On the other hand, there was a true sympathy of mind between her and Judith, and she was grieved, and rather indignant, at the heavy burden which the train of events had laid on Judith's shoulders. She asked something better for her than to be merely the crutch of the crippled household at Hilsey--for which again her self-reliant nature and courageous temper had more pity than esteem. It would be a shame if Judith sank into a household hack, bearing the burden which properly belonged to Bernadette's pretty shoulders. But Judith herself betrayed no sense of hardship; she took what she was doing as a matter of course, though she did regret Bernadette's loss and Arthur's absence. She pined for the vanished elements of excitement and gaiety in the household; but none the less she meant to stick to it. So Esther read her mind. But there was another question--one of proportion. How much of the pining was for Bernadette and how much for Arthur? It was dress rehearsal. Mr. Etheringham was a martinet about admitting people to this function; there were only half-a-dozen or so scattered about the stalls--and the author prowling restlessly up and down the pit. Mr. Etheringham sat by Arthur, his hat over his fiery eyes, regarding the performance with a sort of gloomy resentment. He interfered only once or twice--his work was done--but Arthur heard him murmur, more than once or twice, "Damned bad--too late to change!"--and therewith he sank a little lower down in his seat. Arthur did not laugh much now, though he expected to to-morrow; he was too busy thinking whether other people would be amused to be amused himself. All he really knew was that Willie Spring was acting his very heart out, trying to get every ounce out of the part; and so was Ayesha, for all her air of utter unconcern. He ventured on an observation to this effect to Mr. Etheringham when the curtain fell on the first act. "They're all right. If it fails, it's my fault--and Beverley's." He rushed off "behind," and his voice was heard through the curtain in exhortation and correction. Joe Halliday came across from the other side of the house and sat down in the vacant seat. "Right as rain!" he said emphatically. "You may order your motor car, Arthur." "I think I won't actually give the order till Wednesday morning, old fellow." "May as well. It's a cert. Big money! Wish I had your share in it." "I sometimes wish I had mine out," Arthur confessed. "Oh, rot, man! It's the stroke of your life, this is." Mr. Etheringham returned, glared at the imperturbable Joe, and selected another stall. Second Act. The Second Act went well, but when they came to set the Third, there was a bad breakdown in the scenery. A long long wait--and Mr. Etheringham audible from behind the curtain, raging furiously. Mr. Beverley emerged from the pit and came up behind Joe Halliday and Arthur. "Just my luck!" he observed, in the apathetic calm of utter despair.