These two began the opening scene of the act and, between them, carried it forward. Miss Cherry as the daughter, was playing it in rehearsal, exactly as she expected to play it before an audience, putting in gestures, inflections, short catches of the breath, emotional gasps--all the illusions, all the business of the part. On the other hand, Mrs. Morehead appeared to have but one ambition in her present employment and that was to get it over with as speedily as possible. After this contrasted fashion, then, they progressed to a certain dramatic juncture: "But, mother," said Miss Cherry, her arms extended in a carefully-thought-out attitude of girlish bewilderment, "what am I to do?" Mrs. Morehead glanced down, refreshing her memory by a glance into the blue booklet. "My child," she said, "leave it to destiny." She said this in the tone of a person of rather indifferent appetite, ordering toast and tea for breakfast. A pause ensued here. "My child," repeated Mrs. Morehead, glancing over her shoulder impatiently, but speaking still in the same voice, "leave it to destiny." "Well, well----" snapped the man at the little table, "that's the cue, 'leave it to destiny.' Come on, McVey? Come a-w-n, McVey? Where's McVey?" He raised his voice fretfully. A nervous, thin man hurried down the stage. "Oh, there you are. Go ahead, McVey. You're keeping everybody waiting. Didn't I tell you you'd have to read the grandfather's part to-day?" "No, sir, you didn't," said McVey, aggrieved. "Well, anyhow, I meant to," said his superior. "But I'm reading Miss Gifford's part this morning," said McVey, who was the assistant stage manager. "She had to go to see about her costumes." "You'll have to read 'em both, then," ordered the special director. "Anyhow, the parts don't conflict--they're not on the stage together during this act. Do the best you can. Now let's go back and take those last two sides over again." Vibrantly and with the proper gesture in the proper place, Miss Cherry repeated her speech. Wearily and without gestures, Mrs. Morehead repeated hers. The flustered McVey, holding the absentee Miss Gifford's part in one hand and the mythical grandfather's in the other, circled upstage and, coming hurriedly down, stepped in between them. "No, no, no," barked the director, "don't come on that way--you'll throw both these ladies out. Come on at the upper side of that blue chair, Mac; that's the door. This is supposed to be a house. You can't walk right through the side of a house without upsetting things. You realize that, don't you? Once more--back again to 'leave it to destiny.'" The rehearsal went on by the customary process of advancing a foot and a half, then retreating a foot, then re-advancing two feet. The novices in the cast were prodigal of their energy, but the veterans saved themselves against what they knew was coming later, when they would need all they had of strength and more, besides.