Before three o’clock the performers were assembled round the stage and most of them were saying: “Where’s Mrs. Harter?” “She isn’t here yet, is she?” said Mrs. Kendal, looking round with an inquiring expression. And presently she added, as though struck by an afterthought, “Mrs. Harter is late, isn’t she?” “Martyn went for her on his motor bike.” “They’ll probably be brought in on two stretchers directly,” Sallie said cheerfully. “Meanwhile, couldn’t we get on without them?” Of course they could, and did. Bill Patch stuck to his post and never took his eyes off his company, until the cue was spoken for Martyn’s first entrance. Then there was a pause and Mrs. Fazackerly said: “Oh dear, haven’t they come yet?” Bill shook his head. Evidently, although he hadn’t turned round, he would have known it if they had come. Mary, who was prompting, began to read her son’s part, but before she had spoken two sentences he came in. He was by himself. It was one of the Kendals, needless to say, although I cannot remember which one, who asked, “Hasn’t Mrs. Harter come?” “She can’t get here this afternoon. Apologies, and all that. Look here, Patch, can I carry on without changing?” “Of course,” said Bill. “Fire away.” They got through it fairly well. Alfred forgot his words several times and said, “Don’t tell me,” with great emphasis when Nancy tried to prompt him, and Mumma called out from her place amongst the spectators: “Now, Ahlfred, don’t get fussed. Don’t _let_ yourself get fussed, dear.” The only sentence that he seemed to have no difficulty at all in remembering was the one in which he referred to “the heighth of the mountains.” The others acquitted themselves reasonably well, and Sallie, who has never known the meaning of nervousness, was brilliant as the Muscovite maiden. “Those boots of mine look uncommonly well on the stage,” said General Kendal at the end of it all. And the only comment that I heard from either of his daughters was that we must try and remember it would be all the same a hundred years hence. Whether or not Bill Patch was encouraged by these observations, he made no reply to them, but gave his attention to Mrs. Fazackerly and a doubtful point in the music. Martyn Ambrey came up to me. “Do you know what’s happened?” “The cat has just swallowed the last piece of lipstick in the country, and the whole thing will be ruined,” I suggested somewhat wearily. The last few days had been over-full of such critical situations. “Much more cataclysmic than that. Do you know why that woman didn’t turn up this afternoon?” The question being purely rhetorical, I allowed Martyn to supply his own answer to it. “The husband has come.” “Good Lord! The Harter husband?” said Sallie. I could have sworn that she was quite delighted at this new dramatic factor in the case. So was Martyn.