"Call this classical!" she cried, rising from her seat.
"It's not even respectable! Philip! take me out at once."
"Whose is it?" shouted her brother, holding up the
bouquet in one hand and the billet-doux in the other.
"Whose is it?"
The house exploded, and one of the boxes was violently
agitated, as if some one was being hauled to the front.
Harriet moved down the gangway, and compelled Miss Abbott to
follow her. Philip, still laughing and calling "Whose is
it?" brought up the rear. He was drunk with excitement.
The heat, the fatigue, and the enjoyment had mounted into
his head.
"To the left!" the people cried. "The innamorato is to
the left."
He deserted his ladies and plunged towards the box. A
young man was flung stomach downwards across the
balustrade. Philip handed him up the bouquet and the note.
Then his own hands were seized affectionately. It all
seemed quite natural.
"Why have you not written?" cried the young man. "Why
do you take me by surprise?"
"Oh, I've written," said Philip hilariously. "I left a
note this afternoon."
"Silence! silence!" cried the audience, who were
beginning to have enough. "Let the divine creature
continue." Miss Abbott and Harriet had disappeared.
"No! no!" cried the young man. "You don't escape me
now." For Philip was trying feebly to disengage his hands.
Amiable youths bent out of the box and invited him to enter it.
"Gino's friends are ours--"
"Friends?" cried Gino.
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