Presently darling mother, who has slept at Strangemore and breakfasted in her room, comes creeping in, and a dispute arises as to whether she must be excluded from the cabinet and sent into exile until night reveals our secrets. But she is so amused at everything, and has grown so young and gay in the absence of her bugbear, that we make an exception in her favor also; and, as she has a real talent for dressing people, and would have made an invaluable ladies' maid, had her lot been cast so low, we find her very useful later on. The invitations are despatched, and acceptances from all brought back; every one, it appears, will be delighted to come and witness our success or failure, as the case may be. These polite replies cause us faint pangs of consternation largely tinctured with timidity, making us conscious that we are regularly in for something: that much is expected of us; and that, after all, the performance may prove "flat, stale, and unprofitable." All through dinner we--the intended victims, are mysterious, not to say depressed; while Sir James Handcock, the two men from the Barracks, and Sir George Ashurst make mild jokes at our expense, and wish us safely out of it. At nine the guests arrive; at half-past nine all is in readiness; the audience is seated, the impromptu curtains are drawn up, and "Rebecca laying the jewels at Rowena's feet" stands revealed. Lady Blanche Going, as the Jewess, is looking positively beautiful, as kneeling at Dora's feet, in many colored garments of crimson and gold and such gorgeous shades, with much gleaming of precious stones, she gazes with saddened curiosity in the face above her; while Dora, raising her veil--my wedding veil--with uplifted arms to look down on her, presents such a contrast, with her dead white robe and fair babyish face, to the darker beauty's more glowing style as takes the audience by storm. The applause is loud and lengthened; and Sir George Ashurst's enthusiasm reaches such a pitch that when it subsides he has to retire to his room in search of another pair of gloves. The curtain rises for the second time on Lady Blanche again and Sir Mark Gore as "The Huguenots." This, too, is highly successful, albeit her ladyship is too dark for the part. Everybody agrees that Sir Mark, with the sorrowfully determined expression on his face, is perfect; while Lady Blanche astonishes some of us by the amount of passionate pleading she throws into her eye. And now comes a hitch. The third tableau on which we have decided is "The Last Appeal." There has been considerable difficulty about the arrangement of this from the beginning, and now at the last moment Sir Mark Gore vows he will have nothing to do with it.