“I never analyzed my emotions,” said Henderson, “but when I was a boy and came to the theatre I well remember that it made me ambitious; every sort of thing seemed possible of attainment in the excitement of the crowded house, the music, the lights, the easy successes on the stage; nothing else is more stimulating to a lad; nothing else makes the world more attractive.” “And does it continue to have the same effect, Mr. Henderson?” “Hardly,” and he smiled; “the illusion goes, and the stage is about as real as the house--usually less interesting. It can hardly compete with the comedy in the boxes.” “Perhaps it is lack of experience, but I like the play for itself.” “Oh yes; desire for the dramatic is natural. People will have it somehow. In the country village where there are no theatres the people make dramas out of each other's lives; the most trivial incidents are magnified and talked about--dramatized, in short.” “You mean gossiped about?” “Well, you may call it gossip--nothing can be concealed; everybody knows about everybody else; there is no privacy; everything is used to create that illusory spectacle which the stage tries to give. I think that in the country village a good theatre would be a wholesome influence, satisfy a natural appetite indicated by the inquisition into the affairs of neighbors, and by the petty scandal.” “We are on the way to it,” said Mr. Morgan, who sat behind them; “we have theatricals in the church parlors, which may grow into a nineteenth century substitute for the miracle-plays. You mustn't, Margaret, let Mr. Henderson prejudice you against the country.” “No,” said the latter, quickly; “I was only trying to defend the city. We country people always do that. We must base our theatrical life on something in nature.” “What is the difference, Mr. Henderson,” asked Margaret, “between the gossip in the boxes and the country gossip you spoke of?” “In toleration mainly, and lack of exact knowledge. It is here rather cynical persiflage, not concentrated public opinion.” “I don't follow you,” said Morgan. “It seems to me that in the city you've got gossip plus the stage.” “That is to say, we have the world.” “I don't like to believe that,” said Margaret, seriously--“your definition of the world.” “You make me see that it was a poor jest,” he said, rising to go. “By-the-way, we have a friend of yours in our box tonight--a young Englishman.” “Oh, Mr. Lyon. We were all delighted with him. Such a transparent, genuine nature!” “Tell him,” said my wife, “that we should be happy to see him at our hotel.” When Henderson came back to his box Carmen did not look up, but she said, indifferently: “What, so soon? But your absence has made one person thoroughly miserable. Mr. Lyon has not taken his eyes off you. I never saw such an international attachment.” “What more could I do for Miss Eschelle than to leave her in such company?”