nother cup, won't you?" says Miss GLADYS
COOPER; "No, thank you," says Mr. DENNIS EADIE--dash it, it's exactly
what we do at Twickenham ourselves. And when, to clinch matters, the
dramatist makes Mr. GERALD DU MAURIER light a real cigarette in the
Third Act, then he can flatter himself that he has indeed achieved the
ambition of every stage writer, and "brought the actual scent of the hay
across the footlights."

But there is a technique to be acquired in this matter as in everything
else within the theatre. The great art of the stage-craftsman, as I have
already shown, is to seem natural rather than to be natural. Let your
actors have tea by all means, but see that it is a properly histrionic
tea. This is how it should go:--

_Hostess._ You'll have some tea, won't you? [_Rings bell._

_Guest._ Thank you.

_Enter_ Butler.

_Hostess._ Tea, please, Matthews.

_Butler_ (_impassively_). Yes, m'lady. (_This is all he says during the
play, so he must try and get a little character into it, in order that
"The Era" may remark, "Mr. Thompson was excellent as _Matthews_."
However, his part is not over yet, for he returns immediately, followed
by three footmen--just as it happened when you last called on the
Duchess--and sets out the tea._)

_Hostess (holding up the property lump of sugar in the tongs)._ Sugar?

_Guest (luckily)._ No, thanks.

_Hostess replaces lump and inclines empty teapot over tray for a moment,
then hands him a cup painted brown inside--thus deceiving the gentleman
with the telescope in the upper circle._

_Guest (touching his lips with the cup and then returning it to its
saucer)._ Well, I must be going.

_Re-enter Butler and three Footmen, who remove the tea-things._

_Hostess_ (to Guest). Good-bye; so glad you could come. [_Exit_ Guest.

His visit has been short, but it has been very thrilling while it
lasted.

Tea is the most usual meal on the stage, for the reason that it is the
least expensive, the property lump of sugar being dusted and used again
on the next night. For a stage dinner a certain amount of genuine
sponge-cake has to be made up to look like fish, chicken or cutlet. In
novels the hero has often "pushed his meals away untasted," but no stage
hero would do anything so unnatural as this. The etiquette is to have
two bites before the butler and the three footmen whisk away the plate.
The two bites are made, and the bread is crumbled, with an air of great
eagerness; indeed, one