at enough at night, when the drop
falls on the second act, and the audience have seen the last of her.
It's a thousand pities she hasn't got a better part!"

"It's a thousand mercies she's no more to do than she has," muttered
Miss Garth, overhearing him. "As things are, the people can't well turn
her head with applause. She's out of the play in the second act--that's
one comfort!"

No well-regulated mind ever draws its inferences in a hurry; Miss
Garth's mind was well regulated; therefore, logically speaking,
Miss Garth ought to have been superior to the weakness of rushing at
conclusions. She had committed that error, nevertheless, under present
circumstances. In plainer terms, the consoling reflection which had just
occurred to her assumed that the play had by this time survived all its
disasters, and entered on its long-deferred career of success. The play
had done nothing of the sort. Misfortune and the Marrable family had not
parted company yet.

When the rehearsal was over, nobody observed that the stout lady with
the wig privately withdrew herself from the company; and when she was
afterward missed from the table of refreshments, which Mr. Marrable's
hospitality kept ready spread in a room near the theater, nobody
imagined that there was any serious reason for her absence. It was not
till the ladies and gentlemen assembled for the next rehearsal that the
true state of the case was impressed on the minds of the company. At
the appointed hour no Julia appeared. In her stead, Mrs. Marrable
portentously approached the stage, with an open letter in her hand. She
was naturally a lady of the mildest good breeding: she was mistress of
every bland conventionality in the English language--but disasters and
dramatic influences combined, threw even this harmless matron off her
balance at last. For the first time in her life Mrs. Marrable indulged
in vehement gesture, and used strong language. She handed the letter
sternly, at arms-length, to her daughter. "My dear," she said, with an
aspect of awful composure, "we are under a Curse." Before the amazed
dramatic company could petition for an explanation, she turned and
left the room. The manager's professional eye followed her out
respectfully--he looked as if he approved of the exit, from a theatrical
point of view.

What new misfortune had befallen the play? The last and worst of all
misfortunes had assailed it. The stout lady had resigned her part.

Not maliciously.