While Henrietta was attending her mother to her own room, and persuading her to lay up for the evening, Beatrice, whose head was full of but one matter, pursued Mrs. Langford into the study, and propounded her grand object.  As she fully expected, she met with a flat refusal, and sitting down in her arm-chair, Mrs. Langford very earnestly began with “Now listen to me, my dear child,” and proceeded with a long story of certain private theatricals some forty years ago, which to her certain knowledge, ended in a young lady eloping with a music master.  Beatrice set to work to argue:  in the first place it was not probable that either she or Henrietta would run away with their cousins; secondly, that the former elopement was not chargeable on poor Shakespeare; thirdly, that these were not private theatricals at all.

“And pray what are they, then—­when you dress yourselves up, and speak the speeches out as boldly as Mrs. Siddons, or any of them?”

“You pay us a great compliment,” said Beatrice, who could sometimes be pert when alone with grandmamma; and she then went on with her explanation of how very far this was from anything that could be called theatrical; it was the guessing the word, not their acting, that was the important point.  The distinction was too fine for grandmamma; it was play-acting, and that was enough for her, and she would not have it done.

“But grandpapa liked it, and had given full consent.”  This was a powerful piece of ordnance which Beatrice had kept in reserve, but at the first moment the shot did not tell.

“Ladies were the best judges in such a case as this,” said Mrs. Langford, “and let who would consent, she would never have her granddaughters standing up, speaking speeches out of Shakespeare, before a whole room full of company.”

“Well, then, grandmamma, I’ll tell you what:  to oblige you, we will not have one single scene out of Shakespeare—­not one.  Won’t that do?”

“You will go to some other play-book, and that is worse,” said Mrs. Langford.

“No, no, we will not:  we will do every bit out of our own heads, and it shall be almost all Fred and Alex; Henrietta and I will scarcely come in at all.  And it will so shorten the evening, and amuse every one so nicely! and grandpapa has said we may.”

Mrs. Langford gave a sort of sigh.  “Ah, well! you always will have your own way, and I suppose you must; but I never thought to see such things in my house.  In my day, young people thought no more of a scheme when their elders had once said, ‘No.’”

“Yes, only you must not say so, grandmamma.  I am sure we would give it up if you did; but pray do not—­we will manage very well.”

“And put the whole house in a mess, as you did last time; turn everything upside down.  I tell you, Beatrice, I can’t have it done.  I shall want the study to put out the supper in.”

“We can dress in our own rooms, then,” said Beatrice, “never mind that.”