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 You are not now upon the stage, remember."

The young ladies drew back in some affright at his tragic demeanour.

Theresa beckoned us into an ante-room, took from her pocket an old newspaper cutting, and said softly—

"There, Felix dear, is my explanation."

Then she slipped out of the room.

My friend read the extract eagerly, I was watching him closely. He read it once, twice; then he broke out into a loud laugh, and capered about the room like one demented. I began to think his mind was seriously affected.

"Very good, Felix, as a pas seul—very good, indeed. But now, my friend, I think it's my turn for an explanation."

For response he handed me the newspaper cutting. It was a criticism on the performance of "The Ticket-of-Leave Man,' played at the Theatre Royal, Bath, some years back. In the course of it, I read:—

"The part of Mrs. Willoughby was sustained by Miss metioning the name under which Theresa Meadows played at that time). Her acting was crude in the extreme, though it must be admitted that she rolled off her sentences with a volubility that required no assistance from the prompter. 'Ticket-of-Leave,' forsooth! We can imagine no greater calamity in life than penal servitude with such a character as portrayed by Miss . This lady has decidedly mistaken her vocation as an actress."

I handed back the cutting.

"Smart, Felix—very."

"You see it all."

"Oh, yes, I recognise the Roman hand. That is one of your astonishing criticisms of years ago, and she has to-day again played the part of old Mrs. Willoughby for your especial benefit."

"Just so."

"It was at this town you rounded off that sentence, and it is here that she has contrived for you to commence a second sentence—of another kind. Your criticism was smart, old boy; hers is smarter."

"Agreed, agreed!" cried Felix. "What a sweet revenge! Who would have associated the brilliant London actress of to-day with old Mrs. Willoughby of that time?"

"Well, I must confess that it says more for her ability as an actress than for your acumen as a critic. Who is to wear the prophet's mantle now?"

We turned round at that moment and saw a figure standing in the doorway clad in white. Exit Mrs. Willoughby; enter a charming bride.

"Am I forgiven, dear?" she asked, turning her face appealingly to his.

Felix's sole response was to open his arms. With a joyful little cry, half sob, she crept into them.

And I crept out, to see how the wedding breakfast was getting on. It turned out the most successful repast I ever remember, though I did make an ass of myself in proposing the toast of "The Bridesmaids!"

Felix is uncertain to this day as to whether he married Theresa or Mrs. Willoughby; but the point is never likely to be legally contested.