In the "Stage Notes," or "Stage Whispers," or "Gossip of the Stage," of the Sunday papers (next morning), there had been mention made of "A pleasant little surprise at the Globe Theatre, where a lady had so successfully secluded herself in the shadows of her box that the play was half over before Mr. Thrall had discovered in her his wife, whom he supposed to be still in London. Strict disciplinarian as he is, the manager was so far lost in the husband that he hurried, all costumed as he was, to the box to greet and warmly welcome her. The audience would gladly have taken a hand in the greeting, had they been quite sure the lady was Mrs. Thrall, but as she had arrived too late to make a proper evening toilette, yet could not deny herself the pleasure of seeing at once her husband's latest great production, she almost wrapped herself in the box curtain, thus facing the stage while hiding herself from the house. When discovered, the returned wanderer laughingly told Mr. Thrall she hoped that, in common justice, he would place his own name at the head of that week's 'docked list,' as a heavy forfeit is demanded of anyone who appears in front of the house after taking any part, no matter how brief, in the performance, and he was doubly guilty, in that he was in full costume. He gravely argued there would be no one to profit by the forfeit, since he was himself manager as well as offending actor. But she quickly extended an open hand, and cheerfully offered to receive the forfeit, and even to invest it wisely and cautiously, and Mr. Thrall retired from both argument and box." Also, there had been a brief mention of "The swooning of Miss Sybil Lawton, between acts. The cause given was fatigue, the long run of the play, and the double performance of Saturday, making a heavy draught upon the strength of so young a girl." One paper added that "Miss Lawton herself made light of the matter, saying, 'Fainting was a mere family trait with the Lawtons, an inheritance the same as a very long thumb or a peculiar ear,' but though she laughed, she looked very white, and leaned heavily upon the arm of her woman companion." When the play ended that night the call-boy had been sent to tell Mr. Roberts that "he was wanted at Mr. Thrall's dressing-room, as quickly as possible," and presently, shabby and shambling, with every nerve aquiver, and in a most savage temper, he obeyed. Outside the door he stood respectfully enough, his hat in hand. Inside his manner became a half-cowed insolence. He put his hat on, and, nervously buttoning and unbuttoning his coat, said: "Well; you whistled your cur--here I am! Whom am I to be sic'd at this time?"