“Quite a swell show, ain’t it?” said Joseph, as he pushed his way into the crowd and looked over his shoulder at the long line of carriages setting down their occupants.  “I’m glad you consented to come; it would have been a pity if you’d missed it.”

“I hope we shall be able to see the prince from our seats!” said Isabel, whose eyes were more widely open than usual, and her mouth half agape with excitement.  “I’m always stuck in some corner where I can’t see them, when the royal family’s present.”

They succeeded in making their way into the hall, and after Joseph had held a dispute with the man who had shown them into their place, and who had muddled the tickets and their numbers, they settled down, and Ida looked round.

Though their seats were in the third row, she could see nearly the whole of the large hall, and she found the sight a novel and impressive one.  Her interest increased as the admirable band played the first number with the precision and feeling for which the orchestra at the Queen’s Hall is famous.  In the interval between the selection and the song which was to follow, Joseph pointed out some of the celebrities who were present, and whom he recognised by their portraits in the illustrated papers.

“Regular swell mob, isn’t it?” he said, exultingly; “there isn’t a seat in the house, excepting those three in the stalls, and I suppose they’ll be filled up presently by some swells or other; they always come late.  Aren’t you glad you’ve come?” he added, with a languishing glance.

Amidst a storm of welcome, Patti came forward to sing, and Ida, listening with rapture, almost forgot her sorrow as she passed under the spell of the magic voice which has swayed so many thousands of hearts.  During the cries of encore, and unnoticed by Ida, three persons, a lady and two gentlemen, entered the stalls, and with a good deal of obsequiousness, were shown by the officials into the three vacant seats.

One great singer followed rapidly after another, and Ida, with slightly flushed face and eyes that were dim with unshed tears—­for the exquisite music thrilled her to the core—­leant back, with her hands tightly clasped in her lap, her thoughts flying back to Herondale and those summer evenings which, in some strange way, every song recalled.

She was unconscious of her surroundings, even of the objectionable Joseph, who sat beside her as closely as he could; and she started slightly as he whispered: 

“Those seats are filled up now.  I wonder who they are?  They look classy—­particularly so.”

Ida nodded mechanically, and paid no heed.  Presently Joseph, who was one of those individuals who can never sit still or be silent for long at a theatre or concert, nudged Ida and said:  “Look! there is one of them standing up!  Why, I believe it is—­” He borrowed an opera-glass from the man sitting in front of him and levelled it at the stalls.  One of the new-comers, one of the gentlemen, had risen