When, after the first act, in answer to hearty rounds of applause, varied with whistles and shouts from the gallery, the characters stepped forward, not in the unnatural string usual in more genteel play-houses, where victor and vanquished join hands and bow, but one by one, each being greeted by cheers, hisses, or groans, according to the part, and when the villain appeared I found myself groaning with the rest, and though Evan laughed, I know he understood.

After it was over, as we went out into the night, Evan headed toward Sixth Avenue instead of homeward.

“May I ask where we are going now?” said Miss Lavinia, meekly.  She had really enjoyed the play, and I know I heard her sniff once or twice at the proper time, though of course I pretended not to.

“Going?” echoed Evan.  “Only around the corner to get three fries in a box, with the usual pickle and cracker trimmings, there being no restaurant close by that you would care for; then we will carry them home and have a little supper in the pantry, if your Lucy has not locked up the forks and taken the key to bed.  If she has, we can use wooden toothpicks.”

At first Miss Lavinia seemed to feel guilty at the idea of disturbing Lucy’s immaculate pantry at such an hour; but liberty is highly infectious.  She had spent the evening out without previous intent; the next step was to feel that her soul was her own on her return.  She unlocked the forks, Evan unpacked the upstairs ice-chest for the dog’s head bass that wise women always have when they expect visiting Englishmen, even though they are transplanted and acclimated ones, and she ate the oysters, still steaming from their original package, with great satisfaction.  After we had finished Miss Lavinia bravely declared her independence of Lucy.  The happy don’t-care feeling produced by broiled oysters and bass on a cold night is a perfect revelation to people used to after-theatre suppers composed of complications, sticky sweets, and champagne.

When we had finished I thought for a moment that she showed a desire to conceal the invasion by washing the dishes, but she put it aside, and we all went upstairs together.

A little shopping being in order, Evan took himself off in the morning, leaving Miss Lavinia and me to prowl, after we had promised to meet him at a downtown restaurant at one.

Little boys are delightful things to shop for,—­there is no matching this and that, no getting a yard too much or too little, everything is substantial and straight away, and all you have to do when the bundles are sent home by express is to strengthen the sewing on of buttons and reinforce the seats and knees of everyday pantikins from the inside.