Lady Larkspur (flinging herself into his arms).  Oh, Arthur, Arthur, take me away!

And so on.

But it may well be that Lord Larkspur has an intrigue of his own with his secretary, Miss Devereux, and, if their big scene is to take place on the stage too, the hall has got to be cleared for them in some way.  Your natural instinct will be to say, “Exeunt Fluffinose and Lady Larkspur, R.  Enter Lord Larkspur and Miss Devereux, L.”  This is very immature, even if you are quite clear as to which side of the stage is L. and which is R. You must make the evolutions seem natural.  Thus:—­

Enter from the left Miss Devereux. She stops in surprise at seeing Lord Arthur and holds out her hand.

Miss D.  Why, Lord Arthur!  Whatever—­

Lord A.  How d’you do?  I’ve just run down to tell Lord Larkspur to—­

Miss D.  He’s in the library.  At least he—­

Lord A. (taking out his watch.) Ah, then perhaps I’d better—­

[Exit by door on left.]

Miss D. (to Lady L.).  Have you seen “The Times” about here?  There is a set of verses in the Financial Supplement which Lord Larkspur wanted to—­(She wanders vaguely round the room.  Enter Lord Larkspur by door at back.) Why, here you are!  I’ve just sent Lord Arthur into the library to—­

Lord L.  I went out to speak to the gardener about—­

Lady L.  Ah, then I’ll go and tell Arthur—­[Exit to library, leaving Miss Devereux and Lord Larkspur alone.

And there you are.  You will, of course, appreciate that the unfinished sentences not only save time, but also make the manoeuvring very much more natural.

So far I have been writing as if you were already in the thick of your play; but it may well be that the enormous difficulty of getting the first character on has been too much for you.  How, you may be wondering, are you to begin your masterpiece?

The answer to this will depend upon the length of the play, for upon the length depends the hour at which the curtain rises.  If yours is an 8.15 play you may be sure that the stalls will not fill up till 8.30, and you should therefore let loose the lesser-paid members of the cast on the opening scene, keeping your fifty-pounders in reserve.  In an 8.45 play the audience may be plunged into the drama at once.  But this is much the more difficult thing to do, and for the beginner I should certainly recommend the 8.15 play, for which the recipe is simple.

As soon as the lights go down, and while the bald, stout gentleman is kicking our top-hat out of his way, treading heavily on our toes and wheezing, “Sorry, sorry,” as he struggles to his seat, a buzz begins behind the curtain.  What the players are saying is not distinguishable, but a merry girlish laugh rings out now and then, followed by the short sardonic chuckle of an obvious man of the world.  Then the curtain rises, and it is apparent that we are assisting at an At Home of considerable splendour.  Most of the characters seem to be on the stage, and for once we do not ask how they got there.  We presume they have all been invited.  Thus you have had no difficulty with your entrances.