“Why are you so hard upon Canon Chisely?” asked Yvonne. “A case of Dr. Fell, I suppose. I don’t like his always hanging about you.” Yvonne burst out laughing. “I believe you are jealous, Dina,” she cried. Miss Vicary’s retort was checked by the entrance of the landlady with Yvonne’s supper. She busied herself with the arrangement of plates and dishes on the tray. But all the time the expression on her face was that of a woman who foresees a considerable amount of trouble to come. CHAPTER V--THE COMIC MUSE The common dressing-room appointed for the male members of the chorus was crowded with half-attired men, strangely painted and moustachioed. The low, blackened ceiling beat down the heat from the gas-jets over the dressing-ledges, and the air reeked of stuffiness, tobacco, and yellow soap. Everywhere was a confusion of garments, grease-paints, open bags, beer bottles, and half-emptied glasses. It wanted only five minutes to the rise of the curtain, and hurry prevailed among belated ones, who got in each other’s way and swore lustily. Joyce had finished dressing. He wore a mandarin’s hat, a green robe, a pigtail, and long, drooping moustaches, like the rest of his companions. Having nothing more to do, he was leaning back against the dressing-table with folded arms, and staring absently in front of him. “You are looking down in the mouth, old man,” said the man who dressed next to him, turning away from the mirror and buttoning his robe. “I beg your pardon, McKay?” said Joyce, with a start. “I asked why you were so blooming cheerful,” answered the other. “I was only thinking,” said Joyce. “It seems to be an unpleasant operation, old man.” “Don’t you see it’s of _her_?” said another man standing by. “They’re always like that.” “Perhaps it’s better to put her out of your mind and grin--isn’t it?” retorted Joyce, pointedly, for the railer’s quasi-matrimonial squabbles had already become a byword in the company. McKay burst into a loud laugh, in which those who heard joined, and the railer retired in discomfiture. “Had him there,” said McKay. “Well, how’s the world, anyway?” “Oh, all right!” replied Joyce, vaguely. “Blake and I took his missus and two of the girls for a sail to-day,” said the other. “If the whole crew hadn’t been sick, we should have had a gay old time. Been doing anything?” “No. What is there to do?” “At Southpool? Why, there’s no end of things. I wish we went to some more seaside places, late as it is.” “I don’t think it matters much where we go,” said Joyce. “Life is just the same.” “I suppose it is, if you moon around by yourself. Why don’t you get a pal?” “Masculine or feminine?” asked Joyce; for there was as much pairing in the company as in the Ark.