He shook Austin warmly by the hand, and precipitated himself down the wooden steps.  Austin followed, regained the stage-door, and was soon back in the dress-circle.  But he felt that really he had seen almost enough.  The last act seemed to drag, and it was only for the sake of witnessing the holocaust at the end that he sat it out.  Even the varying “expressions” assumed by Sardanapalus failed to arouse his enthusiasm.  He reproached himself for this, for poor Buskin rolled his eyes and twisted his mouth and pulled such lugubrious faces that Austin felt how pathetic it all was, and how hard the man was trying to work upon the feelings of the audience.  But the flare-up at the end was really very creditable.  Blue fire, red fire, and clouds of smoke filled the entire stage, and when Myrrha clambered up the burning pile to share the fate of her paramour the enthusiasm of the spectators knew no bounds.  Calls for Sardanapalus and all his company resounded from every part of the house, and it was a tremendous moment when the curtain was drawn aside, and the great actor, apparently not a penny the worse for having just been burnt alive, advanced majestically to the footlights.  Then all the other performers were generously permitted to approach and share in the ovation, bowing again and again in acknowledgment of the approbation of their patrons, and looking, thought Austin rather cruelly, exactly like a row of lacqueys in masquerade.  This marked the close of the proceedings, and Austin, with a sigh of relief, soon found himself once more in the cool streets, walking briskly in the direction of the country.

Well, he had had his experience, and now his curiosity was satisfied.  What was the net result?  He began sifting his sensations, and trying to discover what effect the things he had seen and heard had really had upon him.  It was all very brilliant, very interesting; in a certain way, very exciting.  He began to understand what it was that made so many people fond of theatre-going.  But he felt at the same time that he himself was not one of them.  For some reason or other he had escaped the spell.  He was more inclined to criticise than to enjoy.  There was something wanting in it all.  What could that something be?

The sound of footsteps behind him, echoing in the quiet street, just then reached his ears.  The steps came nearer, and the next moment a well-known voice exclaimed: 

“Well, Austin!  I hoped I should catch you up!”

“Oh, Mr St Aubyn, is that you?  How glad I am to see you!” cried the boy, grasping the other’s hand.  “This is a delightful surprise.  Have you been to the theatre, too?”

“I have,” replied St Aubyn.  “You didn’t notice me, I daresay, but I was watching you most of the time.  It amused me to speculate what impression the thing was making on you.  Were you very much carried away?”

“I certainly was not,” said Austin, “though I was immensely interested.  It gave me a lot to think about, as I told Mr Buskin himself when I went to see him for a few minutes behind the scenes.  You know I happened to meet him a few days ago, and he asked me to—­it really was most kind of him.  By the way, he was just on his way to call upon you at the Court.”