kinds, which the Ladies of the company are trying on, while
the men rack their brains for a suitable Word. In a secluded
corner, Mr. NIGHTINGALE and MISS ROSE are conversing in
whispers._

_Mr. Whipster_ (_Stage-Manager and Organiser--self-appointed_).
No--but I say, _really_, you know, we _must_ try and decide on
something--we've been out half an hour, and the people will be getting
impatient! (_To the Ladies_.) Do come and help; it's really no
use dressing up till we've settled what we're going _to do_. Can't
_anybody_ think of a good Word?

_Miss Larkspur_. We ought to make a continuous story of it, with the
same plot and characters all through. We did that once at the Grange,
and it was awfully good--just like a regular Comedy!

_Mr. Whipster_. Ah, but we've got to hit on _a Word_ first.
Come--nobody got an idea? NIGHTINGALE, you're not much use over
_there_, you know. I hope you and Miss ROSE have been putting your
heads together?

_Mr. Nightingale_ (_confused_). Eh? No, nothing of the sort! Oh,
ah--yes, we've thought of a _lot_ of Words.

_Miss Rose_. Only you've driven them all out of our heads again!

[_They resume their conversation._

_Mr. Wh._ Well, do make a suggestion, somebody! Professor, won't _you_
give us a Word?