“Oh, I like to believe,” she said.  “I don’t wish to criticise.  I wholly and delightfully give myself up to the illusion.  Mother and I go so seldom to the theatre that we are under no temptation to begin and ask how this or that is done, or to make any comparisons; we surrender ourselves to the story, and believe the people to be real people all we can.  As for mother, if it weren’t a dreadful secret—­”

But here the curtains were thrown wide, and out came Miss Burgoyne, obviously conscious of her magnificent costume, profuse in her apologies for not appearing sooner.  Something had gone wrong, and the mishap had kept her late; indeed, she had just time to go through the formality of taking a cup of tea with her guests when she was called and had to get ready to go.

[Illustration:  “And Nina, hanging some way back, could see them being presented to Miss Burgoyne.”]

“However, I need not say good-bye just yet,” she said to them, as she tucked up her voluminous train.  “Wouldn’t you like to look on for a little while from the wings?  You could have the prompter’s chair, Lady Cunyngham, so that you could see the audience or the stage, just as you chose, if Miss Cunyngham wouldn’t mind standing about among the gasmen.”

“If you are sure we shall not be in the way,” said the elder lady, who had, perhaps, a little more curiosity than her daughter.

“Oh, Mr. Moore will show you,” said Miss Burgoyne, making no scruple about preceding her visitors along the corridor and up the steps, for she had not too much time.

The prompter’s office, now that this piece had been running over four hundred nights, was practically a sinecure, so that there was no trouble about getting Lady Cunyngham installed in the little corner, whence, through a small aperture, she could regard the dusky-hued audience or turn her attention to the stage just as she pleased.  Miss Honnor stood close by her, when she was allowed—­keeping out of sight of the opposite boxes as much as she could, though she observed that the workmen about her did not care much whether they were visible or not, and that they talked or called to one another with a fine indifference towards what was going forward on the stage.  At present a minuet was being danced, and very pretty it was; she could not help noticing how cleverly Miss Burgoyne managed her train.  As for her mother, the old lady seemed intensely interested and yet conscious all the time that she herself, in this strange position, was an interloper; again and again she rose and offered to resign her place to the rather shabby-looking elderly man who was the rightful occupant; but he just as often begged her to remain—­he seemed mostly interested in the management of the gas-handles just over his head.

And now came in the comic interlude which Lionel had feared most of all—­the squire’s faithful henchman going through all the phases of getting drunk in double-quick stage-time; and, while those stupidities were going forward, Lionel and Miss Burgoyne were supposed to retire up the stage somewhat and look on.  Well, they took up their positions—­Grace Mainwaring being seated.