Jadwin laughed, and leaning over, put his fingers upon Cressler’s breast, as though turning off a switch.

“Now, Miss Dearborn,” he announced, “we’ve shut him off. Charlie means all right, but now and then someone brushes against him and opens that switch.”

Cressler, good-humouredly laughed with the others, but Laura’s smile was perfunctory and her eyes were grave. But there was a diversion. While the others had been talking the rehearsal had proceeded, and now Page beckoned to Laura from the far end of the parlor, calling out:

“Laura⁠—Beatrice, it’s the third act. You are wanted.”

“Oh, I must run,” exclaimed Laura, catching up her playbook. “Poor Monsieur Gerardy⁠—we must be a trial to him.”

She hurried across the room, where the coach was disposing the furniture for the scene, consulting the stage directions in his book: