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?” “I hope so,” said Fraser. He leaned forward, excitedly. Not because the curtain was rising, but because he had just caught sight of a figure standing up in the centre of the pit-stalls. He had just time to call his companion’s attention to it when the figure, in deference to the threats and entreaties of the people behind, sat down and was lost in the crowd. “They _have_ got good seats,” said Miss Tyrell. “I’m so glad. What a beautiful scene.” The mate, stifling his misgivings, gave himself up to the enjoyment of the situation, which included answering the breathless whispers of his neighbour when she missed a sentence, and helping her to discover the identity of the characters from the programme as they appeared. “I should like it all over again,” said Miss Tyrell, sitting back in her seat, as the curtain fell on the first act. Fraser agreed with her. He was closely watching the pit-stalls. In the general movement on the part of the audience which followed the lowering of the curtain, the master of the _Foam_ was the first on his feet. “I’ll go down and send him up,” said Fraser, rising. Miss Tyrell demurred, and revealed an unsuspected timidity of character. “I don’t like being left here all alone,” she remarked. “Wait till they see us.” She spoke in the plural, for Miss Wheeler, who found the skipper exceedingly bad company, had also risen, and was scrutinising the house with a gaze hardly less eager than his own. A suggestion of the mate that he should wave his handkerchief was promptly negatived by Miss Tyrell, on the ground that it would not be the correct thing to do in the upper-circle, and they were still undiscovered when the curtain went up for the second act, and strong and willing hands from behind thrust the skipper back into his seat. “I expect you’ll catch it,” said Miss Tyrell, softly, as the performance came to an end; “we’d better go down and wait for them outside. I never enjoyed a piece so much.” The mate rose and mingled with the crowd, conscious of a little occasional clutch at his sleeve whenever other people threatened to come between them. Outside the crowd dispersed slowly, and it was some minutes before they discovered a small but compact knot of two waiting for them. “Where the—” began Flower.