"Now, that is what I call a downright cheerful picture," says Marmaduke. "_I_ call it high tragedy," replies Miss Beatoun, reprovingly. "_Will_ you be Emilia, Miss Vernon?" "I will help you in any way I can," says Dora, with her usual gentle amiability. "You would make a capital Beatrice, Bebe," says Marmaduke. "We might have a good scene from 'Much Ado About Nothing.' Who will be Benedick? Now, don't all speak at once." "I think it would suit me," says Chips, very modestly. We all laugh heartily. "You grow modest, Mr. Thornton," says Sir Mark. "I fear you must be ill. Try a little of this honey; you will find it excellent." "No, thanks. I feel I shall be able to pull through now until luncheon." "Let us go into the library and arrange everything," I suggest, eagerly; and we all rise and go there. By degrees, as the afternoon advances, the men show symptoms of fatigue and drop off one by one, while we women still keep together to discuss the all-engrossing idea. Curious odds and ends of old-world finery are dragged from remote closets and brought to light. Clothes that once adorned Marmaduke's ancestors are now draped around young white arms and necks, and draw forth peals of laughter from the lookers-on. "But we must have an audience," suggests: Bebe, at length, rather blankly, stopping short, with her hands in the air, from which hangs down an ancient embroidered robe. "True. How shall we manage that?" "Send a groom instantly with invitations to the Hastings, the Leslies, and the De Veres, and the Cuppaidges. I am positive they are all dying of _ennui_ this moment, and will hail with rapture any chance of escape from it. They will all come; and the Leslies have two or three really very presentable young men staying with them." "Yes, that will be best. Dora, will you go and write the notes for me? Now, would it not be a good thing to exclude all the non-players from our council?" "Oh," says Harriet, "then _I_ must go." "No, no, Harry, we can't do without you," cry I, imploringly; "you must stay. We could not get on without some head to guide us and soothe down disappointed actors. You shall be wardrobe-woman and chief secretary and prime minister and stage manager all in one." "Yes," says Bebe, who has got herself into the ancient robe by this; "and head-centre and peacemaker, and all that sort of thing. Now, don't I look sweet in this flowered gown? Ah! what interesting creatures our great-great-grandmothers must have been! It almost makes me long to be a great-great-grand mother myself." "But your salary--your salary: state your terms," says Harriet. "I cannot be all that you have mentioned for nothing." "For love, dearest: call you _that_ nothing?" replies Bebe, as she struts up and down before a long glass.