MABEL'S PROGRESS.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "AUNT MARGARET'S TROUBLE."
BOOK V.
CHAPTER III. A ROMEO INCOGNITO.

CLEMENT, meanwhile, profoundly unconscious
of the emotions of anger and curiosity he had
excited in Mrs. Hutchins's breast, was strolling
along the hot, dusty streets with some leisure
on his hands which he did not well know how
to dispose of. He had been to his office, and
had found that the expected letters that he was
to have answered had not been received. They
could not now arrive until the following evening.
He would have returned to Walter's
lodgings, but his knowledge of his brother's
habits forbade him to expect to find him at
home so soon. He had turned westward, and
was wandering on in a purposeless way, when
his progress was arrested by a crowd assembled
beneath a portico blazing with lights, and in
front of which cabs and carriages kept drawing up
in quick succession, and with a mighty clatter.

Looking at the building, towards which a
steady tide of people was moving, his eye was
caught by the words "Romeo and Juliet" in
conspicuous letters. With a blind impulse,
scarcely conscious of what he did, he entered
the pit door with the stream, and in a few
seconds had paid his money, and was pressing
onward for a seat like the others.

The performances had commenced with a
short, trifling piece, and the green curtain had
just fallen, preparatory to rising on the tragedy.
The band was playing a lively waltz, with much
sharp clashing of cymbals, and metallic braying
of wind instruments. The music was strangely
out of tune with Clement's mood, and yet it
strung his nerves to a pitch of high excitement.
His heart beat quickly, and his foot mechanically
kept time to the rhythm of the dance tune.
He had found a place close against the dress-
boxes at one side of the theatre, and had
pressed the soft felt hat he wore down over his
eyes, with a dread of being recognised, which
his reason told him was groundless and absurd.
Two young men of the smart clerk species were
seated immediately before him, and kept up a
running fire of talk. The performance they had
come to witness appeared to be the last thing
in their thoughts. Clement listened vacantly
to their babble, in which one "Jim" played a
conspicuous though unintelligible part. As
the music drew to a close, winding up with
a final crash like twenty tinsmiths' shops in
full work, a white-haired man near him, seeing
him without a playbill, offered his own, and
began to speak.

"Seen the noo Juliet, sir?" asked the white-haired
man.

"No."

"Not seen her? Ah! more have I. But I'll
tell you what; I've seen Miss O'Neil, sir, and
I don't think we shall look upon her like again
in a hurry."

Clement having nothing to say, said nothing.

"Much of a play-goer, sir?"

"No."

"Not much of a play-goer? Ah! more am
I, now. But I'll tell you what, sir; I used to
be, in the parmy days—the good old times—
the days of yore, sir, as I call 'em, when acting
was acting. Days of yore indeed, sir; too
truly yore, as I say."

The white-haired man continued to repeat
the word "yore" with an unction apparently
derived from his own very hazy comprehension
of its meaning. Clement, feeling strongly averse
to being drawn into a discussion on the present
state of the British drama, was relieved when a
little tinkling bell sounded, and the great curtain
rose slowly with a rustling, creaking sound.

The first scenes of the play passed quietly.
Mr. Alaric Allen, as Mercutio, was received
with a burst of applause, and his brilliant,
picturesque costume, and spirited, easy manner,
were much approved of by the white-
haired man, who yet made comparisons, not
wholly to the advantage of the modern actor,
between him and some forgotten celebrity of
the "days of yore."

"As the time for Juliet's entrance drew
near, a little thrill of excitement ran round
the house. Even the two smart clerks ceased their
whispered conversation about "Jim," and
addressed their smug faces to the stage. The
critical play-goer folded his arms, and settled
himself in his seat with the air of one whose
weighty duty it now was to give judgment on
the new performer. As to Clement, when the
nurse called "Juliet!" he was seized with a
sensation of terror, strong enough to have
induced him to rise up and run away had