“You must know,” he continued, “that my kinsman has a very fine theatre here, which it has cost years to build. It has been constructed on the latest and most approved methods, and is at the height of comfort, convenience and luxury.” “I can quite believe you,” I affirmed. “My kinsman is very fond of acting, so are we all. Only we never act a play more than once of twice. After that we leave it to be studied and rehearsed by our slaves, and they eventually carry it to the earth and let mortals make what use of it they can.” “Then,” said I, “according to your version the stage is damned prior to the outset.” “Be careful,” he rejoined. “If you use bad language they’ll turn you out.... It is prohibited along with smoking and drinking.” The sounds of music led us to the theatre of which he spoke. It was fitted up to the greatest perfection, and evidently for private audiences. As we entered there was the general buzz which usually accompanies the orchestra before the curtain rises, but almost immediately after there was silence, and the lights were centred only on the stage behind the rising curtain. The scene that followed was one of great beauty, and the play itself clever and brilliant, often amusing. I discovered that Vestné took the leading part, though it was some time before I recognised her. When the curtain fell I waited with interest for the next act, but it never came. I found out later that they rarely gave more than one act each night; the rest of the time was left for what they termed “varieties.” But if I had been asked to translate the word “varieties,” I should certainly have rendered it as “tragedies,” since to me they were most painful. Plucritus had gone near the front and sat down, beckoning me to a seat next him. There were many sitting there besides ourselves, a brilliant company both as to beauty and display. “Now watch carefully,” said Plucritus, leaning back. “You may learn something, and you may be interested. But do not go to the absurd length of tears like Deborah when she went to see ‘The Only Way.’” “I will endeavour to restrain myself,” I declared. “The sight of your cheerful countenance will act as an antidote, I have no doubt.” Just then there walked on the boards a woman. She was dressed very simply, even prettily, which struck me as being a great concession. No sound of applause greeted her, but she came to the front and prepared to sing. I noticed that Vestné was prepared to accompany the song, which appeared to me a most condescending kindness on her part. She played a few bars and the song began.