. Dress rehearsals are
always terrible. The production seems to go altogether to pieces, but
it is always there on the night. A good dress rehearsal means a bad
first night.'

But Clara refused to allow any of her scenes to go to pieces, and they
were applauded by the Butcher-Bracebridge fashionables who sat in the
stalls. Lady Butcher called out,--

'It will be one of the best things you have ever done,' and her son's
voice was heard booming, 'Hear, hear! Good old pater.'

Verschoyle had dropped in, but he was captured by Lady Bracebridge and
her daughter, and had to sit between them while they scandalised Clara.
According to them she had run away from home and had led an
unmentionable life in Paris, actually having been a member of a low
company of French players; and she had married but had run away from
her husband with Charles Mann, etc., etc.

'I beg your pardon,' said Verschoyle, 'but Miss Day is a friend of
mine.'

'One admires her frankness so much,' said Lady Bracebridge.
'Adventures like that make an actress so interesting.'

'But this is her first appearance in any theatre.'

Lady Bracebridge looked incredulous. She put up her lorgnette and
scanned Clara, who had just floated across the stage followed by
Trinculo and Stephano.

'She is born to it.... I know what the French theatre is like. They
are so sensible, don't expect anything else of their actresses.'

Verschoyle saw that it was useless to argue. Women will never
relinquish their jealousy. He shifted uneasily in his seat: Lady
Bracebridge was a great deal too clever for him and he saw himself
being thrust against his will into marriage with her daughter, who had
an affectation of cleverness and maddened him with remarks like,--

'That Ariel costume would make the sweetest dinner-frock. If I have
one made, will you take me to Murray's?'

'Certainly not,' said Verschoyle.

Clara in her pure girlish voice had just sung 'Full fathom five thy
father lies,' when Lady Bracebridge, in her most strident voice, which
went ringing through the theatre, said,--

'I hear Charles Mann has a real wife who is _raging_ with jealousy,
simply raging. The most extraordinary story.'

Clara stopped dead, stood looking helplessly round, pulled herself
together, and went on with the part. Verschoyle deliberately got up
and walked out and round to the stage door, where already he found Lady
Butcher in earnest converse with Sir Henry,--

'We can