The Theatre was crowded. There was not a vacant seat: there was no more standing room on the stairs; the very doors of the gallery were thronged: the great staircase was thronged with those who could not get in, but waited to get the first news. Nay, outside the Institution, Albemarle Street was crowded with people waiting to hear what this great thing might be which all the world had waited six months to hear. Within the Theatre, what an audience! For the first time in English history, no respect at all had been paid to rank: the people gathered in the Theatre were all that the great City could boast that was distinguished in science, art, and letters. Those present were the men who moved the world. Among them, naturally, a sprinkling of the men who are born to the best things of the world, and are sometimes told that they help to move it. There were ladies among the company too--ladies well known in scientific and literary circles, with certain great ladies led by curiosity. On the left-hand side of the Theatre, for instance, close to the door, sat two very great ladies, indeed--one of them the Countess of Thordisá, and the other her only daughter, the Lady Mildred Carera. Leaning against the pillar beside them stood a young man of singularly handsome appearance, tall and commanding of stature. "To you, Dr. Linister," said the Countess, "I suppose everything that the Professor has to tell us will be already well known?" "That," said Dr. Linister, "would be too much to expect." "For me," her Ladyship went on delicately, "I love to catch Science on the wing--on the wing--in her lighter moods, when she has something really popular to tell." Dr. Linister bowed. Then his eyes met those of the beautiful girl sitting below him, and he leaned and whispered, "I looked for you everywhere last night. You had led me to understand--" "We went nowhere, after all. Mamma fancied she had a bad cold." "Then this evening. May I be quite--quite sure?" His voice dropped, and his fingers met hers beneath the fan. She drew them away quickly, with a blush. "Yes," she whispered, "you may find me to-night at Lady Chatterton's or Lady Ingleby's." From which you can understand that this young Dr. Linister was quite a man in society. He was young, he had already a great reputation for Biological research, he was the only son of a fashionable physician, and he would be very rich. Therefore, in the season, Harry Linister was _of_ the season. On most of the faces present there sat an expression of anxiety, and even fear. What was this new thing? Was the world really going to be turned upside down? And when the West End was so very comfortable and its position so very well assured! But there were a few present who rubbed their hands at the thought of a great upturn of everything. Up with the scum first; when that had been ladled overboard, a new arrangement would be possible, to the advantage of those who rubbed their hands.