She gave him the impression, his friend, at first, more straight than he got it for himself--gave it simply by saying with off-hand illumination: "Oh yes, they're types!"-- but after he had taken it he made to the full his own use of it; both while he kept silence for the four acts and while he talked in the intervals.

It was an evening, it was a world of types, and this was a connexion above all in which the figures and faces in the stalls were interchangeable with those on the stage.
He felt as if the play itself penetrated him with the naked elbow of his neighbour, a great stripped handsome red-haired lady who conversed with a gentleman on her other side in stray dissyllables which had for his ear, in the oddest way in the world, so much sound that he wondered they hadn't more sense; and he recognised by the same law, beyond the footlights, what he was pleased to take for the very flush of English life.

He had distracted drops in which he couldn't have said if it were actors or auditors who were most true, and the upshot of which, each time, was the consciousness of new contacts.

However he viewed his job it was "types" he should have to tackle.

Those before him and around him were not as the types of Woollett, where, for that matter, it had begun to seem to him that there must only have been the male and the female.