The answer to this will depend upon the length of the play, for upon the length depends the hour at which the curtain rises. If yours is an 8.15 play you may be sure that the stalls will not fill up till 8.30, and you should therefore let loose the lesser-paid members of the cast on the opening scene, keeping your fifty-pounders in reserve. In an 8.45 play the audience may be plunged into the drama at once. But this is much the more difficult thing to do, and for the beginner I should certainly recommend the 8.15 play, for which the recipe is simple. As soon as the lights go down, and while the bald, stout gentleman is kicking our top-hat out of his way, treading heavily on our toes and wheezing, "Sorry, sorry," as he struggles to his seat, a buzz begins behind the curtain. What the players are saying is not distinguishable, but a merry girlish laugh rings out now and then, followed by the short sardonic chuckle of an obvious man of the world. Then the curtain rises, and it is apparent that we are assisting at an At Home of considerable splendour. Most of the characters seem to be on the stage, and for once we do not ask how they got there. We presume they have all been invited. Thus you have had no difficulty with your entrances. _As the chatter dies down a chord is struck on the piano_. _The Bishop of Sploshington_. Charming. Quite one of my favourites. Do play it again. _(Relapses into silence for the rest of the evening.)_ _The Duchess of Southbridge (to_ Lord Reggie). Oh, Reggie, what _did_ you say? _Lord Reggie (putting up his eyeglass)_. Said I'd bally well--top-hole--what?--don'cherknow. _Lady Evangeline (to_ Lady Violet, as _they walk across the stage)_. Oh, I _must_ tell you what that funny Mr. Danby said. (_Doesn't._ Lady Violet, _none the less, trills with happy laughter.)_ _Prince von Ichdien, the well-known Ambassador (loudly, to an unnamed gentleman)_. What your country ought to do--_(He finishes his remarks in the lip-language, which the unnamed gentleman seems to understand. At any rate he nods several times.)_ _There is more girlish laughter, more buzz and more deaf-and-dumb language. Then_ _Lord Tuppeny_. Well, what about auction? _Amid murmurs of_ "You'll play, Field-Marshal?" _and_ "Auction, Archbishop?" _the crowd drifts off, leaving the hero and heroine alone in the middle of the stage_. And then you can begin. But now I must give you a warning. You will never be a dramatist until you have learnt the technique of MEALS