My mother’s feelings were not to be described! Within ten minutes three or four other people smilingly informed her that they, too, had been invited and certainly meant to come. There was nothing for it but to go straight home and find out what the little monkeys had committed us to. On being sternly questioned, Daisy, with the imperturbable calmness that distinguished her even then, produced a list of some two hundred names, culled from mamma’s visiting-book, and said: “These are the people we have asked. We chose the ones we liked, of course. _I_ have composed the play and it will be most interesting. Arthur is in love with me, Sofia is my rival—I have one or two other children in it, but they are rather stupid, so I shall have to do most of the acting myself. Don’t worry me, please—you have nothing to do but order the supper and send for the chairs!” Of course we submitted. Everything had been done in order; Daisy (Arthur could not write well enough as yet) must have devoted her playtime, for days, to writing out the invitations, which the servants had carried to their addresses, never doubting but that the Signora’s authorization had been obtained. We were not allowed to see the last rehearsals even—the drop-curtain of the little theatre in the ballroom being jealously closed while they went on. I tried to get taken on as manager—no use! “I know exactly what I am about,” said my small sister, “I haven’t watched you grown-ups all these years for nothing! It’s going to be a _great success_!” Which it certainly was! Daisy’s speeches were a little long, because some of the others forgot their parts and she had to bridge their silences by expressing their sentiments for them. “I know what you would say, dear friend—your heart is true, but you fear the vengeance of the Marquis! Oh, I understand!” And so on. Then, at the critical moment of the love scene, Arthur got stage-fright, and the Marquise, who was naturally taller than her adorer, stooped towards him and energetically whispered, “Go down on your knees and kiss my hand _this minute, stupid_!” at which a roar of merriment swept through the room, to end in a storm of applause, as the small boy, dropping on one knee, gave the hand a smacking kiss and exclaimed ardently, “_My angel!_” Oh yes, it was a great success. The little Marquise was a born actress, and carried it all off so well that the guests declared they had never enjoyed an evening so much. But we “grown-ups” had passed some anxious moments; and when it was all over and the triumphant performers had had all the applause, as well as all the cake and goodies, they wanted, we extracted a sleepy promise that we should be at least warned the next time they asked the town to a play! CHAPTER X A STORY OF VENICE Here is a story of Venice.