“And you’ll see it; in trine of Mars. The Seventh House. The House of _Marriage._ The House of Happiness.” “Oh! Mrs. Mary!” “You’re fond of astrology?” “I know very little about the heavenly bodies.” “Ah! _Don’t_ be too impatient there.” Miss Sinquier stared. Mrs. Mary was large and robust, with commanding features and an upright carriage. She had a Redfern gown of “navy” blue stuff infinitely laced. One white, long hand, curved and jewelled, clung as if paralysed above her breast. Seating herself majestically, with a glance of invitation to Miss Sinquier to do the same, the eminent actress appraised her visitor slowly with a cold, dry eye. “And so you’re his ‘little mouse’...!” “Whose?” “Sir Oliver’s ‘second Siddons.’” “Indeed——” “Well, and what is your forte?” “My forte, Mrs. Mary?” “Comedy? Tragedy?” “Either. Both come easy.” “You’ve no bent?” “So long as the part is good.” “‘Sarah’! Are you of Jewish stock?—Sarahs sometimes are!” “Oh dear, no.” “Tell me something of the home circle. Have you brothers, sisters?” “Neither.” “Is your heart free?” “Quite.” “The Boards, I believe, are new to you?” “Absolutely.” “Kindly stand.” “I’m five full feet.” “Say, ‘Abyssinia.’” “Abyssinia!” “As I guessed....” “I was never there.” “Now say ‘Joan.’” “Joan!” “You’re Comedy, my dear. Distinctly! And now sit down.” Miss Sinquier gasped. “You know with us it’s Repertoire, I suppose?” “Of course.” “In parts such as one would cast Jane Jacks you should score.” “Is she giving up?” “Unfortunately she’s obliged. She’s just had another babelet, poor dear.” “What were her parts?” “In _Bashful Miss Bardine_ the governess was one of them.” “Oh!” “And in _Lara_, she was the orphan. That part should suit you well,” Mrs. Mary murmured, rising and taking from a cabinet a bundle of printed sheets. “Is it rags?” “Rags?” “May she——; is she allowed Evening dress?” “Never mind about her dress. Let me hear how you’d deliver her lines,” Mrs. Mary tartly said, placing in Miss Sinquier’s hands a brochure of the play. “I should like to know my cue.” “A twitter of birds is all. You are now in Lord and Lady Lara’s garden—near Nice. Begin.” “_How full the hedges are of roses!_” “Speak up.” “_How full the hedges are of roses! What perfume to be sure._” “And don’t do that.” “The directions are: ‘_she stoops._’” “Continue!” “What’s next?” “A start.” “_Oh! Sir Harry!_” “Proceed.” Miss Sinquier lodged a complaint. “How can I when I don’t know the plot?” “What does it matter—the plot?” “Besides, I feel up to something stronger.” Mrs. Mary caressed the backs of her books. “Then take the slave in _Arsinoe_ and I’ll read out the queen.” “These little legs, Mrs. Mary, would look queerly in tights.” “Think less of your costume, dear, do; and learn to do what you’re told. Begin!” “Arsinoe opens.”