Possibly it was overdone; but if any one in the audience had seen such a young person enter his or her room unexpectedly, and uttering such unaccountable sounds, he or she would most assuredly have rung for a doctor and a cab, and for a strait-jacket if such a thing were to be had in the neighbourhood.
An elderly man, with very marked features and iron-grey hair, sat in the fifth row of the stalls, on the right-hand aisle.

He was a bony man, and the people behind him noticed him and thought he looked strong.

He had heard Bonanni in her best days and many great lyric sopranos from Patti to Melba, and he was thinking that none of them had sung the mad scene better than Cordova, who had only been on the stage two years, and was now in New York for the first time.

But he had already heard her in London and Paris, and he knew her.

He had first met her at a breakfast on board Logotheti's yacht at Cap Martin.
Logotheti was a young Greek financier who lived in Paris and wanted to marry her.