Stella-my-niece has made it a stern rule that we are not to talk during the Acts, contriving to telegraph her appreciation of most things by fervent clutches at my arm; but to-day the effects of this salutary regulation were spoilt for me by Herbert. My attention wandered.
"Is he an actor?" I asked sternly, as the lights leaped up again.
"Which do you mean? I think they were all perfect darlings in that scene."
"Why, Herbert, of course."
"Herbert—Sir Herbert? He isn't in this, is he? I didn't see anyone looking as bored as he does. Hunt him up in the programme—it's down there under your boots."
"I didn't mean Tree. I meant Herbert—your Herbert."
"My Herbert?" Stella-my-niece opened her mouth showing astonishment and very pretty teeth.
"Yes, your Herbert. He's an actor fellow, isn't he?"
"No, he's an umbrella—my new umbrella. I bought him with the sovereign you sent me for my birthday, and he is such a darling! I felt he ought to have a name of his own, so I called him Herbert. He looks like that."
"A girl's name—Maud, for instance, only one doesn't use them in the garden much——"