Sidney, 'nearly half the theatre would be familiar, including a goodly proportion of the critics, and Hamlet and Ophelia themselves. But I know the fellow.'
'You do? Who is he?' asked the girls eagerly.
'I don't know. He's one of the mashers of the Frivolity. I'm another, and so we often meet. But we never speak as we pass by. To tell the truth, I resent him.'
'It's wonderful how fond Jews are of the theatre,' said Esther, 'and how they resent other Jews going.'
'Thank you,' said Sidney. 'But as I am not a Jew, the arrow glances off.'