The appearance of this rare box of chocolates struck the heir to the barony with deep dismay. What had happened to the ill-fated box he had bought of B. Venoist!
“I’m hanged,” he said, “if I haven’t left that bally box in the taxi after all!”
The heir to the barony waited until the Principal Girl had retired to get into her famous glass slippers and her ballroom kit, and then like a thief in the night he stole out of Box B, that none should see him go, and crept round the back of the dress circle to the refreshment buffet presided over by a Hebe of three-and-forty summers in an outfit of yellow curls.
He would never be able to forgive himself if the kids should think he had forgotten those chocolates.
“Price o’ those?”
The heir to the barony disbursed the sum with his accustomed munificence.
“Hullo, young feller, what are you doing here?”
This question was asked by a gentleman of prosperous appearance who was holding up a yellow fluid in a tiny glass and looking as though he might presently imbibe it.
“Party o’ kids,” said the heir to the barony. “Toppin’ good show.”
The gentleman of the prosperous appearance quite agreed and invited him civilly to drink.