"Now read her the part of 'Jean Armour,'" said Mrs. Punter, and the obedient husband started off again. As he ceased, he looked inquiringly at Evarne over the top of his spectacles. The girl's genuine opinion was that never had she listened to such utter twaddle in all her life. There did not seem to be any plot at all, no vestige of even a central thread of continuous story. Yet more and more was proudly read aloud, until at length nearly the whole manuscript had been gone through. It was really immensely funny, but, alas! this was quite unintentional. Its creator laboured under the belief that she had produced a poetical drama in blank verse, slightly bordering on a tragedy! Evarne felt cold depression steal over her as she listened. Was it possible that such inane dulness would ever attract the public? But, concealing her fears, she inquired in respectful tones-- "Did it not take you a long time to write it?" "Oh dear me, no," was Mrs. Punter's lightly spoken disclaimer. "I just dictated it to my husband in odd moments, while I'd be bustling about getting dinner. It was no trouble to me, I assure you." It was on the tip of the girl's tongue to answer, "I thought not," but instinct whispered that such a supposition might not fall quite prettily upon the authoress's ears. Instead, she was just hypocrite enough to look as impressed as she could have done had Shakespeare himself stated a similar fact. After this she rose to leave. Amiably enough they insisted on lending her several books concerning the hero of their drama; a volume of his poems, one called "Burns's Highland Mary," another entitled "Burns's Chloris," and yet another about his "Clarinda." Evarne thought it very unromantic and unpoetical of "Bobbie" to have worshipped at the shrines of so many "ladye-loves," but was well pleased to be supplied with so much reading matter. Still, while all this was very well in its way, it was not business! Days passed. Mr. Sandy and "Highland Mary" did not arrive, neither did Evarne see any of her other fellow-artistes. As time went on and no rehearsal-call was given, while the demands upon her purse were constant, she commenced to make frequent and anxious inquiries. Mr. Punter was evidently as much concerned as she was herself. "But it's no use my gathering the company together here until Mr. Sandy has arrived. You must see that for yourself. The whole play circles round him, as you know. We must all wait a day or two longer. I admit I cannot account for his unexplained neglect, and am much displeased." Evarne saw nothing for it but to be patient and make the best of a bad job, but it was indeed a very seriously bad job in her case. She had been prepared to find it difficult to make her money last out until she received her first week's salary, and this delay over even commencing the rehearsals was really terrible.