‘Oh, I am _sure_ you have. You’d be an ideal Juliet, you know. I fancy I can hear you saying to me, “Oh, Womeo, Womeo! wherefore art thou, Womeo?”’ exclaimed Mr Greenwood, lisping rather worse than usual, in his excitement. But he was quite offended when every one joined in a loud laugh. ‘Oh, you must excuse us, really, Mr Greenwood!’ exclaimed Miss Vere, wiping her eyes, ‘but you _are_ so funny. I should like to play “Juliet” with you excessively. I assure you I should.’ ‘_Do_, then,’ cried Harold Greenwood, taking it all in earnest; ‘let us have “Romeo and Juliet” instead of this stupid comedy, and I shall have the bliss (if for only one night) of pwetending you are mine, don’t you know?’ ‘I am afraid it would take too much of our time,’ replied Miss Vere, with mock seriousness. ‘You do not know the many years of hard study that I was obliged to go through, before I dared attempt the part of Juliet.’ ‘But I thought you had only been for a few years on the stage,’ remarked Captain Lovell. ‘Oh, no! indeed you are mistaken. For the last five years I have been on the London boards, but I struggled for thirteen years in the provinces before I could command an appearance in town.’ ‘Do you mean to say you have been eighteen years on the stage, Miss Vere?’ said Alice incredulously. ‘You must have appeared when you were very young.’ ‘I was ten years old when I made my _débût_. My father was an actor at the Grecian Theatre, and as soon as I was old enough to speak my lines correctly, he procured me my first engagement in the pantomime of “Goody Two Shoes.”’ ‘By Jove! I should like to play in a pantomime, Miss Vere, don’t you know?’ drawled Harold Greenwood; ‘it must be very jolly to make-believe to be a cat, or a dog, eh?’ ‘Or a monkey, Mr Greenwood. No, I don’t think you would care about it. You would soon want to cancel your engagement. It is all noise and nonsense and make-up.’ ‘Mr Greenwood is so clever, I don’t think he would have much trouble to make-up--as a monkey,’ remarked Captain Lovell dryly. Miss Vere frowned, and bit her lip. ‘A pantomime is all very nice from the front,’ she continued; ‘but when you are obliged to listen to the same music night after night, to hear the same lines spoken, the same “gags” used, you soon get sick and tired of it all. However, I owe so much to my burlesque training, that I never regret I went through it.’ ‘But how could it do _you_ any good?’ demanded Alice Leyton. ‘It taught me to use my arms and legs, my dear, and cured me of many bad habits, such as not being able to stand still, or to speak distinctly. There are very few of our best-known artists who have not played in pantomime or burlesque, and some of our leading ladies have commenced their career in the ballet.’