“Now, to-morrow,” he thought, “I’ll look around myself,” and with renewed hope he lifted his eyes from the ground. On the morrow Carrie reported promptly and was given a place in the line. She saw a large, empty, shadowy play-house, still redolent of the perfumes and blazonry of the night, and notable for its rich, oriental appearance. The wonder of it awed and delighted her. Blessed be its wondrous reality. How hard she would try to be worthy of it. It was above the common mass, above idleness, above want, above insignificance. People came to it in finery and carriages to see. It was ever a centre of light and mirth. And here she was of it. Oh, if she could only remain, how happy would be her days! “What is your name?” said the manager, who was conducting the drill. “Madenda,” she replied, instantly mindful of the name Drouet had selected in Chicago. “Carrie Madenda.” “Well, now, Miss Madenda,” he said, very affably, as Carrie thought, “you go over there.” Then he called to a young woman who was already of the company: “Miss Clark, you pair with Miss Madenda.” This young lady stepped forward, so that Carrie saw where to go, and the rehearsal began. Carrie soon found that while this drilling had some slight resemblance to the rehearsals as conducted at Avery Hall, the attitude of the manager was much more pronounced. She had marvelled at the insistence and superior airs of Mr. Millice, but the individual conducting here had the same insistence, coupled with almost brutal roughness. As the drilling proceeded, he seemed to wax exceedingly wroth over trifles, and to increase his lung power in proportion. It was very evident that he had a great contempt for any assumption of dignity or innocence on the part of these young women. “Clark,” he would call—meaning, of course, Miss Clark—“why don’t you catch step there?” “By fours, right! Right, I said, right! For heaven’s sake, get on to yourself! Right!” and in saying this he would lift the last sounds into a vehement roar. “Maitland! Maitland!” he called once. A nervous, comely-dressed little girl stepped out. Carrie trembled for her out of the fulness of her own sympathies and fear. “Yes, sir,” said Miss Maitland. “Is there anything the matter with your ears?” “No, sir.” “Do you know what ‘column left’ means?” “Yes, sir.” “Well, what are you stumbling around the right for? Want to break up the line?” “I was just——” “Never mind what you were just. Keep your ears open.” Carrie pitied, and trembled for her turn. Yet another suffered the pain of personal rebuke. “Hold on a minute,” cried the manager, throwing up his hands, as if in despair. His demeanour was fierce. “Elvers,” he shouted, “what have you got in your mouth?” “Nothing,” said Miss Elvers, while some smiled and stood nervously by. “Well, are you talking?” “No, sir.” “Well, keep your mouth still then. Now, all together again.”