"Do you go much to the theatre?" he asked her sister.
"We go when there's anything good on," she said.
"Such as——?"
"Oh! I don't know——" She looked vaguely round the room. "Something amusing, you know, but quite nice too."
"I see. D'you care for the Repertory?"
"Oh, well," said Miss Muriel, "they're not bad, but they do such dull things. You remember, Gertrude," leaning across to her sister, "yon awful silly thing we saw? What was it called? Yes, Prunella. And that same night some friends asked us to go to Baby Mine—everyone says it's killing,—but Papa had taken the seats and he made us use them. It was too bad. We felt awfully 'had.'"
"I think," said Miss Gertrude, "that the Repertory people are very amateurish."
Mr. Stewart Stevenson was stung.
"My dear young lady," he said severely, "one or two of the Repertory people are as good as anyone on the London stage and a long sight better than most."
"Fency," said Miss Gertrude coldly.