ing softly, “You shan’t be so serious, old boy—buck up, there’s a good fellow.”
We lighted the lamp, and charades were proposed, Leslie and Lettie, Will and Madie and Alice went out to play. The first scene was an elopement to Gretna Green—with Alice a maid servant, a part that she played wonderfully well as a caricature. It was very noisy, and extremely funny. Leslie was in high spirits. It was remarkable to observe that, as he became more animated, more abundantly energetic, Lettie became quieter. The second scene, which they were playing as excited melodrama, she turned into small tragedy with her bitterness. They went out, and Lettie blew us kisses from the doorway.
“Doesn’t she act well?” exclaimed Marie, speaking to Tom.
“Quite realistic,” said he.
“She could always play a part well,” said mother.
“I should think,” said Emily, “she could take a rôle in life and play up to it.”
“I believe she could,” mother answered, “there would only be intervals when she would see herself in a mirror acting.”
“And what then?” said Marie.
“She would feel desperate, and wait till the fit passed off,” replied my mother, smiling significantly.
The players came in again. Lettie kept her part subordinate. Leslie played with brilliance; it was rather startling how he excelled. The applause was loud—but we could not guess the word. Then they laughed, and told us. We clamoured for more.
