'Thank you, my dear; I only wanted to make sure. Now we'll drop the subject.' She went through some comical pantomime, as though she were sewing up her lips. 'Stop and see the girls go through their ballet. Come along, Sophy and Florry and all of you; the bell has rung for the curtain.' And she began to sing, first, however, whispering to me that we should have real music on _the_ night. 'No expense, my dear; it's all ready to hand in the family.' Then the children arranged their figures and positions to Josey West's singing, and rehearsed the ballet with the seriousness of grown-up people. Neither uncle Bryan nor my mother knew anything of Jessie's passion for acting. Jessie held me to my promise of not saying anything about it at home; and on occasions when I urged her to let my mother know of it, she refused in the most decided manner, and said she had her reasons for keeping it a secret. As for myself, I found myself in a labyrinth. So conflicting were the influences around me, that I scarcely dared to think of the plans I had cherished but a little while since, and hoped to see fulfilled. I could only hope and wait. CHAPTER XXX. JESSIE'S TRIUMPH. The eventful evening arrived. It had been a difficult matter with me to keep the knowledge of the affair to myself, for I was in a state of great excitement, and my mother noticed it; but she did not seek my confidence except by kind looks of interest and curiosity. During the day, in accordance with Josey West's advice, I bought two handsome bouquets, which I conveyed to Josey secretly, and which she hid under my seat in the kitchen. Great pains had been taken with the room, which, with benches and chairs properly arranged, and the stage curtain, and a row of stagelights with green shades to them, really presented the appearance of a miniature theatre. It was rather gloomy, certainly, for all the candles were required for the stage, but that was a small matter. The room was filled chiefly by the West family, of whom every available member was present, down to the youngest baby in arms, and among the audience were a few persons with whom I was not acquainted, but whose appearance, with one exception, clearly denoted that they belonged to the dramatic profession. Two male and two female Wests, of tender age, comprised the band; the girls played the violin, and one of the boys played the flute, and the other the cornopean--which latter instrument ran short occasionally in the matter of wind. Everybody was very excited and very merry, and Josey West's queer little figure was continually darting before and behind the curtain. 'Would you like to see her?' the good-natured creature whispered to me. 'Of course you would. Come along, then. She's dressed for Pauline.'