The Regent

  III

  "Did you ever see such scenery and costumes?" someone addressed himsuddenly, when the applause had died down. It was Mr. Alloyd, who hadadvanced up the aisle from a back row of the stalls.

  "No, I never did!" Edward Henry agreed.

  "It's wonderful how Givington has managed to get away from thechildish realism of the modern theatre," said Mr. Alloyd, "withoutbeing ridiculous."

  "You think so!" said Edward Henry, judicially. "The question is--hashe?"

  "Do you mean it's too realistic for you?" cried Mr. Alloyd. "Well, you_are_ advanced! I didn't know you were as anti-representational as allthat!"

  "Neither did I!" said Edward Henry. "What do you think of the play?"

  "Well," answered Mr. Alloyd, low and cautiously, with a somewhatshamed grin, "between you and me I think the play's bosh."

  "Come, come!" Edward Henry murmured as if in protest.

  The word "bosh" was almost the first word of the discussion which hehad comprehended, and the honest familiar sound of it did him good.Nevertheless, keeping his presence of mind, he had forborne to welcomeit openly. He wondered what on earth "anti-representational" couldmean. Similar conversations were proceeding around him, and each couldbe very closely heard, for the reason that, the audience being franklyintellectual and anxious to exchange ideas, the management had wiselyavoided the expense and noise of an orchestra. The _entr'acte_ waslike a conversazione of all the cultures.

  "I wish you'd give us some scenery and costumes like this in _your_theatre," said Alloyd, as he strolled away.

  The remark stabbed him like a needle; the pain was gone in an instant,but it left a vague fear behind it, as of the menace of a mortalinjury. It is a fact that Edward Henry blushed and grew gloomy--andhe scarcely knew why. He looked about him timidly, half defiantly.A magnificently-arrayed woman in the row in front, somewhat to theright, leaned back and towards him, and behind her fan said:

  "You're the only manager here, Mr. Machin! How alive and alert youare!" Her voice seemed to be charged with a hidden meaning.

  "D'you think so?" said Edward Henry. He had no idea who she might be.He had probably shaken hands with her at his stone-laying, but ifso he had forgotten her face. He was fast becoming one of theoligarchical few who are recognized by far more people than theyrecognize.

  "A beautiful play!" said the woman. "Not merely poetic butintellectual! And an extraordinarily acute criticism of modernconditions!"

  He nodded. "What do you think of the scenery?" he asked.

  "Well, of course candidly," said the woman, "I think it's silly. Idaresay I'm old-fashioned." ...

  "I daresay," murmured Edward Henry.

  "They told me you were very ironic," said she, flushing but meek.

  "They!" Who? Who in the world of London had been labelling him asironic? He was rather proud.

  "I hope if you _do_ do this kind of play--and we're all looking toyou, Mr. Machin," said the lady, making a new start, "I hope you won'tgo in for these costumes and scenery. That would never do!"

  Again the stab of the needle!

  "It wouldn't," he said.

  "I'm delighted you think so," said she.

  An orange telegram came travelling from hand to hand along that rowof stalls, and ultimately, after skipping a few persons, reached themagnificently-arrayed woman, who read it, and then passed it to EdwardHenry.

  "Splendid!" she exclaimed. "Splendid!"

  Edward Henry read: "Released. Isabel."

  "What does it mean?"

  "It's from Isabel Joy--at Marseilles."

  "Really!"

  Edward Henry's ignorance of affairs round about the centre of theuniverse was occasionally distressing--to himself in particular. Andjust now he gravely blamed Mr. Marrier, who had neglected to post himabout Isabel Joy. But how could Marrier honestly earn his threepounds a week if he was occupied night and day with the organizing andmanagement of these precious dramatic soirees? Edward Henry decidedthat he must give Mr. Marrier a piece of his mind at the firstopportunity.

  "Don't you know?" questioned the dame.

  "How should I?" he parried. "I'm only a provincial."

  "But surely," pursued the dame, "you knew we'd sent her round theworld. She started on the _Kandahar_, the ship that you stoppedSir John Pilgrim from taking. She almost atoned for his absence atTilbury. Twenty-five reporters, anyway!"

  Edward Henry sharply slapped his thigh, which in the Five Townssignifies: "I shall forget my own name next."

  Of course! Isabel Joy was the advertising emissary of the MilitantSuffragette Society, sent forth to hold a public meeting and makea speech in the principal ports of the world. She had guaranteed tocircuit the globe and to be back in London within a hundred days, tospeak in at least five languages, and to get herself arrested at leastthree times _en route_.... Of course! Isabel Joy had possessed a veryfair share of the newspapers on the day before the stone-laying, butEdward Henry had naturally had too many preoccupations to follow herexploits. After all, his momentary forgetfulness was rather excusable.

  "She's made a superb beginning!" said the resplendent dame, takingthe telegram from Edward Henry and inducting it into another row. "Andbefore three months are out she'll be the talk of the entire earth.You'll see!"

  "Is everybody a suffragette here?" asked Edward Henry, simply, as hiseyes witnessed the satisfaction spread by the voyaging telegram....

  "Practically," said the dame. "These things always go hand in hand,"she added in a deep tone.

  "What things?" the provincial demanded.

  But just then the curtain rose on the second act.