“Now who’s paying for all that?” the milliner asked herself. “Some very great personage, ’tis well known; for anything more splendid and discreet I never see. Best in tragedy, you poor thing!” The tears rose to Pamela’s candid eyes. “Why, ’tis tragedy itself you are already! You so young, with that smile that ought to have warmed a good man’s heart! La, if my ladies knew who ’tis I’m going to trim a hat for this minute, and where ’tis I’m to bring it when ’tis done!” * * * * * Pamela Pounce looked about her with shrewd eyes, as she sat, very politely, on the edge of a cane chair in Miss Falcon’s dressing-room at Drury Lane. A bandbox at her feet, her hands folded one across the other in her dove-grey lap, she presented the very image of elegant propriety in a doubtful atmosphere. She had not expected to find company in the dressing-room, the play being well started; nevertheless, there was a knot of two or three modish-looking individuals who laughed a good deal together, and tapped the lids of their own snuff-boxes and took pinches out of each other’s with positively the last thing in flourishes. The gaunt woman who moved about at the back of the dressing-table, unnecessarily shaking garments, was, of course, the actress’s dresser, and a sour piece she was, thought Pamela, who had already refused, with a high air of contempt, this functionary’s proposal to leave the bandbox with her. “As if I was come all this way to do porter’s work!” thought Miss Pounce, with a toss of her admirably tired head. Miss Falcon was standing at the door, looking in upon them, before anyone was aware of her presence; then she came forward, followed by a portly, handsome gentleman past middle age, at sight of whom the gossips bowed to a most obsequious depth. Miss Falcon bore still upon her countenance the humorous peevishness of the character she had just represented. “Why, how now?” she exclaimed. “Fie, for shame, gentlemen! What are you doing here? If you desire to show me a compliment your place is before the curtain, sirs! Foh! ’Tis a poor compliment to salute an actress in her dressing-room!” “Why, my dearest creature!” exclaimed the chief of the fops, coming forward, and bowing repeatedly with such an affected parade of courtesy that Pamela’s hand itched to box his ears. “I vow and declare we are but mustering all our energies to acclaim you after your great scene! We would not spoil that effect, ’pon our life! Not for a hundred thousand guineas! What’s Lady Teazle before the screen scene? No part for your genius, incomparable Falcon!” “Out with you now, then!” said Miss Falcon. “Good evening, Miss Pounce. Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen, indeed you cannot remain here! Miss Pounce and I have the most important business on hand. La, that bandbox! It is vastly good of you, Miss Pounce. Pray, my Lord, give the gentlemen the lead and take them to their seats!”