ow that Mr. Beauchamp could run."

"I fancy she knows a good deal more about him than that," replied Mr.
Cottrell demurely.

"What do you mean? What have you heard about her?" inquired Lady Mary,
somewhat eagerly.

"Nothing, further than she seemed to be equally well aware that he could
act. But stop, they are commencing again."

Slowly, as before, the curtain ascends to a dreamy melody of the piano,
and discovers Sylla, attired as the smartest of soubrettes, in close
juxtaposition to Lionel Beauchamp in a groom's livery. Taking a letter
from him, she places it in her bosom, and then looks up at him with all
the devilry of coquetry in her eyes. She toys with the corner of her
apron, twiddling it backwards and forwards between her fingers. She
glances demurely down at her feet, then looks shyly up at him again; then
once more studying her apron, she, as if unconsciously, proffers her
cheek in a manner too provocative for any man to resist, and as the
curtain descends Lionel Beauchamp is apparently about to make the most of
his opportunity.

"By Jove!" laughed the Squire, "in Beauchamp's place I think I would have
been thoroughly realistic--the proper thing in these days!"

"Well," whispered Lady Mary to Pansey Cottrell, "of all the audacious
minxes! Mr. Beauchamp deserves great credit for his discretion in
waiting until the curtain fell before he kissed her."

That Lady Mary assumed the ceremony was concluded may be easily imagined,
while the audience generally differed considerably about the scene, some
of the ladies contending that there was no necessity for carrying
dramatic representation quite so far; while the men, on the other hand,
thought that Beauchamp did not carry it far enough.

The second scene discovers Mrs. Sartoris in the centre of the stage, with
Jim Bloxam on one knee, kissing the hand she extends towards him. On her
other side, Mr. Sartoris, made up as an elderly gentleman, with coat
thrown very much back, thumbs stuck in the armholes of his waistcoat,
contemplates the pair with a look of bland satisfaction. Again the
curtain descends, leaving the audience more at sea than ever as to what
the word can be. Nor is the third scene calculated to throw much
enlightenment on the subject. In it Lionel Beauchamp, in his groom's
dress, appears to be pantomimically explaining something to the remainder
of the company, who are artistically grouped in the centre of the stage,
and which shrugs o