“Oh no! we have heard all about you from my brother, you know; you have a good memory, have you not?”
“I believe so; I have never found much difficulty in learning by heart.”
“That is one good thing to begin with; we will soon see if you can act at all. Some of our friends are coming over to-morrow for rehearsal. We have agreed to try St. Cupid, or Dorothy’s Fortune, and we want a ‘Bellefleur.’ You will take the part, will you not? I am to be ‘Dorothy Budd.’ You will not have so very much to do. Do you know the play?”
“No, unfortunately, and I—” Crawley began, meaning to back out; but Miss Clarissa cut him short.
“No matter,” she said, “I will fetch you a copy,” and she got up and returned presently with a little book. “You had better read it all through, and mark your parts with the tags. The tags, you know, are the last sentences of the speaker before you, to which you have to reply. You can learn some while you are dressing for dinner; that is a capital time. And I will give you a hint or two this evening in the billiard-room. You don’t mind?”
What could Crawley say? He did mind, not bargaining for learning lessons in the holidays; but he could not show himself so uncivil a boor as to refuse. So he promised to do his best, and when the gong sounded, took his little book up into the bedroom with him.