“Barrett very nearly made Hamlet an infant in arms, all the same,” said the grey man, and at this excellent and subtle joke they all laughed. I wanted to laugh in an admiring sort of way, but doubted whether it would not be rather interfering. So I contented myself with smiling heartily; because I didn’t want them to think so fine a joke had been lost upon me. They were very deeply read in everything to do with the theatre, and I found that they knew most of the actresses by their married names, which, of course, I did not. Thus, greatly to my surprise, I found out that nearly all the most fascinating and famous actresses were married. Many even had families. Splendid stories were told by the grey man. He related a great jest about Mr. William Terriss when he was acting with Mr. Irving. It was irreverent in a way to such a famous actor as Mr. Terriss; but, of course, for mere intellectual power Mr. Terriss was not in it with Mr. Irving—any more than any other actor was, though he might, none the less, be very great in himself. And once, when Mr. Terriss was rehearsing with Mr. Irving, the latter, failing to make the former do what he wanted, said before the actors, actresses, and supernumeraries at that time assembled on the spacious boards of the Lyceum Theatre—he said, “My dear Terriss, do try and use the little brains that God has given you!” The hours rolled by and one or two of the young men spoke kindly to me. Then the girl, who had grey eyes and a mass of yellow hair under a deer-stalker hat, and was dressed in cloth of the same kind, also spoke to me and asked me to take my elbow out of her shoulder-blade. I apologised instantly and altered my position. The crush was now increasing and the air was exceedingly stuffy; but there still remained an hour before the doors opened. Having broken the ice, the girl, who I think was tired of keeping quiet for such a long time, began to talk. We discussed the drama and “first nights” in general. From one thing we went to another and I found, much to my interest, that the girl intended to become an actress. She was an independent and courageous sort of girl. Her parents had a shop in the Edgware Road and were very much against her going on the stage; but she was determined to defy them. There was to be a dramatic school opened shortly, and she was going to join it. Then I naturally told her that I was going to join that school too, and she was quite pleased. “Perhaps we shall play parts in the same play some day,” she said; and I said I hoped we might. “Phew!” she exclaimed presently. “This is getting a bit thick, isn’t it?” Certainly it was. I had never been in such a tightly packed crowd and, as bad luck would have it, I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. I was, in plain words, starving. Like a fool I had spared no time for tea, but rushed off at the earliest possible moment, and now I began to feel emptier than I had ever felt in my life before.