MISS M A T F I E L D WONDERS 247

much smoke about. There were programme girls show-
ing people to their seats, but you had to wait your turn
and Norman, anxious to secure his two beautiful seats,
would not wait his turn. He marched on, glancing at
his tickets and the lettered rows of stalls, then finally
found the row he wanted, and they pushed past a few
people, sought and found the right numbers, and sank
into their seats.

"This is all right, isn't it?" said Norman, after breath-
ing a sigh of relief, "Jolly good seats, eh?" He looked
round triumphantly. More lights were being turned
on; the orchestra was beginning to tune up again; and
the place was filling rapidly. Miss Matfield's headache
retreated, dwindled to an occasional twinge.

"What about a programme?" said Norman, and began
to make vague, fussy, ineffectual signs.

Then two large determined men, coarse-looking
fellows with heavy jowls and cigars stuck in the
corner of their insensitive mouths, came pushing down
the row. They stopped when they came to Mr. Birtley
and Miss Matfield. "Here, I say," the first one called
back to the programme girl, after looking at his ticket,
"is this the right row?" Apparently it was, for now he
turned his attention to Norman.

"I think you're sitting in the wrong seats, my friend,"
he said, not unpleasantly.

"I don't think so," replied Norman, rather sharply.
He brought out his own tickets and gave them a re-
assuring glance* v

"Well, 1 do," said the other. He had a loud voice, the
kind of voice that attracts attention. "Row F, fourteen
and fifteen. Isn't that right? Well, those are my seats,
bought and paid for. Ask the girl. She sent us here/"