'We're all of us frogs, my dear. If people would only give us as much room as we think we ought to have, the world wouldn't be big enough for a quarter of us. And of all the conceited creatures in this topsy-turvy world, actors and actresses are the worst. We're good enough in our way, but we _do_ think such a deal of ourselves.' 'Is Mr. Gus a good actor?' 'Plays leading business; he's out of an engagement just now, He's behind the curtain with Jessie.' I was burning to ask what they were doing there, but the words hung on my tongue, and an inquiry of another description came forth. It was concerning the wonderful collection of dresses and theatrical properties with which the kitchen was filled. I wanted to know if they were used solely for the adornment of the persons of the Wests. 'Bless your heart, my dear, no,' was the reply. This is the 'stock-in-trade of our theatrical wardrobe business. We lend them out for private theatricals and bal masques. It was a good business once, but it has fallen off dreadfully. When bal masques were in fashion, mother used to lend as many as twenty and thirty dresses a night sometimes. If ever you want a dress for a bal masque--though there's scarcely one a year now, worse luck!--come to me, and make you a nobleman, or a chimney sweep, or a brigand, or the Emperor of Russia, in the twinkling of a bedpost, and all for the small charge of--nothing, to you. But to come back. You wanted to ask just now what Gus and Jessie are doing behind that curtain. They're rehearsing a scene, my dear, out of _As You Like It_. Not that she wants teaching; Jessie's a born actress, and if she were on the stage, she'd make a fortune with her face and voice. And as for her laugh--there, listen! I never _did_ hear Mrs. Nesbit laugh--I'm not old enough to have seen her act, my dear--but if her laugh was as sweet and musical as Jessie's, I'll eat my stock-in-trade down to the last feather. And there's another reason, Master Christopher--Gus is in love with her. Bless my soul! how the boy changes colour! Why, they're all in love with her. Turk is mad about her, and Brinsley is pining away before our eyes. He doesn't mind it so much, because a slim figure suits his line of acting. It wouldn't do for a walking gentleman to be fat.' Miss West placed her hand upon mine, and said, with sagacious nods, 'My dear, if Jessie was on the stage, she would have ten thousand lovers. Hark! there's the bell. They're going to play the scene. Are you ready, Jessie?' 'Yes,' cried Jessie, 'but we want some one for Celia; she only speaks twice.' 'Florry will do Celia,' replied Miss West. 'Go behind, Florry; we'll commence the scene properly, and I'll read Jacques. Now, then. Act four, scene one: The Forest of Arden. Up with the curtain.' The curtain was drawn aside, and disclosed a roughly constructed stage, and absolutely an old scene representing a wood.