The curtain had risen some few minutes since on Mlle. Fanfette and Monsieur Coquelet de Chaussepierre of the Théâtre Sans Rancune in the comedietta, Sydney, or There’s No Resisting Him.
“It’s extraordinary I’ve never seen a man knighted,” a show-girl twittered, “and I’ve seen a good deal....”
“How do they do them?”
“Like this,” a sparkling brunette answered, bestowing a sly pat on the interlocutress with the back of a brush.
“Of all the common——!”
“Ladies! Ladies!”
“Who was in front at the time?”
“I was!” Mrs. Sixsmith said, who had just peeped in to exchange a few words with her friend.
“You were?”
“I was selling sweets in the vestibule and saw it all. Really! If I live to be an old woman I shan’t forget it. Mr. Mary—Sir Maurice—was in the lobby chatting with Sylvester Fry of the Dispatch, when the Royal party arrived. The King instantly noticed him and sent one of his suite, quite unpremeditatedly, it seemed, to summon him, and in a trice ... Oh! ... and I never saw the Queen look so charming. She has a gold dress turning to white through the most exquisite gradations....”