Freda.  I’m quite all right, thank you, Miss Dot.

Dot.  Has Mother been givin’ you a tonic?

Freda. [Smiling a little] Not yet.

Dot.  That doesn’t account for it then. [With a sudden warm impulse]
What is it, Freda?

Freda.  Nothing.

Dot. [Switching of on a different line of thought] Are you very busy this morning?

Freda.  Only this cloak for my lady.

Dot.  Oh! that can wait.  I may have to get you in to prompt, if I can’t keep ’em straight. [Gloomily] They stray so.  Would you mind?

Freda. [Stolidly] I shall be very glad, Miss Dot.

Dot. [Eyeing her dubiously] All right.  Let’s see—­what did I want?

     Joan has come in.

Joan.  Look here, Dot; about the baby in this scene.  I’m sure I ought to make more of it.

Dot.  Romantic little beast! [She plucks the footstool out by one ear, and holds it forth] Let’s see you try!

Joan. [Recoiling] But, Dot, what are we really going to have for the baby?  I can’t rehearse with that thing.  Can’t you suggest something, Freda?

Freda.  Borrow a real one, Miss Joan.  There are some that don’t count much.

Joan.  Freda, how horrible!

Dot. [Dropping the footstool back into the basket] You’ll just put up with what you’re given.

     Then as Christine and Mabel Lanfarne Come in, Freda turns
     abruptly and goes out.

Dot.  Buck up!  Where are Bill and Harold? [To Joan] Go and find them, mouse-cat.

     But Bill and Harold, followed by latter, are already in the
     doorway.  They come in, and latter, stumbling over the
     waste-paper basket, takes it up to improve its position.

Dot.  Drop that cradle, John! [As he picks the footstool out of it] Leave the baby in!  Now then!  Bill, you enter there! [She points to the workroom door where Bill and Mabel range themselves close to the piano; while Harold goes to the window] John! get off the stage!  Now then, “Eccles enters breathless, Esther and Polly rise.”  Wait a minute.  I know now. [She opens the workroom door] Freda, I wanted a bandbox.

Harold. [Cheerfully] I hate beginning to rehearse, you know, you feel such a fool.

Dot. [With her bandbox-gloomily] You’ll feel more of a fool when you have begun. [To Bill, who is staring into the workroom] Shut the door.  Now. [Bill shuts the door.]

Latter. [Advancing] Look here!  I want to clear up a point of psychology before we start.

Dot.  Good Lord!

Latter.  When I bring in the milk—­ought I to bring it in seriously—­ as if I were accustomed—­I mean, I maintain that if I’m——­