There is no time for words, had I even the desire to speak, which I have not, as at this moment Lady Blanche Going and Marmaduke come from behind the scenes to congratulate us. I try to recover myself hurriedly, but it is too late; my red cheeks and frightened, half shamed eyes attract their notice; and Marmaduke, glancing from me to Sir Mark, regards us earnestly, coloring very slowly himself the while. "Oh!" exclaims her ladyship, starting, and assuming an air of surprise; then, with an affected laugh, "How foolish of me? But really for the moment, on account of your attitudes and stillness, I fancied I had come on too soon, and that you were still acting." "How completely you must have forgotten the subject of the late tableau!" replies Sir Mark, in a very calm tone, fixing her with his wonderful keen, dark eyes. Some instinct of evil makes me go and stand close to Marmaduke. "Was it a success?" I ask, nervously. "Without doubt," says 'Duke, rousing himself. "You look fatigued, Phyllis; come and have some wine." I take his arm and go with him gladly. "Did anything vex you, darling?" he asks me, quietly, as we go into the next room. "No; it was imagination. I did not know his face was quite so close, and, in consequence, when I opened my eyes I got a start. It was ridiculous of me." "Was that all?" "Yes, that was all." I laugh, though in a rather spiritless way, and feel angry with myself for the vague restraint that is quite discernible in my manner while Marmaduke pours me out some claret-cup, without asking any more questions. "'Duke--Marmaduke--where are you? Oh, cone, come," cries Bebe, looking in, "we are all waiting for you. How can I pose properly until you get me the slipper? You said you had it somewhere." So 'Duke flies, and I, putting from me my small vexation, which even already appears half fanciful, follow him to the sides, to see how they look before the curtain rises. Cinderella (Bebe), clad in picturesque rags, is represented in the act of flying, leaving behind her the magical slipper, which Master Chips is eagerly stooping to pick up. He makes a veritable "Prince Charming," in his scarlet cloak and long silk stockings--got no one knows how--and cap and feathers; while Bebe, glancing backwards in her flight to mark the fate of her shoe, casts upon him a bewitching languishing gaze that (supposing the original Cinderella to be capable of such another) must have had more to do with her being Princess later on than anything in the shape of a vow. Then we close up Dora, as Constance de Beverley, into an imaginary wall--the poor nun, with raised despairing eyes and downward clasped hands, creating much sympathy. Yet, none of us feel sure this was the spirit in which the real Constance met her doom; only, as the devotional tearful style suits Dora, we conclude it was, and make no unwelcome inquiries; and every one is charmed.