Carrie did not exactly fancy the suggestion, but the novelty of the situation, the presence of strangers, all more or less nervous, and the desire to do anything rather than make a failure, made her timid. She walked in imitation of her mentor as requested, inwardly feeling that there was something strangely lacking. "Now, Mrs. Morgan," said the director to one young married woman who was to take the part of Pearl, "you sit here. Now, Mr. Bamberger, you stand here, so. Now, what is it you say?" "Explain," said Mr. Bamberger feebly. He had the part of Ray, Laura's lover, the society individual who was to waver in his thoughts of marrying her, upon finding that she was a waif and a nobody by birth. "How is that--what does your text say?" "Explain," repeated Mr. Bamberger, looking intently at his part. "Yes, but it also says," the director remarked, "that you are to look shocked. Now, say it again, and see if you can't look shocked." "Explain!" demanded Mr. Bamberger vigorously. "No, no, that won't do! Say it this way--_explain_." "Explain," said Mr. Bamberger, giving a modified imitation. "That's better. Now go on." "One night," resumed Mrs. Morgan, whose lines came next, "father and mother were going to the opera. When they were crossing Broadway, the usual crowd of children accosted them for alms----" "Hold on," said the director, rushing forward, his arm extended. "Put more feeling into what you are saying." Mrs. Morgan looked at him as if she feared a personal assault. Her eye lightened with resentment. "Remember, Mrs. Morgan," he added, ignoring the gleam, but modifying his manner, "that you're detailing a pathetic story. You are now supposed to be telling something that is a grief to you. It requires feeling, repression, thus: 'The usual crowd of children accosted them for alms.'" "All right," said Mrs. Morgan. "Now, go on." "As mother felt in her pocket for some change, her fingers touched a cold and trembling hand which had clutched her purse." "Very good," interrupted the director, nodding his head significantly. "A pickpocket! Well!" exclaimed Mr. Bamberger, speaking the lines that here fell to him. "No, no, Mr. Bamberger," said the director, approaching, "not that way. 'A pickpocket--well?' so. That's the idea." "Don't you think," said Carrie weakly, noticing that it had not been proved yet whether the members of the company knew their lines, let alone the details of expression, "that it would be better if we just went through our lines once to see if we know them? We might pick up some points." "A very good idea, Miss Madenda," said Mr. Quincel, who sat at the side of the stage, looking serenely on and volunteering opinions which the director did not heed. "All right," said the latter, somewhat abashed, "it might be well to do it." Then brightening, with a show of authority, "Suppose we run right through, putting in as much expression as we can." "Good," said Mr. Quincel.