all very well to smile. You want bracing up. Now don't be naughty. I shall give you a tonic. And I think you had better put that cloak away.
FREDA. I'd rather have one more try, my lady.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Sitting doom at her writing-table] Very well.
FREDA goes out into her workroom, as JACKSON comes in from the corridor.
JACKSON. Excuse me, my lady. There's a young woman from the village, says you wanted to see her.
LADY CHESHIRE. Rose Taylor? Ask her to come in. Oh! and Jackson the car for the meet please at half-past ten.
JACKSON having bowed and withdrawn, LADY CHESHIRE rises with worked signs of nervousness, which she has only just suppressed, when ROSE TAYLOR, a stolid country girl, comes in and stands waiting by the door.
LADY CHESHIRE. Well, Rose. Do come in! [ROSE advances perhaps a couple of steps.]
LADY CHESHIRE. I just wondered whether you'd like to ask my advice. Your engagement with Dunning's broken off, isn't it?
ROSE. Yes—but I've told him he's got to marry me.
LADY CHESHIRE. I see! And you think that'll be the wisest thing?
ROSE. [Stolidly] I don't know, my lady. He's got to.
LADY CHESHIRE. I do hope you're a little fond of him still.
ROSE. I'm not. He don't deserve it.
LADY CHESHIRE: And—do you think he's quite lost his affection for you?
ROSE. I suppose so, else he wouldn't treat me as he's done. He's after that—that—He didn't ought to treat me as if I was dead.
LADY CHESHIRE. No, no—of course. But you will think it all well over, won't you?
ROSE. I've a—got nothing to think over, except what I know of.
LADY CHESHIRE. But for you both to marry in that spirit! You know it's for life, Rose. [Looking into her face] I'm always ready to help you.
ROSE. [Dropping a very slight curtsey] Thank you, my lady, but I think he ought to marry me. I've told him he ought.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Sighing] Well, that's all I wanted to say. It's a question of your self-respect; I can't give you any real advice. But just remember that if you want a friend–
ROSE. [With a gulp] I'm not so 'ard, really. I only want him to do what's right by me.
LADY CHESHIRE. [With a little lift of her eyebrow—gently] Yes, yes—I see.
ROSE. [Glancing back at the door] I don't like meeting the servants.
LADY CHESHIRE. Come along, I'll take you out another way. [As they reach the door, DOT comes in.]
DOT. [With a glance at ROSE] Can we have this room for the mouldy rehearsal, Mother?
LADY CHESHIRE. Yes, dear, you can air it here.
Holding the door open for ROSE she follows her out. And DOT, with a book of "Caste" in her hand, arranges the room according to a diagram.
DOT. Chair—chair—table—chair—Dash! Table—piano—fire—window! [Producing a pocket comb] Comb for Eccles. Cradle?—Cradle—[She viciously dumps a waste-paper basket down, and drops a footstool into it] Brat! [Then reading from the book gloomily] "Enter Eccles breathless. Esther and Polly rise-Esther puts on lid of bandbox." Bandbox!
Searching for something to represent a bandbox, she opens the workroom door.
DOT. Freda?
FREDA comes in.
DOT. I say, Freda. Anything the matter? You seem awfully down. [FREDA does not answer.]
DOT. You haven't looked anything of a lollipop lately.
FREDA. I'm quite all right, thank you, Miss Dot.
DOT. Has Mother been givin' you a tonic?
FREDA. [Smiling a little] Not yet.
DOT. That doesn't account for it then. [With a sudden warm impulse] What is it, Freda?
FREDA. Nothing.
DOT. [Switching of on a different line of thought] Are you very busy this morning?
FREDA. Only this cloak for my lady.
DOT. Oh! that can wait. I may have to get you in to prompt, if I can't keep 'em straight. [Gloomily] They stray so. Would you mind?
FREDA. [Stolidly] I shall be very glad, Miss Dot.
DOT. [Eyeing her dubiously] All right. Let's see—what did I want?
JOAN has come in.
JOAN. Look here, Dot; about the baby in this scene. I'm sure I ought to make more of it.
DOT. Romantic little beast! [She plucks the footstool out by one ear, and holds it forth] Let's see you try!
JOAN. [Recoiling] But, Dot, what are we really going to have for the baby? I can't rehearse with that thing. Can't you suggest something, Freda?
FREDA. Borrow a real one, Miss Joan. There are some that don't count much.
JOAN. Freda, how horrible!
DOT. [Dropping the footstool back into the basket] You'll just put up with what you're given.
Then as CHRISTINE and MABEL LANFARNE Come in, FREDA turns abruptly and goes out.
DOT. Buck up! Where are Bill and Harold? [To JOAN] Go and find them, mouse-cat.
But BILL and HAROLD, followed by LATTER, are already in the doorway. They come in, and LATTER, stumbling over the waste-paper basket, takes it up to improve its position.
DOT. Drop that cradle, John! [As he picks the footstool out of it] Leave the baby in! Now then! Bill, you enter there! [She points to the workroom door where BILL and MABEL range themselves close to the piano; while HAROLD goes to the window] John! get off the stage! Now then, "Eccles enters breathless, Esther and Polly rise." Wait a minute. I know now. [She opens the workroom door] Freda, I wanted a bandbox.
HAROLD. [Cheerfully] I hate beginning to rehearse, you know, you feel such a fool.
DOT. [With her bandbox-gloomily] You'll feel more of a fool when you have begun. [To BILL, who is staring into the workroom] Shut the door. Now. [BILL shuts the door.]
LATTER. [Advancing] Look here! I want to clear up a point of psychology before we start.
DOT. Good Lord!
LATTER. When I bring in the milk—ought I to bring it in seriously— as if I were accustomed—I mean, I maintain that if I'm–
JOAN. Oh! John, but I don't think it's meant that you should–
DOT. Shut up! Go back, John! Blow the milk! Begin, begin, begin! Bill!
LATTER. [Turning round and again advancing] But I think you underrate the importance of my entrance altogether.
MABEL. Oh! no, Mr. Latter!
LATTER. I don't in the least want to destroy the balance of the scene, but I do want to be clear about the spirit. What is the spirit?
DOT. [With gloom] Rollicking!
LATTER. Well, I don't think so. We shall run a great risk, with this play, if we rollick.
DOT. Shall we? Now look here–!
MABEL. [Softly to BILL] Mr. Cheshire!
BILL. [Desperately] Let's get on!
DOT. [Waving LATTER back] Begin, begin! At last! [But JACKSON has came in.]
JACKSON. [To CHRISTINE] Studdenham says, Mm, if the young ladies want to see the spaniel pups, he's brought 'em round.
JOAN. [Starting up] Oh! come 'on, John! [She flies towards the door, followed by LATTER.]
DOT. [Gesticulating with her book] Stop! You– [CHRISTINE and HAROLD also rush past.]
DOT. [Despairingly] First pick! [Tearing her hair] Pigs! Devils!
[She