and as he got on
very fairly in the rehearsals, he began to hope he should pull through
somehow.

On Tuesday the house was filled with company, and he was asked to give
up his room and go to the top of the house, which, however, was no
trouble to him. His clothes of seventeen hundred and fifteen were
though, when the eventful evening came, and his wig, and the man who
fitted it and daubed his face. And yet, when all the fidgeting was
over, he wished that it had to begin again, that he might have a further
respite.

The play began, and during the first scene he stood at the side envying
the cool self-possession of Captain Wingfield, who had the part of
"Valentine," and every one of whose speeches was followed by laughter
from the unseen audience. When the second scene opened Miss Clarissa
joined him, looking charming in her old-world dress; they were to go on
in company, and he made a strenuous effort to pull himself together.
But when he found himself in the full glare of the foot-lights, and
looking before him saw the mass of expectant faces which rose, rank
behind rank, half-way to the ceiling, his head went round, his brain
became confused, and his first sentence was inaudible. "Speak up!" said
Miss Clarissa in a loud whisper, and he uttered, "And have you no
ambition?" in a louder key indeed, but in trembling accents, and
standing more like a boy saying a lesson.

The audience cannot hiss in private theatricals, but they could not help
a suppressed titter, which confused Crawley still more. He forgot what
he had to say, and looked appealingly to the prompter, who prompted
rather too loudly. Altogether the scene was spoilt, and Clarissa
furious.

He did a little better in the second act, but not one quarter so well as
he had in rehearsals, and was ready to punch his own head with vexation
when the whole thing was over, and he had got rid of his costume and the
messes on his face.

He went to bed instead of to supper, and next morning at breakfast no
one alluded to the performance before him. Soon afterwards he took his
leave of all but Miss Clarissa, who kept out of his way, and Lionel
Gould drove him to the station very sulkily, for his sister had vented
her displeasure upon him. And so they said an uncomfortable good-bye,
and Crawley felt much relieved when he found himself alone in the train,
with the humiliations of his visit behind him. They did not do him any
harm, quite the contrary; he was mad