“You go!” pouted Dione.
“No, I don’t want to,” explained Chlorippe, “because the curtain is rising.”
“I’ll go,” sighed Philodice, rising to her slender height and moving up the aisle as the children of queens moved once upon a time. She came back presently, saying: “Dear me, they’re dreadfully in love, and they have driven away in two hansoms.”
“Gone!” wheezed the poet.
“Quite,” said Philodice, staring at the stage and calmly folding her smooth little hands.
[ X]
hen the curtain at last descended upon the parting attitudes of the players the poet arose with an alacrity scarcely to be expected in a gentleman of his proportions. Two and two his big, healthy daughters—there remained but four now—followed him to the lobby. When he was able to pack all four into a cab he did so and sent them home without ceremony; then, summoning another vehicle, gave the driver the directions and climbed in.