He stepped to the door, and, opening it, found himself on the stage of a theatre, opposite a ranting young man, who appeared likely to knock him down backwards. At the very moment of Yates perceiving Sir Thomas, and giving perhaps the very best start he had ever given in the whole course of his rehearsals, Tom Bertram entered at the other end of the room. Never had Tom found greater difficulty in keeping his countenance. His father’s looks of solemnity and amazement on this his first appearance on any stage, and the gradual metamorphosis of the impassioned Baron Wildenheim into the well-bred and easy Mr. Yates, making his bow and apology to Sir Thomas Bertram, was such an exhibition, such a piece of true acting, as he would not have lost upon any account. It would be the last—in all probability—the last scene on that stage; but he was sure there could not be a finer. The house would close with the greatest éclat.

There was little time, however, for the indulgence of any images of merriment. It was necessary for him to step forward and assist the introduction, and awkwardly he did his best. Sir Thomas received Mr. Yates with all the appearance of cordiality, but was really as far from pleased with the necessity of the acquaintance as with the manner of its commencement. Mr. Yates’s family and connexions were sufficiently known to him to render his introduction as the “particular friend”—another of the hundred particular, equally witless friends of his son—exceedingly unwelcome. It needed all the felicity of being home again to save Sir Thomas from anger on finding himself bewildered in his own house, and forced to admit the acquaintance of a young fool whom he felt sure of disapproving.

Tom understood his father’s thoughts to the best of his own questionable ability, and began to see that there might be some ground for offence—some reason for the glance his father gave towards the ceiling and stucco of the room and inquired with mild gravity after the fate of the billiard-table. After a few minutes of Sir Thomas exerting himself to speak with Mr. Yates, the three gentlemen returned to the drawing-room together, Sir Thomas with an increase of gravity.

“I come from your theatre,” said he composedly, as he sat down; “I found myself in it rather unexpectedly. Its vicinity to my own room—in every respect it took me by surprise, as I had not the smallest suspicion of your acting having assumed so serious a character. It appears a neat job, however, as far as I could judge by candlelight.”