"Yesterday Aunt Kezia was holding forth on the vulgarity of any but grocers’ assistants and ’sich-like’ waiting in a queue outside a theatre." Down in the kitchen a scandalised Sarah looked on while they "foraged." She held a table-cloth in one hand and two table napkins in the other. Agitatedly she sought to thrust them upon the O’Briens, while they sat on the table and ate cold jam-tart, bread and cheese, and apples. Later, as they hurried out of the gate—Molly, gloveless, working her arms into her coat—she called after them:— "You’ll be faint with ’unger, missansir!" On the omnibus Molly discovered that she had brought odd gloves with her. As they drew near the theatre they were overcome with a sudden fear that they would be too late to get seats in the front row and they scrambled anyhow down the omnibus steps. Sheila Pat took a flying leap that brought down upon her shouts from the conductor and from the drivers of two cabs. The Atom, safe and sound on the curb, drew herself up with dignity. "Really, in this _London_ a person can’t do a thing at all, without being interfered with!" Then they ran. When they arrived at the theatre, they found only about ten people there before them. Denis assured them they would get front-row seats, and they exulted. The long wait did not seem long to them. But their money flew. There was the poor man who tied himself into horrible knots; the newspaper boy, who had blue eyes, and whom they thought might be Irish. When he thanked them for the sixpence, his Cockney accent shattered their hopes. They gave pennies to the little pink-nosed boy whose sister played the flageolet, and to an old man who sang. Then the move began. A very big man directly behind Sheila Pat looked down amusedly at that excessively small, but excessively determined young person. He recognised the fact that the Atom meant no one to push in front of her. In the front row Sheila Pat sat her down, and looked around, quivering with excitement. Just before the curtain went up Ted Lancaster strolled into the stalls, and sat down in front of the Atom. She bent forward and dug eager little fingers into his shoulder. "Won’t you be speakin’ to me at all, then, Mr. Lancaster?" He turned. "Why, it’s my lit—my Irish friend! How-do-you-do, Miss O’Brien?" "Oh, please," said Sheila Pat, "is there anyone _Irish_ in the play?" "I’m afraid not. But you’ll lose your heart to Monsieur Beaucaire, though he’s only a Frenchman!" She shook an obstinate head. "I won’t!" At the end of the first act he turned to her. A little faint pink colour dyed her cheeks, her eyes were wide and bright. "Well? How about your heart?" "I—I _haven’t_! I won’t!" "I love him!" said Molly. "And oh, I _loathe_ that wicked Duke of Winterset!" When the curtain went down at the end of the first scene of the second act, he turned to her again. Her eyes were brighter, her cheeks pinker than before. She refused to look at him.