"Pardon me, dear lady," he said, "but you are nothing else. You have played four original parts, specially written for you mind, in the whole of your stage experience; of course you're an amateur, but you are a big success. And," and here he cracked his fingers very slowly, "you are a fine woman, yes, a fine stage presence of a woman," said he appreciatively, as he looked her all over, much as a dealer might look over a horse--a dealer who was selling a horse, not a dealer who was buying one. Mrs. Charmington fought hard to get hold of the beautiful type-printed copy of "Ethel's Sacrifice," which young Robinson, in elaborate morning costume and a flower in his button-hole, had read to her so delightfully; but all in vain. Mr. Breitmann kept it carefully locked up in one of the numerous tin boxes which made his rather grim-looking study so much resemble a lawyer's office. "You'll find this quite enough to occupy you for the next three months, my dear," said Breitmann decisively, using the affectionate method of address invariable in the profession. The part, which was a formidable little volume, was just about twice as long as the Church catechism. To do Mrs. Charmington justice she set to work with a will; she was actually letter-perfect when the play was read to her company for the first time by Mr. Robinson at the Stoke Pogis theatre, where the talented little band of actors that supported Mrs. Charmington were playing at the time. "At ten on Monday, if you please, ladies and gentlemen," said Robinson, "we will rehearse Acts I., II. and III. Mr. Breitmann will be present." Everybody was punctual, and Mr. Breitmann _was_ present. For five mortal hours he abused the company individually and collectively; he pervaded the theatre, he shrieked from the lighted rake of gas jets which illuminated the centre of the stage, he objurgated from the author's table, he used the most horrible language when he suddenly appeared in the stalls, he had the presumption to order Mrs. Charmington not to "mince," and he told her that "it wasn't a time for mincing;" he insisted on the minuet in the second act being repeated six times, and then he informed the infuriated stage manager that "it wasn't good enough even for Whitechapel." But the climax was reached at Mrs. Charmington's great scene with her leading man, at the conclusion of the third act. Ethel (Mrs. Charmington) has to fling herself into the arms of her confiding husband; she proceeded to do so in her usual perfunctory and society manner. "Good heavens! madam," shrieked the indignant Breitmann, "that won't do. Stand here," said he in his ferocious voice, "and look at me." He rushed at the leading man, he plunged his face into that gentleman's shirt front, he gripped the gentleman's muscular shoulders with tremendous energy, and his back went up and down with convulsive sobs. "There, ma'am," he said triumphantly; "try again." She tried again, but Breitmann vociferated all the more.