"Poor old Tat!" murmured Rosalind.
Now Miss Lascelles, as we know, had had less than the majority to unhinge her, but so infectious was the atmosphere, so easily swayed are some of these "extraordinarily sensitive" people of the theatre, that as Rosalind's arm was slipped round her waist, she immediately burst into tears, and sobbed as if her heart would break.
"Cheer up," said Rosalind. "It'll go all right after a few more rehearsals."
"I shall be b-better directly," gulped Miss Lascelles. "D-don't mind me. I'm a fool, but I can't help it; I'm broke up!"
"We're all of us broke up," groaned Miss Jinman. "Did you ever see such a house as it was? In all my experience I never saw anything like it! What were they saying as they came out? Do you think we shall go on, my dear?"
"I sha'n't be kept, anyhow," wailed Miss Vavasour. "Mr. Quisby's been bullying me as if it was all my fault. I shall be out of a shop again! And I did hope I was settled till the spring—I don't know what I shall do, I'm sure!"
"Where is he?" inquired Rosalind.
"That's him, quarrelling with Mr. Omee there," said Miss Lascelles. "Mr. Omee says he won't let the piece go on to-morrow night."
"Not go on?"
"They say he says so," put in the demi-blonde. "That's all gas—he'd have to shut the theatre; he won't do that."