"Oh, gracious, no. I shouldn't have known what to ask for, you know; why, there've been millions and _millions_ of plays written--did you know that? Just _millions_! No, Doctor Vardaman lent me the book; I went down to the house and looked over ever so many with him. You ought to see the doctor's library; I'd never been in it before; I believe where we've got one book, he has twenty at the very least. They go all around the room in shelves with the busts of people on top, Shakespeare, I suppose, and--and--well, Shakespeare, you know, and men like that. And he has funny old stuffed birds sitting up between the busts. You wouldn't think that would be pretty, would you, just books, and mothy old birds, and no curtains at the windows; it isn't a bit stylish, but somehow it looks like Doctor Vardaman. Well, we looked at the greatest pile of books of plays, and I told the doctor I thought we oughtn't to attempt anything but farce, so that we'd be sure of entertaining people. But he said if we really meant to be funny, we'd better be serious; he'd guarantee everybody would be much more entertained. Doctor Vardaman does say such queer things--you never know whether he's laughing at you, or with you. But he's lovely about hearing us rehearse (he's seen it on the stage, you know), and suggesting _business_--that's when you have to stand in a corner and make believe to be doing something when it isn't your turn to talk. Isn't it funny you never see actors standing still, and looking stumped for something to do? They're always walking around, or they've got something in their hands to fuss with, or----" "Well, that's _business_, isn't it?" "Yes, but I don't see why they can't sit still just the way we are now--but if they did, it probably wouldn't look right on the stage. Only how do they think up all the things they do? _Business_ is a lot harder than talking, anyhow. Muriel's the leading lady, she's got an awfully long part. J. B. has to make love to her, you know, and when the butler steals the diamonds, and they think Muriel did it, he goes right away and proposes to her, to show that _he_ trusts her anyway----" "I don't like all that spoony part," said Muriel, colouring painfully. "He don't either, I guess," said Kitty. "Men don't like being made to look ridiculous." Kitty was undoubtedly a cat, but---- "You're in the play, too, aren't you, Miss Oldham?" Muriel asked her. "Yes. I'm Mrs. Tankerville's maid. I've only got about two words to say." "Oh!" said Muriel in her pleasant low voice. "Oh!" That was all. But she had got even, to our surprise. I believe we all liked her the better for it.