"'Supper? Oh, it _will_ be a merry evening!' she quavered. "It'll be a merry evening to-morrow--about sixpence in the house!" growled the manager of the theatre. He caught Rosalind's eye. "Are the rest of you as good as this, my dear?" he said bitterly. "Oh yes," said cheerful Rosalind, "I think you'll like us all!" Presently Miss Lascelles wanted to see where she was to dress, and with a heartful of memories Rosalind explored with her. The pencilled lists of names on most of the doors were lengthy, but Miss Lascelles was to share a room with no one but Miss Vavasour this week, so she was jubilant, and had been in no hurry to annex a gas-burner. As a rule the ladies scamper on Monday morning to secure the best places. The room was very comfortably furnished. "Oh my!" said Miss Lascelles, enraptured. "Oh dear!" said Lady Darlington, disappointed. "Why, there's a full length mirror! Where's the single washstand for five people? Where's the one chair, broken? Why, you've got two rugs! This is a blow, Tattie!" Miss Lascelles was doing coon steps before the mirror. "Is the rehearsal hateful enough for you?" "It's a dream of delight," said Rosalind. But even she was rather tired of it when it finished at five o'clock. It was nearly half-past five when they reached their lodging, and they were glad to hear from Mrs. Cheney that "the kittle was on the bile." At a quarter to seven Miss Lascelles had to hurry to the theatre again. Rosalind went later. The wind had risen, and on the pier she had to fight against it. The lamps streaked a heaving sea. The little wooden theatre was fairly full, and a few Christmas trippers in the balcony were comporting themselves with less decorum than prevails in Blithepoint as a rule. Knowing what she knew of affairs behind the curtain, Rosalind heard the whistles with misgiving. She feared that if the whistlers found the entertainment meagre, they were likely to create entertainment for themselves. However, they listened to the opening chorus with polite attention. It was surprising how attractive many of the chorus ladies had become. They represented the seamen of the Battleship _Deadly Oyster_, and wore sailors' jackets and trousers made of silk--or a material that passed for it. Some of the seamen also wore paste necklaces. They sang that there was "No life so jolly as Jack's," and when one watched their saucy gambols, and remembered that they were actually paid to be there, it looked as if there could be no life so jolly as a chorus girl's. As it happened, the first to provoke dissatisfaction was the Tenor. He had been refused permission to beg indulgence for his cold, but resolving that the Audience should understand that they were not hearing him to advantage, he kept laying his hand on his chest, with an air of suffering. It made him a depressing figure; and when he exclaimed, "'Beware, my temper's hot!'" a humourist in the balcony cried, "How's your poultice?"