the first act of 'My Queen.' Of course you'll insist--"

"Don't talk your horrid shop now, Sullivan," his wife said; and
Sullivan didn't.

The prelude to the third act was played, and the curtain went up on
the bridal chamber of Elsa and Lohengrin. Sir Cyril Smart rose as if
to go, but lingered, eying the stage as a general might eye a
battle-field from a neighboring hill. The music of the two processions
was heard approaching from the distance. Then, to the too familiar
strains of the wedding march, the ladies began to enter on the right,
and the gentlemen on the left. Elsa appeared amid her ladies, but
there was no Lohengrin in the other crowd. The double chorus
proceeded, and then a certain excitement was visible on the stage, and
the conductor made signs with his left hand.

"Smart, what's wrong? Where's Alresca?" It was Sullivan who spoke.

"He'll sail in all right," Sir Cyril said calmly. "Don't worry."

The renowned impresario had advanced nearer to the front of our box,
and was standing immediately behind my chair. My heart was beating
violently with apprehension under my shirt-front. Where was Alresca?
It was surely impossible that he should fail to appear! But he ought
to have been on the stage, and he was not on the stage. I stole a
glance at Sir Cyril's face. It was Napoleonic in its impassivity.

And I said to myself:

"He is used to this kind of thing. Naturally slips must happen