How does it look?" she asked anxiously, turning to Patty.
"Beautiful," said Patty. "I'd scarcely recognize it."
The "forest scene" had served in every outdoor capacity for the last four years, and it was usually hailed with a groan on the part of the audience.
"I was just coming in to see if the cast were ready," said Georgie.
"They're all made up, and are sitting in the green-room getting stage-fright.
What shall I do now?"
"Let me see," said Georgie, consulting her book. "One of the committee is to prompt, one is to stay with the men and see that they manage the curtain and the lights in the right places, one is to give the cues, and two are to help change costumes.
Cynthia has to change from a riding-habit to a ball-gown in four minutes.
I think you'd better help her, too."
"Anything you please," said Patty, obligingly. "I'll stand on a stool with the ball-gown in the air ready to drop it over her head the moment she appears, like a harness on a fire-horse.
Is everything out here done?
What time is it?"
"Yes; everything's done, and it's five minutes of eight.
We can begin as soon as the audience is ready."
They peered through the folds of the heavy velvet curtain at the sea of faces in front.
Eight hundred girls in light evening-gowns were talking and laughing and singing.
Snatches of song would start up in one corner and sweep gaily over the house, and sometimes two would meet and clash in the center, to the horror of those who preferred harmony to volume.
"Here come the old girls!" said Patty, as a procession of some fifty filed into reserved seats near the front. "There are loads of last year's class back.
What are the juniors doing?
Look; I believe they are going to serenade them."
The juniors rose in a body, and, turning to their departed sister class, sang a song notable for its sentiment rather than its meter.
"I do hope it will be a success," sighed Georgie. "If it doesn't come up to last year's senior play I shall die."
"Oh, it will," said Patty, reassuringly. "Anything would be better than that."
"Now the glee club's going to sing two songs," said Georgie. "Thank heaven, they're new!" she added fervently. "And the orchestra plays an overture, and then the curtain goes up.
Run and tell them to come out here, ready for the first act."
Lord Bromley was standing in the wings disgustedly viewing the banquet-table. "See here, Patty," he called as she hurried past. "Look at this stuff Georgie Merriles has palmed off on us for wine.
You can't expect me to drink any such dope as that."
Patty paused for an instant. "What's the matter with it?" she inquired, pouring out some in a glass and holding it up to the light.
"Matter?
It's made of currant jelly and water, with cold tea mixed in."
"I made it myself," said Patty, with some dignity. "It's a beautiful color."
"But I have to drain my glass at a draught," expostulated the outraged lord.
"I'm sure there's nothing in currant jelly or tea to hurt you.
You can be thankful it isn't poisonous." And Patty hurried on.
The glee club sang the two new songs, punctuated with the appreciative applause of a long-suffering audience, and the orchestra commenced the overture.
"Everybody clear the stage," said Georgie, in a low tone, "and you keep your eyes on the book," she added sternly to the prompter; "you lost your place twice at the dress rehearsal."
The overture died down; a bell tinkled, and the curtain parted in the middle, discovering Cynthia sitting on a garden-seat in the castle park (originally the Forest of Arden).
As the curtain fell at the end of the act, and the applause gave way to an excited buzz in the audience, Patty hugged Georgie gleefully. "It's fifty times better than last year!"
"Heaven send Theo Granby is out there!" piously ejaculated Georgie. (Theo Granby had been the chairman of last year's senior play.)
The curtain had risen on the fourth act, and Patty squeezed herself into the somewhat close quarters behind the balcony.
There was fortunately—or rather unfortunately—a window in the rear of the building at this point, and Patty opened it and perched herself at one end of the sill, with the lamp-chimney ready for use at the other end.
The crash was not due for some time, and Patty, having lately elected astronomy, whiled away the interval by examining the stars.
On the stage matters were approaching a climax.
Lord Bromley was making an excellent lover, as was proved by the fact that the audience was taking him seriously instead of laughing through the love scenes as usual.
"Cynthia," he implored, "say that you will be mine, and I will brave all for your sake.
I will follow you to the ends of the earth." He gazed tenderly into her eyes, and waited for the crash.
A silence as of the tomb prevailed, and he continued to gaze tenderly, while a grin rapidly spread over the audience.
"Hang Patty!" he murmured savagely. "Might have known she'd do something like this.—What was that?
Did you hear a noise?" he asked aloud.
"No," said Cynthia, truthfully; "I did not hear anything."