EDWARD MORLESS. Well, Bowowski, ears were a nuisance today, at any rate, don’t you think? The optic impressions were far the best—easily. I wonder when we’re going to get in here. Xilef Bowowski has been tramping up and down the corridor, his ultra-distinguished chin a trifle elevated, his hands locked behind his back. He is evidently searching for words. In a moment, the door of the green-room swings open and a well-dressed man is seen bidding good-bye to Madame Frizza. The stranger takes no notice of the group of critics as he brushes past and hurries away. Then a most charming voice welcomes the five critics. The Madame is greeted by four blushes and one scowl. The scowling one, Mr. Krupp, is the first one to enter the green-room. Close behind him come the embarrassed four. MADAME BONJOLINE. Gentlemen, this is so good of you. And how did you like my recital? I hope it pleased you—yes? There is a moment of silence which, as it becomes awkward, is broken by DONALD WORCESTER. Some concert, all right. MADAME BONJOLINE. How good of you. I am happy. BEN DULLARD KRUPP. I confess I find myself unable to understand the judgment which places Debussy at the first of a program. Now why did you—— MADAME BONJOLINE. Ah,—ho, ho, ha, ha—that is our little joke, gentlemen, is it not? I suppose no one knew that I played Rachmaninoff instead of Debussy at the start—no one but ourselves. I changed my mind after I was out on the platform. BEN DULLARD KRUPP. I was—blgh-h!—that is, Mr. Stalk was at my office to see me about my coming American orchestra concert, at which I myself conduct, and so I was detained, and did not get to hear your opening number. DONALD WORCESTER. How did you manage to get along without Brahms, Madame. I should be interested—— MADAME BONJOLINE. Oh, you did not hear my third encore, then—the Brahms B-minor Capriccio. I am so sorry you missed it. DONALD WORCESTER. Oh, was that Brahms? I thought it sounded rather chunky, now that I recall it. EDWARD MORLESS. Would it seem too—well, let us say—American to you if I were to ask you to lunch with me, Madame Bonjoline? I should be extremely happy to have that pleasure. MADAME BONJOLINE. Ah, but the pleasure is mine. I shall be delighted to accept—that is, if there is time. I make that condition only. EDWARD MORLESS. Thank you, thank you, Madame. XILEF BOWOWSKI. Madame Bonjoline, do you remember the date of publication of the Gliere Prelude which you played today? It has completely slipped my mind. MADAME (laughing). My good sir, I could not recall it to save my soul. DONALD WORCESTER. I wish your playing sounded as good as it looks, Madame.