The thing went on. Hampson lay back in his softly-padded chair with a set, impassive face. He was well dressed; his evening suit had been built by a good tailor, and outwardly there was nothing to distinguish him from any other of these "lovers of the drama." But as he listened to this or that doubtful joke and _double entendre_, marked this or that dance or pose, realized the skill of each cold and calculated appeal to the baser senses and passions, his heart was sick to death within him. He saw how nearly every one of the young men who surrounded him was known to this or that girl in the chorus. Swift glances or smiles flashed backwards and forwards from stalls to stage. The whole thing was an enormous, smoothly-running mechanism of evil! A great house of ill-fame! It was just that, no more nor less than that! The curtain fell on a peculiarly suggestive scene at the end of Act II, fell amid a roar of applause and laughter. It was so arranged that the curtain descended hurriedly, as if to hide something that could not be witnessed. For five or six minutes this dirty wickedness was over. Nearly every one got up and left his seat to go to the bar and take refreshment. Hampson did not move, nor did Sir Thomas Ducaine, though the two men behind asked him to accompany them to the _buffet_. He happened to turn, and saw Hampson's face. "Excuse me, sir," he said, with an entire disregard of the usual convention which binds his class. "Excuse me, but you seem rather sick of this." "It's abominable!" Hampson answered, in a sudden burst of anger. "I never go to the theatre, so I suppose I'm behind the times. But I really shouldn't have thought that several hundreds of apparently decent people would have come to see this sort of thing." "I'm very much of your opinion," the young man replied, "and I don't think I like it any better than you do. I never was fond of filth. But I just strolled in because I'd nothing much better to do." He sighed, and, turning from Hampson, stood up and began to survey the house. "Nothing better to do!" The words stung the journalist, and made him shudder when he thought of Whitechapel. This young, kindly, and obviously nice-minded man, had nothing better to do than to "drop in" at the Frivolity! Dear God! Nothing better to do! The electric bell whirred. Men began to make their way back to their seats, expectation was alight in most of the faces--faces somewhat flushed now with brandy-and-soda; eyes brighter now in anticipation of the opening scene of Act III! This was the second night of the play, yet already the opening of Act III was being talked of all over London. Mimi Addington was surpassing herself.