There were times when Imogen's confidence in Beatrix received a shake. Trixie was too unused to self-control of any kind to keep it up for long, even in a bad cause. And Miss Wentworth's acting often gave opportunity for ridicule, it must be allowed. Then Mr Villars was severe and enthusiastic, and Imogen's perfect fitness in _appearance_ for the part assigned to her made him doubly provoked at her absolute incapacity to carry out his directions. More than once the close of a rehearsal found the poor girl all but in tears, and the sympathy she met with was often but scant. "You do look so absurd when Mr Villars scolds you," said Trixie, one day after one of these scenes. "If you talk in that brokenhearted voice I shall not be able to keep from laughing, I warn you, on the grand night itself." "You are very unkind," said Imogen, flashing out. "I never wanted to act, and I never said I could. I have a good mind to--" But here her voice failed her. She turned away abruptly and left the room. "She has gone to complain to her mother. You are a fool, Trixie," said Miss Forsyth, elegantly. "Not a bit of it. Her mother would put a stop to it, and Miss Imogen doesn't in her heart wish that, by any means," said Trixie. "What a pity Rex isn't here; it would be a part of the play for him to go to comfort her." "_Hush_!" said Mabella hastily, as Florence at that moment came in. "What is the matter with that child?" Florence asked sternly. "I was writing in the library just now, and she came rushing in. She pretended she was looking for a book when she saw me, but I am almost sure she was crying." "She is such an idiot--" began Trixie, but a warning glance from Mab stopped her. "Do you wish Florence to take her up and spoil all?" she said afterwards. "I mean," Beatrix went on, "she takes things up so. I couldn't help laughing at the way Mr Villars scolded her." "You don't want to frighten her out of it now at the last?" said Florence. "It would be very awkward, and might get you into hot water, I warn you." She had an additional motive for not desiring such a catastrophe. No one, she knew, failing Miss Wentworth, could take the "Valesca" but herself, and this, Florence was by no means inclined to do. It was the part which faintly shadowed her own story--the devotion of a girl to an unworthy object. So with these words of remonstrance to Trixie, Florence went her way. Her way was to seek for Rex, and enlist his help. She found him writing in her brother's smoking-room. "Rex," she said abruptly, "I'm afraid you are not looking after your Miss Wentworth after all. She's in a sea of troubles about her acting, and I cannot meddle. For one thing I can't and won't take `Valesca,' if she throws it up," and she crimsoned as she said it. "Nobody could propose such a thing," he said.