“Antony and Cleopatra ten years later,” he shouted.
There was a slight pause. Then entered Mr. and Mrs. Altham with high-held hands clasped at finger-tips. They both stepped rather high, she holding her skirt away from her feet, and both pointing their toes as if performing a pavanne. This entry had been much rehearsed, and it was arresting to the point of producing a sort of stupefaction.
Mrs. Evans ran her eye up and down the pair, and was apparently satisfied.
“Dear Mrs. Altham,” she said, “how perfectly lovely! And Mr. Altham. But ten years later! You must not ask us to believe that.”
She turned to her husband and spoke quickly, with a look on her face less amiable than she usually wore in public.
“Wilfred,” she said, “tell the band to begin the opening march at once for the proce
