"I didn't know you admired Wagner so much," Amber said scathingly, as Walter pushed through the grooms. "Such a rapt devotee!"
"Wagner is the greatest man of the century. He alone has been able to change London's dinner-hour."
Amber could not help smiling. "Poor Lady Chelmer!" she said, nodding towards the drowsing dowager. "Since half-past six!"
"Is that our carriage?" said the "Prisoner of Pleasure," opening her eyes.
"No, dear—I guess we are some fifty behind. Tolly and the Marquis are watching from the pavement."
The poor lady sighed and went to sleep again.
"Behold the compensations of poverty," observed Walter Bassett. "The gallery-folk have to wait and squeeze before the opera; the carriage-folk after the opera."
"You forget the places they occupy during the opera. Poor Wagner! What a fight! I wish I could have helped his career." And Amber set a wistful smile in the becoming frame of her white hood.
"The form of the career appears to be indifferent to you," he said, with a little laugh.
"As indifferent as the man," she replied, meeting his eyes calmly.