Robert pretended that he was too cold to take off his great-coat, and so sat sweltering through what would otherwise have been a most thrilling meal.
He felt that he was a blot on the smart beauty of the family, and he hoped the Phoenix knew what he was suffering for its sake.

Of course, we are all pleased to suffer for the sake of others, but we like them to know it unless we are the very best and noblest kind of people, and Robert was just ordinary.
Father was full of jokes and fun, and every one laughed all the time, even with their mouths full, which is not manners.

Robert thought father would not have been quite so funny about his keeping his over-coat on if father had known all the truth.

And there Robert was probably right.
When dinner was finished to the last grape and the last paddle in the finger glasses--for it was a really truly grown-up dinner--the children were taken to the theatre, guided to a box close to the stage, and left.
Father's parting words were: 'Now, don't you stir out of this box, whatever you do.

I shall be back before the end of the play.