“Come on,” he said, excitedly; and seeing several people racing up the broad stone stairs, he and Miss Tyrell raced with them.
“Round this side,” he cried, hastily, as he gave up the tickets, and, followed by Miss Tyrell, quickly secured a couple of seats at the end of the front row.
“Best seats in the house almost,” said Poppy, cheerfully.
“Where are the others?” said Fraser, looking round.
“Coming on behind, I suppose,” said Poppy glancing over her shoulder.
“I’ll change places when they arrive,” said the other, apologetically; “something’s detained them, I should think. I hope they’re not waiting for us.”
He stood looking about him uneasily as the seats behind rapidly filled, and closely scanned their occupants, and then, leaving his hat on the seat, walked back in perplexity to the door.
“Never mind,” said Miss Tyrell, quietly, as he came back. “I daresay they’ll find us.”
Fraser bought a programme and sat down, the brim of Miss Tyrell’s hat touching his face as she bent to peruse it. With her small gloved finger she pointed out the leading characters, and taking no notice of his restlessness, began to chat gaily about the plays she had seen, until a tuning of violins from the orchestra caused her to lean forward, her lips parted and her eyes beaming with anticipation.
“I do hope the others have got good seats,” she said, softly, as the overture finished; “that’s everything, isn’t it?”