characterized her personality. She was a sore trial to Adah. "If you'd ever seen 'Shylock' or 'Mephistopheles', you'd have a better idea," urged the head girl. "You're not nearly bold and bad enough, somehow. We'll give you a dark wig and a curled moustache, and that paper cigar, and you must grind your teeth when Lord Archibald taxes you with the conspiracy." "Will the audience hear me grinding them?" asked Joyce helplessly. "Of course not, stupid! But they'll see your mouth move." "If the moustache doesn't cover it." "We'll take care it shan't. Can't you manage to look like 'Gentleman Jim' on the cinema when the detective caught him with his hand inside the safe?" "I'll try; but how long must I go on looking like that? In the cinema they whisk on to the next picture in half a second, but on the stage I'll have to stand there, and I don't feel inclined to grind my teeth for five minutes. I hope that tweed suit will fit!" All the performers felt their costumes to be their last resource, supplying any deficiencies in the acting. They were determined to be ultra-fashionable, and sent home for suitable garments. Adah secured a perfect dream of a dress in grey voile trimmed with sequins, and a silk petticoat that rustled as she walked. They lent an added graciousness and seal of society to her impressive manner. Isobel borrowed a toque, and a veil with spots, and a feather boa, and a pair of tan boots with high French heels, and a large cameo brooch, and a vanity bag, and looked dashing enough to break the heart of the most hardened and deliberate woman-hater who ever trod the boards. Her companions, gazing at her bewildered, assured her that she looked at least twenty-one, if not more. The way she stretched out a dainty gloved hand and murmured "How d'ye do?" was considered a triumph of acting. "If we do it really well, of course, we might be asked to give it over again," Adah confided modestly to her fellows. "Here?" asked Isobel. "Well, not necessarily. Sometimes managers lend theatres for charities." "An amateur play generally makes a heap of money!" opined Joyce. "It would be lovely to act it in a real theatre!" gasped Mabel. "The Harlingden Operatic Society cleared thirty pounds for the hospital by the 'Gondoliers'," volunteered Consie.