“A mistress?”
“No.”
“What theaters does he attend?”
“To-night he will be at the Nicolini Theater, where Virginia Marini and Salvini are acting; they are the greatest living artists in Italy, perhaps in Europe.
“See that you get a box—and be quick about it!” she commanded.
“But, mistress—”
“Do you want a taste of the whip?”
* * * * *
“You can wait down in the lobby,” she said when I had placed the opera-glasses and the programme on the edge of her box and adjusted the footstool.
I am standing there and had to lean against the wall for support so as not to fall down with envy and rage—no, rage isn’t the right word; it was a mortal fear.