er "business," confused
her stage directions once more.

"'Ah, the old home--'"

"Left-centre," interrupted the coach, in a tone of long-suffering
patience.

She paused bewildered, and believing that she had spoken her lines too
abruptly, began again:

"'See, the clambering--'"

"_Left_-centre."

"'Ah, the old home--'"

Monsieur Gerardy settled himself deliberately in his chair and resting
his head upon one hand closed his eyes. His manner was that of Galileo
under torture declaring "still it moves."

"_Left_-centre."

"Oh--oh, yes. I forgot."

Monsieur Gerardy apostrophized the chandelier with mirthless humour.

"Oh, ha, ha! She forgot."

Still another time Marion tried the entrance, and, as she came on,
Monsieur Gerardy made vigorous signals to Page, exclaiming in a hoarse
whisper:

"Lady Mary, ready. In a minute you come on. Remember the cue."

Meanwhile Marion had continued:

"'See the clambering vines--'"

"Roses."

"'The clambering rose vines--'"

"Roses, pure and simple."

"'See! The clambering roses, pure and--'"

"Mademoiselle Gretry, will you do me the extreme obligation to bound
yourself by the lines of the book?"

"I thought you said--"

"Go on, go on, go on! Is it God-possible to be thus stupid? Lady Mary,
ready."

"'See, the clambering roses have wrapped the old stones in a loving
embrace. The birds build in the same old nests--'"

"Well, well, Lady Mary, where are you? You enter from the porch."

"I'm waiting for my cue," protested Page. "My cue is: 'Are there none
that will remember me.'"

"Say," whispered Landry, coming up behind Page, "it would look bully if
you could come out leading a greyhound."

"Ah, so, Mademoiselle Gretry," cried Monsieur Gerardy, "you left out
the cue." He became painfully polite. "Give the speech once more, if
you please."

"A dog would look bully on the stage," whispered Landry. "And I know
where I could get one."

"Where?"

"A friend of mine. He's got a beauty, blue grey--"

They become suddenly aware of a portentous silence The coach, his arms
folded, was gazing at Page with tightened lips.

"'None who will remember me,'" he burst out at last. "Three times she
gave it."

Page hurried upon the scene with the words:

"'Ah, another glorious morning. The vines are drenched in dew.'" Then,
raising her voice and turning toward the "house," "'Arthur.'"

"'Arthur,'" warned the coach. "That's you. Mr. Corthell. Ready. Well
then, Mad