Valentine arose, not altogether pleased to be displayed as the result of a career of dogged persistence. She said that she was very happy to be in Salterton again, which was true, and that she looked forward to working with them, which wasn’t. She hoped that they would not find her as hard a taskmistress as Mrs Forrester had suggested. She was confident that they could work together to give a very satisfactory and entertaining performance. She said this briefly, and with professional assurance and charm, and when she sat down the audience applauded in a markedly more hopeful manner than before.

With a late beginning and speeches, it was now almost nine o’clock. Nellie told the meeting that they had no time to waste, and said that they would work through the cast methodically, as it appeared in books of the play. At this point there was an audible rustling, as the meeting produced its copies of The Tempest, in everything from neat little single copies to large quarto volumes in which all the plays of Shakespeare, with steel engravings, were included.

The first part to be allotted, said Nellie, was that of the magician Prospero. Would those who sought this role please raise their hands?

There was no immediate response, but within five seconds Miss Eva Wildfang rose to her feet, and said that after the masterly reading which Professor Vambrace had already given of some speeches from that part she felt that many of those present would agree with her that Professor Vambrace was the man to play it. She looked about her for signs of this widespread agreement, but none were apparent. Miss Wildfang’s cult for the Professor was an old story to everyone but herself and Vambrace.

The Professor closed his eyes, and rolled his head once or twice upon the back of his chair. Then he said that if it was the desire of the club that he undertake the part of Prospero, he would do so, though he would retire instantly if there were any other aspirant to it.

Nellie looked about the room expectantly, and said that if there were no comment, she would tentatively pencil in the Professor’s name opposite the name of Prospero.

At this point Mr Eric Leakey rose at the back of the group, and said that he had taken literally the President’s remark that the parts would be cast as listed in the book. In his copy the first name was that of Alonso, the King of Naples. He did not wish to set himself up as a rival to Professor Vambrace in matters of learning, but he had come to the meeting in order to read for the part of Prospero.

Miss Wildfang threw a glance in Mr Leakey’s direction which suggested that he had in some way affronted her. Nellie smiled and knit her brows at the same time, as though Mr Leakey had created a great deal of confusion by his tardiness. It was Professor Vambrace who spoke.

“By all means,” he cried; “By all means! Nothing is further from my mind than any desire to seize upon a role for which another man is better qualified. You must read at once, my dear sir. Come forward; come forward!”

“No, no; there is no need for that,” said Nellie, when Mr Leakey had picked his way through a maze of chairs, and was almost in front of the committee table. “It will simply cause confusion if we all begin to move around. Just read from where you are, Mr Leakey.”

“What shall I read?” asked Mr Leakey, retreating.

“What had he better read?” asked Nellie of Vambrace.

“I suggest the greatest speech of all,” said the Professor, and in his loud bass voice he declaimed:

“Exquisite; exquisite,” he murmured, as though to himself. Then, returning to a world wjhere such improprieties as casting-readings existed, he said, “You’ll find it in Act Four, scene one, at about line 146 if you are using the New Temple edition, Mr Leakey. Don’t rush yourself. Take your time.”

This show of erudition finished Mr Leakey. He found the passage, and read it in a strangulated tone, while his bald spot grew redder and redder. He sat down amid silence, which indicated very clearly that he would not do.

“Thank you, Mr Leakey,” said Nellie, making some marks on a piece of paper. There was a general feeling that Mr Leakey had thrust himself forward; those who hoped for parts took warning by his shame.

After this things moved in an orderly fashion. As each part was announced by Nellie, a few people declared themselves aspirants, and usually took care to add that it was just a notion they had, and that they would be happy to do anything they were fit for. It was a long and weary business, and there were several parts which nobody seemed to want at all. Reading progressed in much the same diffident, flat, half-choked fashion for all the parts, as though the actors had but one voice among them, and that a bad one. But when the part of Ferdinand was in question, Roger read in a warm, attractive voice which roused the meeting from its embarrassment and torpor. He did not, perhaps, reveal the fullest meaning of the passage which was allotted to him by the demon memorizer Vambrace, but he brought to it qualities of masculine charm which are rarer in Little Theatres than female beauty, than dramatic instinct, than true comic insight, than tragic power. Even Miss Wildfang, the single-hearted, cast an appreciative look toward him as he sat down. Everyone, in fact, showed a lively interest in him, save one. That one was Griselda, who appeared to be asleep.

There are few proverbs so true as that which says that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. As Solly looked at Griselda during the slow progress of the reading he thought that he had never seen her so beautiful before. How could he have overlooked such a miracle until this time?

Yet the beauty of girls of eighteen is rarely of a commanding sort. It is very easy to miss it unless one is in the mood for it. Griselda, at this moment of revelation, would not have seemed beautiful to Mrs Bridgetower. The white skin would have seemed to that lady to reflect bad health and late nights; the red lips were very lightly touched with colour, but they were startling in so white a face; her hair, thick, waving and the colour of honey, could have been dismissed by Miss Wildfang as stringy; Mrs Mackilwraith, observing the blue shadow on the eyelids which sheltered Griselda’s cornflower-blue eyes, would have been seized with a powerful desire to give her a worm powder; and her nose, slightly more aquiline than is the present fashion, was very near to being a hook in the eyes of Nellie Forrester. If Larry Pye had been asked for his opinion of her figure he would probably have said that it would be better when she filled out. But to Solly, as he gazed, she seemed all that the world could hold of beauty and grace.

If Griselda’s beauty showed to special advantage at this time it was because she was feeling a little unwell, and in consequence was relaxed and still. Quietness is a great beautifier, and in that room where there were so many tensions and expectations, so many warring ambitions and nervous cross-currents, her remoteness and her air of spiritual isolation were beautiful indeed.

Beautiful and, to Roger, irritating. He had read well; he knew it. Everybody had realized it except the pale girl. He had met her, of course. He never forgot a woman’s face. But her name? Well, anyhow, her father owned that big place on the river where the play was to be done. Her indifference to his reading nettled him, and robbed him of his pleasure in the sensation he had caused. Was she asleep? Or couldn’t she be bothered to open her eyes to see who was reading? There was no doubt about it, she was the best thing in the room. Those clothes meant money. Only the rich could look so elegantly underdressed. A good figure. A kid’s figure, but good. Not skinny. He hated boyish figures. Sweet face. But he’d like to take that indifferent expression off it. He’d do it, too. He’d teach her not to sleep when he was doing his stuff. This was what he had come for. This, properly managed, would just about last the length of the course which he was taking. This would be a very nice little item for his collection.