Then great cheers welled forth from the crowd. Never before had Ambrose heard such a din, at least not made by human throats. He and his companions stood at one side while Auburn was being photographed.
Suddenly Ambrose became aware that the man with the megaphone was announcing the new bride and groom, Mr. Ambrose Deacon, the author of Love and Danger, and Miss Wilhelmina Ford. With a smiling Georgiana clinging to his arm, he managed to totter up to the chalk-line. Pale as death, terrified half out of his senses, he submitted to the cranking of the camera.
The interior of the theatre was overrun with people. Imperia warmly grasped Ambrose's hand to congratulate him on the success of a picture which had not yet been shown. Griesheimer and Martell Hallam patted him on the back. Wrinkled old Mrs. Girstein, mother of the owner of the theatre, tottered forward in purple plush to say, We waited for you, Auburn, and you, Mr. Deacon. We couldn't begin till you got here.
It was close to nine-thirty as they marched down the aisle to their seats while the entire audience rose to its feet and cheered. At this moment Ambrose regretted that Abel Morris had not shot him.
