"There, mamma. Just on the platform. Mr. Attree, don't you see him? I think he has just come through that little door at the side."
"I see him. Whatever can have made him so late? And what can he be doing over there? Somebody must have shown him through the wrong door. Nora, can't you signal to him, so as to let him know where we are?"
Without waiting for Nora to reply Mrs. Groome stood up, and began to wave her fan in that rather aggressive manner which is peculiar to some persons when they desire to attract the attention of some other person across a theatre or a crowded room. Bensberg volunteered his services.
"If you will show me which is Mr. Groome I shall be happy to let him know your whereabouts."
"Oh, thank you," said Nora. "That is papa. Why"
For some cause or other, in the middle of her sentence Miss Nora stopped dead.
"Good gracious!" exclaimed her mother. "What is he doing? How silly he is! Why, he's actually going on to the platform! Papa!"
"The gentleman ascending the platform is Mr. Goad."
"Mr.—who?"
"Mr. Goad, who, I believe, is now going to favour us with a pianoforte solo."
"Nonsense!" snapped Mrs. Groome with scant politeness, the more especially since, so far as she was concerned, Bensberg was only the acquaintance of a minute. "It's papa! Papa!"
I, for my part, had maintained strict silence. I
