The Argosy — page 397: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

374 A Dramatic Critique, and what Came of It. Carleton returned, with a shrug; ‘‘if it fails, perhaps he will learn modesty.” ‘At my expense,” added Mr. Hope, drily. ‘‘It has cost a small fortune to mount this piece. Come, you had better go on with the scene ; we are wasting time.” At length, after many interruptions, the rehearsal came to an end. As Edith Sylvester left the theatre she paused to make an inquiry of the stage-door keeper; a snuffy, surly old man, in a velvet skull- cap, who was ensconced in a dark little den close to the entrance. ‘Watson, have you seen my brother?” ‘‘ He left the theatre half an hour ago, Miss Sylvester,” said a voice behind her, before the other could reply. It was a gentleman who spoke; a young fellow of five or six and twenty, with a keen, vivacious, clever face, and grey eyes, somewhat too near together. She turned, and seeing who it was, presented him with two little gloved fingers. She had never been able to make up her mind whether she liked Frederick Procter or detested him, though she had no doubt at all about his feelings for herself. His devotion was proof against all rebuffs. He was a barrister, but condescended to ‘“‘coquet with literature” while waiting for briefs, and was the author of the light piece which would precede the tragedy. ‘‘'Your brother asked me to tell you that he had a headache and could. not stay longer,” he continued. | ‘“T am glad he was not there while they were pulling the play to pieces,” she returned, as she passed out into the street. A spring shower was falling, and her admirer officiously put up her umbrella, and walked on by her side, uninvited. “They were very disagreeable,” he returned, ‘ but, fortunately, the opinion of the little world behind the scenes is not of much consequence. It is for the public to judge.” ‘There will be a capital house to-night,” she said after a pause ; ‘all the stalls and boxes are taken, and no orders have been given except to the Press.” ‘The critics will muster in force, I suppose—the great Oliver among the rest,” he remarked, glancing at her face as he pronounced the name.” | “Who is the ‘great Oliver?’ Oh—you mean Oliver Dane. What paper does he write for, do you know ?” ‘‘T know—but perhaps I had better not tell you. If his criticism should be in the ‘slashing’ style ”»—-— ‘‘Oh, there is not much danger of that,” she replied, laughing ; ‘don’t you know that he is my brother’s particular friend ?” He shrugged his shoulders, “Tt is not my experience that one’s particular friends make the most indulgent critics,” he remarked ; ‘ especially if one. bes bad the im