“What a beautiful congregation!” she whispered—“audience, I mean!”
“Do you think so?” said Polly; but Glory did not hear her.
It was delightful to see so many lovely faces and listen to the low hum of their conversation. She felt happy among them already and quite kind to everybody, because they had all come together to enjoy themselves. Presently she bowed to some one in the stall with a face all smiles, and then said to Polly:
“How nice of her! A lady moved, to me from the body. How friendly they are in theatres!”
“But it was to Mr. Drake,” said Polly; and then Glory could have buried her face in her confusion.
“Never mind, Glory,” said Drake; “that's a lady who will like you the better for the little mistake.—Rosa,” he added, with a look toward Lord Robert, who smoothed his mustache and bent his head.
Polly glanced up quickly at the mention of the name; and Drake explained that Rosa was a friend of his own—a lady journalist, Miss Rosa Macquarrie, a good and clever woman. Then, turning back to Glory, he said:
“She has been standing up for your friend Mr. Storm this week. You know there have been attacks upon him in the newspapers?”
“Has she?” said Glory, recovering herself and looking down again. “Which pew—stall, I mean——”
But the people were clapping their hands and turning their faces to the opposite side of the theatre. Some great personage was entering the royal box.