is that my journey ended in a
disappointment. I arrived, all agog, at the familiar house in Endsley
Gardens only to be told by a sympathetic housemaid that the family was
out; that Mrs. Hornby had gone into the country and would not be home
until night, and--which mattered a good deal more to me--that her niece,
Miss Juliet Gibson, had accompanied her.

Now a man who drops into lunch without announcing his intention or
previously ascertaining those of his friends has no right to quarrel
with fate if he finds an empty house. Thus philosophically I reflected
as I turned away from the house in profound discontent, demanding of the
universe in general why Mrs. Hornby need have perversely chosen my first
free day to go gadding into the country, and above all, why she must
needs spirit away the fair Juliet. This was the crowning misfortune (for
I could have endured the absence of the elder lady with commendable
fortitude), and since I could not immediately return to the Temple it
left me a mere waif and stray for the time being.

Instinct--of the kind that manifests itself especially about one
o'clock in the afternoon--impelled me in the direction of Brompton Road,
and finally landed me at a table in a large restaurant apparently
adjusted to the needs of ladies who had come from a distance to engage
in the feminine sport of shopping. Here, while waiting for my lunch, I
sat idly scanning the morning paper and wondering what I should do with
the rest of the day; and presently it chanced that my eye caught the
announcement of a matinee at the theatre in Sloane Square. It was quite
a long time since I had been at a theatre, and, as the play--light
comedy--seemed likely to satisfy my not very critical taste, I decided
to devote the afternoon to reviving my acquaintance with the drama.
Accordingly as soon as my lunch was finished, I walked down the Brompton
Road, stepped on to an omnibus, and was duly deposited at the door of
the theatre. A couple of minutes later I found myself occupying an
excellent seat in the second row of the pit, oblivious alike of my
recent disappointment and of Thorndyke's words of warning.

I am not an enthusiastic play-goer. To dramatic performances I am
disposed to assign nothing further than the modest function of
furnishing entertainment. I do not go to a theatre to be instructed or
to have my moral outlook elevated. But, by way of compensation, I am not
difficult to please. To a simple play, adjuste