No well-regulated mind ever draws its inferences in a hurry; Miss Garth’s mind was well regulated; therefore, logically speaking, Miss Garth ought to have been superior to the weakness of rushing at conclusions.  She had committed that error, nevertheless, under present circumstances.  In plainer terms, the consoling reflection which had just occurred to her assumed that the play had by this time survived all its disasters, and entered on its long-deferred career of success.  The play had done nothing of the sort.  Misfortune and the Marrable family had not parted company yet.

When the rehearsal was over, nobody observed that the stout lady with the wig privately withdrew herself from the company; and when she was afterward missed from the table of refreshments, which Mr. Marrable’s hospitality kept ready spread in a room near the theater, nobody imagined that there was any serious reason for her absence.  It was not till the ladies and gentlemen assembled for the next rehearsal that the true state of the case was impressed on the minds of the company.  At the appointed hour no Julia appeared.  In her stead, Mrs. Marrable portentously approached the stage, with an open letter in her hand.  She was naturally a lady of the mildest good breeding:  she was mistress of every bland conventionality in the English language—­but disasters and dramatic influences combined, threw even this harmless matron off her balance at last.  For the first time in her life Mrs. Marrable indulged in vehement gesture, and used strong language.  She handed the letter sternly, at arms-length, to her daughter.  “My dear,” she said, with an aspect of awful composure, “we are under a Curse.”  Before the amazed dramatic company could petition for an explanation, she turned and left the room.  The manager’s professional eye followed her out respectfully—­he looked as if he approved of the exit, from a theatrical point of view.

What new misfortune had befallen the play?  The last and worst of all misfortunes had assailed it.  The stout lady had resigned her part.

Not maliciously.  Her heart, which had been in the right place throughout, remained inflexibly in the right place still.  Her explanation of the circumstances proved this, if nothing else did.  The letter began with a statement:  She had overheard, at the last rehearsal (quite unintentionally), personal remarks of which she was the subject.  They might, or might not, have had reference to her—­Hair; and her—­Figure.  She would not distress Mrs. Marrable by repeating them.  Neither would she mention names, because it was foreign to her nature to make bad worse.  The only course at all consistent with her own self-respect was to resign her part.  She inclosed it, accordingly, to Mrs. Marrable, with many apologies for her presumption in undertaking a youthful character, at—­what a gentleman was pleased to term—­her Age; and with what two ladies were rude enough to characterize as her disadvantages of—­Hair, and—­Figure.  A younger and more attractive representative of Julia would no doubt be easily found.  In the meantime, all persons concerned had her full forgiveness, to which she would only beg leave to add her best and kindest wishes for the success of the play.