"I couldn't do it," he says, throwing out his hands. "There is no use urging a fellow. I could look murderous. I might look sentimental: I could not appeal. I won't, and that's all about it. They will say there are no more actors if you send me on again so soon; and besides, those breeches don't fit me. They will go on Chandos; let him take my part." "How disobliging you are!" says Miss Beatoun, flushing. "Then I won't be the person appealed to. I did not want to, all along. It is too bad I should get no parts but those in which rags and ugly dresses are worn. I shall have to do Cinderella presently in tatters, and in this I have only a short gown, and nasty thick shoes and a pitcher." "What nonsense!" say I. "You know every one said you looked delicious with that little handkerchief across your shoulders. Lord Chandos, go and dress yourself directly, as Sir Mark will not." "Of what use is it," says Chandos, quietly, "if Miss Beatoun declines to act with me?" "Acting with you has nothing to do with it," returns Bebe, reddening perceptibly. "I only decline the 'old clo' part of it. Consider how it hurts my vanity." "Yet you would have worn them had Sir Mark kept his word," I say, in an injured tone. At this Lord Chandos looks expressively at Miss Beatoun, Miss Beatoun looks witheringly at me, and Marmaduke, utterly innocent, says persuasively:--- "Come now, Bebe, that's conclusive. Chandos will think you have some reason for it if you persist in refusing." At this unfortunate remark even I feel some dismay. Considering all that has passed between these two, and the nature of the tableau in question, it _is_ unfortunate. Chandos and Bebe color violently; the latter's fingers close with nervous force upon the pretty short gown she is wearing and crumple it recklessly. The loose cambric kerchief on her breast rises and falls with angry motion. Chandos is evidently furious. "I shall think nothing of the kind," he says, in a low, distinct tone. "Miss Beatoun should be allowed to please herself. For my part, I think it an odious scene and hackneyed to the last degree." "Still, as it is on the cards---" I murmur, weakly. Marmaduke stares at me in wonderment, and then at Harriet, who is also listening. We are every one of us thoroughly unpleasant. Bebe laughs a rather forced laugh. "I wonder what our friends in the dress circle are thinking all this time?" she says. "Lord Chandos, go and put on your things and don't let us keep them waiting any longer." "That's right," exclaims Marmaduke, much relieved, moving away to another group in the distance engaged in a hot dispute. Still Chandos lingers. "I am sorry for this," he says to Bebe, in a low tone, almost haughtily. "But it is not yet too late. If the idea is so detestable to you, then give it up now, and I will support you." "Why should it be distasteful to me?" very coldly. "I will make no further objections."