At the end of the first act she was called before the curtain. Any one calmly observing the house would have seen that it was not very enthusiastic, and that it fell to talking almost before she had passed behind the curtain at the opposite side. Then she went down to her dressing-room. Mrs. Christmas welcomed her and complimented her with an emphasis which was a little forced and unnecessary. Annie Brunel said nothing, but stood and contemplated, with her straight-looking honest eyes, the poor little woman who was courageously trying to act her part naturally. Then she sate down. "Do you think I did my best, mother?" she said. And again she fixed her large eyes, with a kind conciliation in them, on her aged friend. "Of course——" "And you were watching me, I think?" "Yes." "And the house?" "A little," said Mrs. Christmas, rather nervously. "Then you know," she said, calmly, "that I have made a total failure, that the people think so, and that to-morrow every one, including the papers, will say so." "My dear!——" "Why should we not speak frankly, mother? I felt it within myself, and I saw it in their faces. _And I knew it before I went on the stage._" "That is it! That has done it all!" exclaimed the old woman, inclined to wring her hands in despair and grief. "You convinced yourself that you were going to fail, and then, when you went on the stage, you lost command over yourself." "Had I not command over myself?" the young girl asked, with a smile. "I had so great command of myself that I knew and was conscious of everything I did—the tiniest thing—and kept continually asking myself how it would impress the people. I was never in the least excited; had I been—but there is no use talking, Lady Jane. Help me to change my dress; I suppose I must go through with it." So Mrs. Christmas officiated in place of Sarah, whom she always ordered out of the way on grand occasions; and, as she did so, she still administered counsel and reproof, not having quite given up hope. Two of the most distinguished of the critics met in the lobby leading to the stalls. "A pity, is it not?" said one. The other merely shrugged his shoulders. The general run of the critics fancied that Annie Brunel had added another to her list of brilliant successes, and were already shaping in their brain elaborate sentences overflowing with adjectives. Lord Weyminster, whom people considered to have a share in the proprietary of the theatre, went behind the scenes and met Mr. Melton. "This won’t do, my boy," he said. "Do you think not?" said the manager, anxiously. "They received her very warmly." "They received Miss Brunel warmly, but not her ’Rosalind.’" "What’s to be done?" "Change the piece." "I can’t. Perhaps it was only a temporary indisposition."