"
Tavernake smiled and said no more. Pritchard was one of the good
fellows of the world, but there were things which were hidden
from him. Yet Tavernake, who had fallen into a habit, during his
solitude, of analyzing his sensations, was puzzled by this one
circumstance, that when he thought of Elizabeth, though his heart
never failed to beat more quickly, the sense of shame generally
stole over him; and when he thought of Beatrice, a curious
loneliness, a loneliness that brought with it a pain, seemed
suddenly to make the hours drag and his pleasures flavorless.
For two days he was puzzled. Then his habit of taking long walks
helped him toward a solution. In a small outlying music-hall in
the east-end of London, he saw the same announcement that he had
noticed in the Norfolk newspaper,--"Professor Franklin" in large
type, and "Miss Beatrice Franklin" in small.
That night he attended the music-hall. The scene was practically
a repetition of the one in Norwich, only with additions. The
professor's bombastic performance met with scarcely any applause.
Its termination was, indeed, interrupted by catcalls and whistles
from the gallery. Beatrice's songs, on the other hand, were
applauded more vociferously than ever. She had hard work to
avoid a third encore.
At the end of the performance, Tavernake made his way to the
stage-door and waited. The neighborhood was an unsavory one, and
the building itself seemed crowded in among a row of shops of the
worst order, fish stalls, and a glaring gin palace.
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