One or two more privileged passed in through the stage-door and disappeared.

Tavernake contented himself with standing on the edge of the curbstone, his hands thrust into the pockets of his dark overcoat, his bowler hat, which was not quite the correct shape, slightly on the back of his head; his serious, stolid face illuminated by the gleam from a neighboring gas lamp.
Presently, people began to emerge from the door.

First of all, the musicians and a little stream of stage hands.
Then a girl's hat appeared in the doorway, and the first of the Atlas young ladies came out, to be claimed at once by her escort.

Very soon afterwards, Beatrice arrived.

She recognized Tavernake at once and crossed over to him.
"Well ?" she asked.
"You looked very nice," he said, slowly, as he led the way down the street.