The head-waiter drew a long breath and straightened himself with a sense of relief at having done his part, whether the Grahame Wests did theirs or not.

As a rule, Miss Terrell did not sing in private, and had only broken this rule twice, when the inducements which led her to do so were forty pounds for each performance, and the fact that her beloved Princess of Wales was to be present.  So she hesitated for an instant.

“Why, you are very good,” she said, doubtfully.  “Will there be any other people there,—­any one not an employee, I mean?”

Paul misunderstood her and became a servant again.

“No, I am afraid there will be only the employees, Madam,” he said.

“Oh, then, I should be very glad to come,” murmured Celestine, sweetly.  “But I never sing out of the theatre, so you mustn’t mind if it is not good.”

The head-waiter played a violent tattoo on the back of the chair in his delight, and balanced and bowed.

“Ah, we are very proud and pleased that we can induce Madam to make so great exceptions,” he declared.  “The committee will be most happy.  We will send a carriage for Madam, and a bouquet for Madam also,” he added grandly, as one who was not to be denied the etiquette to which he plainly showed he was used.

* * * * *

“Will we come?” cried Van Bibber, incredulously, as he and Travers sat watching Grahame make up in his dressing-room.  “I should say we would come.  And you must all take supper with us first, and we will get Letty Chamberlain from the Gaiety Company and Lester to come too, and make them each do a turn.”

“And we can dance on the floor ourselves, can’t we?” asked Grahame West, “as they do at home Christmas-eve in the servants’ hall, when her ladyship dances in the same set with the butler and the men waltz with the cook.”

“Well, over here,” said Van Bibber, “you’ll have to be careful that you’re properly presented to the cook first, or she’ll appeal to the floor committee and have you thrown out.”

“The interesting thing about that ball,” said Travers, as he and Van Bibber walked home that night, “is the fact that those hotel people are getting a galaxy of stars to amuse them for nothing who wouldn’t exhibit themselves at a Fifth Avenue dance for all the money in Wall Street.  And the joke of it is going to be that the servants will vastly prefer the banjo solo by hall-boy Number Eight.”

Lyric Hall lies just this side of the Forty-second Street station along the line of the Sixth Avenue Elevated road, and you can look into its windows from the passing train.  It was after one o’clock when the invited guests and their friends pushed open the storm-doors and were recognized by the anxious committee-men who were taking tickets at the top of the stairs.  The committee-men fled in different directions, shouting for Mr. Paul, and Mr. Paul arrived beaming with delight and moisture, and presented a huge bouquet to Mrs. West, and welcomed her friends with hospitable warmth.