A little suppressed clapping of hands in the neighborhood, which the actors probably thought intended for themselves, but which certainly was not. Meanwhile Emily Owen, dropping her hand by some kind of unexplainable intuition to the very spot where Frank's was lying, gave it a quick squeeze, then stumbled gracefully over the legs of the persons sitting between her and the aisle, and followed her father. As she passed two or three steps up the aisle, the Judge leading pompously, and the gate-keeper calculating the chances of being able to crush him by accidentally letting the iron gate slam to against his legs,--she encountered a recognition that was almost an adventure. A young girl who sat in the next to the end seat of the back-row of the orchestra, leaned over the gentleman outside and caught her hand, saying: "Emily Owen--I know it is! Do you not remember me?" "Josephine Harris! How glad I am to see you!" was the reply of Emily, the moment her eyes fairly took in the face and figure before her. "I could not see your face before, and did not know that you were here. How long it is since I saw you!--ever since I left Rutgers, and you were still hammering away there!" said Josephine Harris, who was indeed the other, having come down to Wallack's with a party of friends, for the evening, and who had not before had a chance to recognize her old friend and school-fellow at the Rutgers Institute. "Come and see me. Papa is in a hurry, and I cannot wait," said Emily, doubtful whether her friend had or had not observed the preceding movements. "I have not time for a card--look in the Directory and send me yours. Good night!" and in a moment she was gone, following the Judge to that mental slaughter involved in riding home with him in his present mood, and leaving the performance to pass on again as if no interruption had occurred. As may be supposed, Frank Wallace was something of an "object of interest" for the small remainder of the evening; but he had no acquaintances in the neighborhood, and not much remark was ventured. One man behind him, indeed, leaned over and said: "Lost your girl, eh?" but Frank's "Ya-a-s!" was so broad and discouraging for any further questions, that the inquiry was not pursued. Most men, under similar circumstances, would have left the theatre at once, to avoid observation and to hide annoyance: he did not, and he may have acted wisely or unwisely in that course of conduct.