Van Brinen stood thus for quite a minute. Then he made his way to one of the exits and disappeared. "He is coming round to the box, I'm sure," said Charmian cheerfully. "He evidently saw us." "Yes." But Van Brinen did not come. Nor did Jacob Crayford. Several others came, however, and there were comments, congratulations. The same things were repeated by several mouths with strangely similar intonations. And Charmian made appropriate answers. And all the time she kept on saying to herself: "This is my hour of triumph, as Madame Sennier's was at Covent Garden. Only this is America and not England. So of course there is a difference. New York has its way of setting the seal on a triumph and London has its way." Moved presently to speak out of her mind she said to a Boston man, called Hostatter, who had looked in upon them: "It is so interesting, I think, to notice the difference between one nation and another in such a matter for instance as this receiving of a new work." "Very interesting, very interesting," said Hostatter. "You Americans show what you feel by the intensity of your si--by the intensity, the concentration with which you listen." "Exactly. And what is a London audience like? I have never been to a London premiere." "Oh, more--more boisterous and less intense. Isn't it so, Claude?" "No doubt there's a difference," said Claude. "Do you mean they are boisterous at Covent Garden?" said Hostatter, evidently surprised. "I always thought the Covent Garden audience was such a cold one." "Oh, no, I don't think so," said Charmian. She remembered the first night of _Le Paradis Terrestre_. Suddenly a chill ran all through her, as if a stream of ice-cold water had trickled upon her. "Really!" said Hostatter. "And yet we Americans are said to have a bad reputation for noise." He had been smiling, but looked suddenly doubtful. "But as you say," he added, rather hastily, "in a theater we concentrate, especially when we are presented with something definitely artistic, as we are to-night." He shook hands. "Definitely artistic. My most sincere congratulations." He went out, and another man called Stephen Clinch, an ally of Crayford's immediately came in. After a few minutes of conversation he said: "Everybody is admiring the libretto. First-rate stuff, isn't it? I expected to find the author with you. Isn't he in the house?" "Yes, but he told us he would sit in the stalls," said Charmian. "Haven't you seen him?" "No," said Claude. "Well, of course you'll appear after the next act with him. There's sure to be a call. And I know Gillier will be called for as well as you." His rather cold gray eyes seemed to examine the two faces before him almost surreptitiously. Then he, too, went out of the box. "A call after this act!" said Charmian. "I believe they generally summon authors and composers after the penultimate act over here." "You'll take the call, of course, Claudie?" There was a silence. Then he said: