voice, and practised identical gestures.
The curtain went up on an outdoor scene. A lady was reclining in a
hammock.

"Why, it's Miss Loriner," whispered Gertie.

A man in tweeds came on backwards and collided with the hammock.

"Who's this supposed to be, Clarence?"

"Young Douglass. Made up with a beard."

An apology was made for the accident, and with the rapidity that the
drama exacts in matters of the heart, the bearded gentleman was in less
than fifteen minutes deeply in love with the lady of the hammock. "And
if I promise to worship you all my life, will you then give me my
heart's desire?" The lady, with a dexterous movement, came out of her
resting-place. "You must first make a name in the world, and, hand
upon heart, show yourself worthy of a woman's love!"

"What's the matter, Gertie?" asked Clarence Mills.

"I've made a--made a fearful muddle of nearly everything."

"Buck up!" urged Clarence. "Don't let people see you giving way."

The bearded man was leaving when the lady bethought herself to inquire
his name; he proved to be none other than Mr. Francis Mainright, the
well-known African explorer; and after a few more words the curtain
came down on an affianced couple, with applause from all parts of the
hall.

"Easy enough," said Gertie, in ceasing to clap hands, "for troubles to
be put right on the stage. It's a bit harder in real life."

Lady Douglass accepted congratulations upon the success of her
entertainment, and turned at the end, before leaving the hall, to
request Gertie's attention for a moment. She was extremely anxious
that her dear young brother-in-law should not commit an error that
might last a lifetime. Apparently there was some one up in town who
had managed to engage his affections: Lady Douglass did not know her;
Miss Higham, of course, had not her acquaintance. The young woman, she
believed, occupied an inferior position in life, and Lady Douglass
would dearly like to have the opportunity of pointing out that
supposing the two married, all the stories of ill-bred wives would be
fastened upon Mrs. Henry Douglass. Every night, in every
billiard-room, in every smoking-room in Berkshire, amusing stories, not
always true, would be told of her mistakes; dull folk might find
themselves reckoned as humorists by inventing anecdotes about her, and
the general gaiety would find itself increased. Furthermore, there was
this to be said. Supposing--

"Are you ready, dear g