The party went off in two automobiles, his own and Lady Massulam's. Cars were fighting for room in front of the blazing façade of the Metropolitan Theatre, across which rose in fire the title of the entertainment, _Smack Your Face_, together with the names of Asprey Chown and Eliza Fiddle. Car after car poured out a contingent of glorious girls and men and was hustled off with ferocity by a row of gigantic and implacable commissionaires. Mr. Oswald Morfey walked straight into the building at the head of his guests. Highly expensive persons were humbling themselves at the little window of the box office, but Ozzie held his course, and officials performed obeisances which stopped short only at falling flat on their faces at the sight of him. Tickets were not for him. "This is a beautiful box," said Eve to him, amazed at the grandeur of the receptacle into which they had been ushered. "It's Mr. Chown's own box." "Then isn't Mr. Chown to be here to-night?" "No! He went to Paris this morning for a rest. The acting manager will telephone to him after each act. That's how he always does, you know." "When the cat's away the mice will play," thought Mr. Prohack uncomfortably, with the naughty sensations of a mouse. The huge auditorium was a marvellous scene of excited brilliance. As the stalls filled up a burst of clapping came at intervals from the unseen pit. "What are they clapping for?" said the simple Eve, who, like Mr. Prohack, had never been to a first-night before, to say nothing of such a super-first-night as this. "Oh!" replied Ozzie negligently. "Some one they know by sight just come into the stalls. The _chic_ thing in the pit is to recognise, and to show by applause that you have recognised. The one that applauds the oftenest wins the game in the pit." At those words and their tone Mr. Prohack looked at Ozzie with a new eye, as who should be thinking: "Is Sissie right about this fellow after all?" Sissie sat down modestly and calmly next to her mother. Nobody could guess from her apparently ingenuous countenance that she knew that she, and not the Terror of the departments and his wife, was the originating cause of Mr. Morfey's grandiose hospitality. "I suppose the stalls are full of celebrities?" said Eve. "They're full of people who've paid twice the ordinary price for their seats," answered Ozzie. "Who's that extraordinary old red-haired woman in the box opposite?" Eve demanded. "That's Enid." "Enid?" "Yes. You know the Enid stove, don't you? All ladies know the Enid stove. It's been a household word for forty years. That's the original Enid. Her father invented the stove, and named it after her when she was a girl. She never misses a first-night." "How extraordinary! Is she what you call a celebrity?" "Rather!" "Now," said Mr. Prohack. "Now, at last I understand the real meaning of fame."