And then they heard the sound of the applause that marked the finish of the duet which, in the programme, preceded “In the Land of Sleep.” Priscilla jumped up from her seat. Mr. Kelton rose with the smile of a man of leisure and gave a self-satisfied glance at the little mirror. He improved the set of his collar by a deft little push and then saw to his cuffs. “Don’t be in a hurry; there’s plenty of time,” he remarked to Priscilla. He had no idea of falling into line with the ordinary amateurs who aimed at expedition. He knew the importance of making an audience slightly impatient for his appearance. He even knew the value of opening the door leading on to the platform and allowing it to close again--giving them a false alarm or two after a prolonged delay. He smiled at Priscilla g it when, after that trick of opening the door and closing it on a blank, there was a movement among the people in the hall. But this was just where Priscilla drew the line. She detested being associated with such trickery. She pulled open the door and walked on to the platform alone, making a straight line to the piano, and acknowledging in no way the warm greeting of the audience. She had spoiled his _entree_, and he was well aware of this fact. The audience had wasted their applause upon her; he only came in for the tail end of it. And he was not artist enough to be able at a moment’s notice to hide his discomfiture under the ingratiating smile of the professional, which is supposed to make the most critical audience become genial. His smile was the leer of a Cherokee when his successful opponent is removing his scalp.