THE MANAGER. I should hope not. Evidently they cannot be you, if they are actors. THE FATHER. Just so: actors! Both of them act our parts exceedingly well. But, believe me, it produces quite a different effect on us. They want to be us, but they aren't, all the same. THE MANAGER. What is it then anyway? THE FATHER. Something that is ... that is theirs--and no longer ours.... THE MANAGER. But naturally, inevitably. I've told you so already. THE FATHER. Yes, I understand ... I understand.... THE MANAGER. Well then, let's have no more of it! (_Turning to the actors_): We'll have the rehearsals by ourselves, afterwards, in the ordinary way. I never could stand rehearsing with the author present. He's never satisfied! (_Turning to Father and Step-Daughter_): Come on! Let's get on with it again; and try and see if you can't keep from laughing. THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Oh, I shan't laugh any more. There's a nice little bit coming for me now: you'll see. THE MANAGER. Well then: when she says "Don't think any more of what I've said. I must forget, etc.," you (_addressing the Father_) come in sharp with "I understand, I understand"; and then you ask her.... THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_interrupting_). What? THE MANAGER. Why she is in mourning. THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Not at all! See here: when I told him that it was useless for me to be thinking about my wearing mourning, do you know how he answered me? "Ah well," he said "then let's take off this little frock." THE MANAGER. Great! Just what we want, to make a riot in the theatre! THE STEP-DAUGHTER. But it's the truth! THE MANAGER. What does that matter? Acting is our business here. Truth up to a certain point, but no further. THE STEP-DAUGHTER. What do you want to do then? THE MANAGER. You'll see, you'll see! Leave it to me. THE STEP-DAUGHTER. No sir! What you want to do is to piece together a little romantic sentimental scene out of my disgust, out of all the reasons, each more cruel and viler than the other, why I am what I am. He is to ask me why I'm in mourning; and I'm to answer with tears in my eyes, that it is just two months since papa died. No sir, no! He's got to say to me; as he did say: "Well, let's take off this little dress at once." And I; with my two months' mourning in my heart, went there behind that screen, and with these fingers tingling with shame.... THE MANAGER (_running his hands through his hair_). For Heaven's sake! What are you saying? THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_crying out excitedly_). The truth! The truth! THE MANAGER. It may be. I don't deny it, and I can understand all your horror; but you must surely see that you can't have this kind of thing on the stage. It won't go.