Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-02-13
CHAPTER VII.

It was a rainy November night. A soft, continuous downpour was soaking the Lon. don streets, without, however, affecting their animation or the noctural brightness of the capital, for the brilliance of the gas lamps was flashed back from innumerable patches of water, and every ray of light seemed to he broken by the rain into a hundred simmer ing reflections. It was the hour when all the society of which an autumnal London can boast is in the streets, hurryinG to its dinner or its amusements, and when the stream of diners out, flowing through the different channels of the west, is met in all tho great thoroughfares by the stream of theatre goers setting eastward
 The western end of D. street was espe- cially crowded, and so was the entrance to e certain narrow street leading northward from it, in which stood the new bare buildings of the Calliope. Outside the theatre itself there was dense mass of carriages and human beings, only kept in order by the active vigi- lance of the police, and waverfng to and fro with kaleidoscopic rapidity. The line of carriages seemed interminable, and after those who emerged from them had run tho gauntlet of the dripping, curious, good tenn pered multitude outside, they had to face the sterner ordeal of the struggling well dressed crowd within, surging up the double stair
 
 inside was full of the hum of talk, and the whole crowd had homogeneous, almost a family air, as though the contents of ono great London salon had been poured into the theatre. Everybody seemed to know every body else; there were politicians and artists, and writers of books; known and unknown; there were fair women and wise women and great ladies; and there was that large sub stratum of faithful, but comparatively name less, persons on whom successful manager learns to depend with some confidence on any first night of importance.
 And this was a first night of except:ou- able interest. So keen, indeed, had been the competition for tickets, that many of those present had as vague and confused an idea of how they came to be among the favored mul- titude pouring into the Calliope as & man in a street panic has of the devices by which he has struggled past the barrier which has overthrown his neishbor. Miss Bretherton's first appearance in "Elvira" had been the subject of conversation for weeks past among a far larger number of London circles than generally concern themselves with theatrical affairs. Among those which might be said to be within a certain literary and artistic circumference, people were able to give def mite grounds for the public interest The play, it was said, was an unusually good one, and the progress of the rehearsals had let loose flood of rumors to the effect that Miss Bretherton's acting in it would be great surprise to the public. Further, from the in- tellectual center of things, 1t was only known that the famous beauty had returned to the scene of her triumphs; and that now, as in the season. one of the first articles of the social decalogue laid it down as necessary that you should, first of all, see her in the theatre, and secondly, know her-by fair means, if possible, if not, by crooked ones in society.
 It was nearly quarter to 6. The orches- tra had taken their places and almost every seat was full In one of the dress circle boxes sat three people who had arrived early, and had for some time employed themselves in making study of the incoming stream through their opera glasses. They were Eustace Kendall, his sister, Mme de Chateau visux, and her husband. The Chateauvieux had traveled over Paris expressly for the occasion, and Mme. de Chateauyieux, her gray blue eyes sparkling with expectation and all her small, delicate features alive with interest and anlmation, was watching for the rising of the heavy velvet curtain with an eagerness which brought down upon her the occasional mockery of her husband, who was in reality, however, little less excited than herself It was but three weeks since
 
 Paris, and they were feeling on this first night something of the anxiety and responsi- bility which parents feel when they launch a child upon whom they have expended their best efforts into critical world.
 As for Eustace he also had but that after noon arrived in London. He had been paying long duty visit to some aged relatives in the north, and had so heightened 1t out, in accordance with the whin which had taken possession of him in Surrey, that he had missed all tho preparations for "Elvira," and had arrived upon the scene only at the mo- mont whom the final coup was to be delivered. Miss Bretherton had herself sent him 8 warm note of invitation, containing an order for the first night and an appeal to him to como and judge me as kindly as truth will let you" And he had answered her that, what ever happened, ho would be in his place in the Calliope on tke night of tho 20th of No vember.
 And now here he was, wearing outwardly precisely the same aspect of interested ex- pectation as those around him, and all tho time conscious inwardly that to him alone, of all tho human beings in that vast theatre, the experience of tho evening would be 50 vitally and desperately important that life on the other side of 1t would bear tho mark of 1t forever. It was . burden to him that hia SASeoA ou6poSCoA AOeAA0& Ok Ol0 6C6V0 O1 x0e1- Ing; 1t would have consoled him that she should know 1t, but 1t seemed to him impos sible to tell her.
 ''There are tho Stuarts," he said, bending down to her, as the orchestra struck up, "iu the box to the left. Forbes, suppose, will join them when 1t begins. am told he has been working like . horse for this play. Every detail in it, they say, is perfect. artis. tically and historically, and the time oi preparation has been exceptionally short Why did she refuse to begin again with the White Lady, to give herself more timer "I cannot tell you, except that she had . repugnance to it which could not be got over believe her associations with the play were 90 painful that 1t would have seemed an evil omen to her to begin a new season with 1t. {" "Was she wise, wonderi"
 "I think she did we'll to follow her fancy iu | the matter, and she herself has had plenty oi time She was working at 1t all the weeks she was with us, and young Harting too, think, had notice enough. Some oi the smaller parts may go roughly tonight | but they will soon fall into shape"
 "Poor Wallace!" said Kendall, .'he must be