sense of impending disaster, say, sadly:

"I wish you hadn't said that, Pearl. You know the old proverb,
'Call a maid by a married name.'"

The lack of feeling in the thing was ridiculous. Carrie did not
get it at all. She seemed to be talking in her sleep. It looked
as if she were certain to be a wretched failure. She was more
hopeless than Mrs. Morgan, who had recovered somewhat, and was
now saying her lines clearly at least. Drouet looked away from
the stage at the audience. The latter held out silently, hoping
for a general change, of course. Hurstwood fixed his eye on
Carrie, as if to hypnotise her into doing better. He was pouring
determination of his own in her direction. He felt sorry for
her.

In a few more minutes it fell to her to read the letter sent in
by the strange villain. The audience had been slightly diverted
by a conversation between the professional actor and a character
called Snorky, impersonated by a short little American, who
really developed some humour as a half-crazed, one-armed soldier,
turned messenger for a living. He bawled his lines out with such
defiance that, while they really did not partake of the humour
intended, they were funny. Now he was off, however, and it was
back to pathos, with Carrie as the chief figure. She did not
recover. She wandered through the whole scene between herself
and the intruding villain, straining the patience of the
audience, and finally exiting, much to their relief.

"She's too nervous," said Drouet, feeling in the mildness of the