She did her part, too, in the little play, being one of the chorus of the maidens who ‘make a vow to make a row.’ Lady Merrifield had, according to the general request, saved disputes by casting the parts, Gillian being the sage old woman who brought the damsels to reason. Fly, the prime mover of the tumult, and Mysie, her confidante, while Val and Dolly made up the mob. A little manipulation of skirts, tennis-aprons, ribbons, and caps made very nice peasant costumes. Hal was the self-important Bailli, and Jasper the drummer, the part of gens-d’armes being all that Wilfred and Fergus could be trusted with. Lord Rotherwood came back, and his little daughter’s ecstacy was goodly to see, as she danced about her daddy, almost bursting with the secret of what he was to see after dinner, and showing herself so brilliantly well and happy that he congratulated himself upon her mother’s satisfaction. While the elders were at dinner, Gillian, with Miss Vincent’s help, finished off the arrangements. There were no outsiders, except the Vicar and Mr. Pollock who had been asked to dinner, for Lady Merrifield said she never liked to make her children an exhibition. ‘You are an old-fashioned Lily,’ said her cousin, ‘and happily not concerned with popularity. It is a fine thing to be able to consult one’s children’s absolute best.’ The performance went off beautifully--at least so thought both actors and spectators. The dignity of the Bailli and the meddling of the drummer were alike delightful; Fly was charmingly arch and mutinous; Mysie very straightforward; and the least successful personation was that of Gillian, who had a fit of stage-fright, forgot sentences, and whirred her spinning-wheel nervously, all the worse for being scolded by her brothers behind the scenes, and assured that she was making a mull of the whole affair. And she had been so spirited at the rehearsals, but she was at a self-conscious age, and could not forget the four spectators. Very little was required of Dolores, but that little she did simply and well, and Lord Rotherwood, after watching her all the evening, observed to Lady Merrifield, ‘I should say your difficulties were diminishing, are they not? The thunder-cloud seems to be a little lightened.’ ‘I am so glad you think so, Rotherwood. I feel sure that all this distress has drawn her nearer to us, only Regie won’t believe it.’ ‘Regie is prejudiced.’ ‘Is he? I thought him specially fond of Maurice’s child, and that this was revulsion of feeling; but what I am afraid of is, that he will never believe in her or like her again, whatever she may be, and she is really fond of him.’ ‘Yes, Reginald is not over disposed to believe in any woman’s truth--outside his own family and sisters. Poor fellow! I can’t say he was well used.’ ‘What? I suppose he has bad his romance like other people--his little episode, as my husband calls it.’