The Alhambra Theater under the night sky looked dreamlike and unreal.
Strings of bubble lights swayed gracefully on the wrought iron decorations of the porch. The red carpet at the entrance still carried the lingering fragrance of elegant ladies' skirts. Arthur supported Disraeli, who was still rubbing his eyes, as they passed through the bustling crowd to enter the gilt-framed glass double doors.
The guards at the theater entrance immediately recognized this pair of familiar patrons, bowing and nodding as they ushered them in, completely oblivious to the heavy makeup on Disraeli's face.
They went straight up to the third-floor box section, and before they even entered the usual box reserved for the board members of Imperial Publishing, they heard the sound of a heated argument inside.
"This is the beginning of a coup! Just wait and see, today that old sailor can dissolve Parliament, and tomorrow he can burn the charter!"
