s are better off than you.
But what matters father or mother? You're in the world, and after all
that's as much as you need trouble about. As for your mother--but I
won't bother you about _her_. A mother's not much good to her daughter.
She mostly looks to make money out of her by a rich marriage, not that
she's over particular about the marriage so long as there's plenty of
coin."

Lavinia did not contradict Mrs. Egleton's cynical views. From her own
experience she knew it was very often true.

The 24th was a fortnight ahead--plenty of time for the play to be in
readiness. Huddy had no fear about the performance. What concerned him
more nearly was his "benefit" money. He busied himself in canvassing his
patrons and the disposal of tickets.

The night came. Lavinia was wrought to a high pitch of excitement, but
her excitement was pleasurable. The scenery, albeit it would be scoffed
at nowadays, was to her magnificent. The costumes were gorgeous. It was
nothing that they smelt musty from having laid long in the theatre
wardrobe. The incongruity of many of the garments gave her no pang of
uneasiness. "The Orphan" was of no particular period. Dresses which had
done duty in Shakespearean tragedies, in classical plays of the Cato
type, in the comedies of the Restoration dramatists, were equally
admissible. The circumscribed space afforded the players by the
intrusion on the stage of the seats for the "quality" did not embarrass
her. The combined odours of oranges and candle snuff had their charm.

The house was full, but in the dim and smoky candlelight the faces of
the audience were little better than rows of shadowy masks. The pit
occupied the entire floor of the house right up to the orchestra. Here
the critics were to be found. The pit could make or mar the destiny of
plays, and the reputation of players. Dozens of regular playgoers knew
the traditions of the theatre better than many actors and actresses.
They were sticklers for the preservation of the stage "business" to
which they had been accustomed. They knew certain lines of their
favourite plays by heart, and how those lines ought to be delivered.

The curtain rose. Acasto, Monimia, Chamont mouthed their various parts,
and did exactly what was expected from them. Curiosity was excited only
when Serina, the daughter of Acasto, in love with Chamont, made her
appearance. Lavinia's winsome face, her eyes half tender, half alluring,
her pretty mouth with not an ato