"Looking to see?" yelled Mr. Quisby, furiously, throwing up his arms. "Upon my life and soul it's maddening! What's your business, what are you engaged as, what is it you're supposed to be? Are you the prompter, or are you not? Good — ——— is it asking too much of a man with the book in his hand to follow the lines? I've got the whole weight of the production on me, I've done the work of twenty men, I'm wearing myself out—and nobody takes the trouble to study a part, or to read the 'scrip! Ladies and gentlemen, the ensanguined rehearsal is dismissed, while the prompter looks for the line!"
"'Supper? Oh, it will be a merry evening!' read the prompter, sulkily.
"Very well then! Now, Miss Vavasour! let's have it."
"I think it's v-v-very hard on me," said Miss Vavasour, beginning to cry; "I've only had the p-part three days."
"Come, come, do your best! You've nothing to cry about, I've been very patient with you. 'Supper? Oh, it will be a merry evening!' Trip down pretty; speak as you come."
"Very hard on me," she sobbed; "I think it's m-m-most unfeeling!"
"Bring me a chair!" called Mr. Quisby to no one in particular. "Look here, my girl, I'm going to see you do it if we have to stop on the stage till the doors open. Understand? If I keep you here till the curtain rises, I'll see you do it! 'Bosom of the air!' Now take it up sharp."
"A bit of all right, keeping the Company 'ere to see a novice taught her business, I don't think," grumbled the low comedian.
Miss Vavasour, still sobbing, drooped to where the balcony was to be imagined. She sniffed violently, and, with an effort at sprightly grace, scuttled down the stage again.
"'Supper? Oh, it will be a merry evening!' she quavered.