Margaret Dashwood

Walking or driving, it was not long before the whole party reached the Park. The first half-hour was occupied in strolling about the grounds between two showers to make up their minds where the theatre should be.

Several admirable spots were discovered, but no decision could be reached until every one came together again in the large drawing-room. Acting out of doors seemed a very imprudent scheme to some of the elders, but there was a strong body of optimists who held to the idea; and, as they were warmly supported by Sir John, a pastoral play it was to be.

“We had a pastoral play at Oxford last term, in Worcester Gardens,” said Walter Carey. “We played ‘Comus.’”

“‘Comus’?” called out Sir John. “What’s ‘Comus’?”

“‘Comus’ is a masque,” replied Walter.

“The very thing,” proclaimed Sir John. “There will be some fun about that! We will play ‘Comus.’ How many parts are there?”

Walter Carey was very willing for it to be “Comus.” He thought he could play the leading rôle better than the man who had the part at Oxford, and at least would like the opportunity to try. Sir John’s expectation of something funny might be inconvenient, but something to please him could no doubt be managed in the rout.

No one had anything to urge against “Comus,” and for the same reason could say nothing in its favour. Excepting Walter, Margaret and Henry Whitaker, no one knew anything about it. However, Sir John’s enthusiasm for the unknown carried the company along with him, and “Comus” was unanimously chosen for the play.

The next thing was to decide the parts, and for this a copy of the play was desirable. It was feared by Sir John that Walter would have the only copy in the neighbourhood.

“Not at all, sir,” replied Walter. “Surely there is a Milton in your library.”

“Milton!” said Sir John, his enthusiasm rather dashed. “I did not know it was by Milton. I thought he only wrote long poems about the Garden of Eden?”

“Not at all, sir,” again replied Walter. “He wrote some plays and political pamphlets as well—quite a secular writer in his way.”

This reassured Sir John, and Margaret, who had made more use of the Park library than anyone else had ever done, offered to fetch the volume of Milton containing “Comus,” and returned with a book no more dusty than might be expected considering it had been undisturbed for we know not how many years.

“You had better take the part you did before, Walter; it will save you the trouble of learning a new one,” said Sir John.

Walter blushed and hesitated, and then admitted that he had been the Lady at Oxford and would prefer some other part.

“Mr. Carey had better be Comus,” said Margaret. “It is by far the longest part, and he must already be familiar with the whole play, so could learn it easily.”

Walter was grateful for this suggestion, and every one else was willing that he should have a long part to learn.

“Excellent,” said Sir John. “And you had better be stage-manager too, and put us all in the way of it. For, except for charades, I have never done anything of the sort. Just give me a part in which I can make some noise and get a few laughs out of the audience, and you can divide all the long speeches between you.”

It was necessary to get the opinions of the rest of the party before going further. Miss Steele liked acting excessively, but never could remember her words. Lady Middleton stipulated only that there should be parts for William and dear little Annamaria, and of course for John, as they would be inconsolable if they were not included. Henry Whitaker looked urgent, hoping he would not be left out, but said nothing, and the young ladies all thought one of the others should be the heroine. Edward Ferrars was applied to, but said he did not think acting suited to the dignity of the cloth, and Mr. Atherton replied that he would like to be employed as prompter. Elinor Ferrars said decisively that she wished to be one of the audience.

Walter found himself expected to allot parts to five ladies, five children counting his own little sisters, Sir John, Henry and himself, and to give pleasure to all of them in doing so. It was an anxious half-hour for the young man, but he came through it with creditable success, though his opening words were not auspicious. He had to announce that there were only two parts for the ladies, the Lady and Sabrina. He began by suggesting that Margaret should be the Lady. Miss Steele bridled, but the two Miss Careys and Miss Whitaker united in acclaiming this choice, though Isabella Carey’s face lengthened and Miss Whitaker appeared surprised. Margaret, however, would not consent. If Mr. Walter Carey was to be Comus, it would be best that one of his sisters should be the Lady. They would have many opportunities for rehearsal, and both parts were so long that much study together would be necessary. Margaret thought that Isabella should be the Lady. She had a singing voice, and the song was of importance. It was clear that no one else could be so suitable for the part. Miss Carey was well content to have it so, and her modest objections were soon talked down, the more easily as she really thought herself well suited to the part.

There were now four young ladies, and the part of Sabrina among them. Walter’s hesitation was excusable, but again Margaret came to his help.

“I have been thinking,” she said, “that the parts of the Brothers could very well be taken by ladies. Some long mantle worn thrown over the shoulder would make a handsome appearance, and be a suitable dress, and they were both represented as very young. The line, ‘As smooth as Hebe’s their unrazor’d lips,’ seems to fit very well.”

There was general laughter and a brightening of eyes and renewed hope among the ladies, though poor Henry Whitaker looked as though his last chance were gone. Walter quickly decided that his younger sister and Miss Whitaker, who were both taller than Margaret, should be the Brothers, unless Miss Steele——?

But Miss Steele was horrified at the idea. She to take a man’s part indeed! Not for the world would she be so bold! No, Sabrina would do very well for her!

There was a silence. Walter was again in a dilemma. This time it was Henry who gave help.

“Sabrina has got to sing. I know, because we did ‘Comus’ at school last half. Can you sing, Miss Steele?”

Miss Steele could not, but suggested that some one might sing behind the scenes for her. There was again silence, interrupted by a cough from Sir John, which reminded Walter that a part had to be found for him.

“What would you like, Sir John? Will you be Comus?” he asked with an heroic effort. “Or would you like to lead the rout? I think Henry must be the attendant Spirit. It is a long part, and he knows the play.”

Henry’s anxious look changed to one of bashful happiness. Sir John had an easy method of coming to a decision.

“Which has most to say—Comus or the rout fellow?” he asked.

“Well, actually Comus has a considerable number of lines to say—some hundred—but of course we shall have to cut the whole thing down somewhat. Still, Comus has undoubtedly got a good deal to say. The leader of the rout has—well, he must make as much noise as possible and dance about. It is a very active part.”

“I never could learn poetry. I will lead the rout,” Sir John decided to the general satisfaction, and he added a grace to his decision by asking Miss Nancy to lead the rout with him, as she did not like learning poetry either, and was so fond of dancing.

Miss Steele reddened and hesitated, but Miss Carey’s suggestion that the members of the rout should all be very gaily clad, in contrast to the rest of the company, who must be in white or sad colouring, decided the point. Miss Steele would be a prominent figure in the rout, and the part of Sabrina was left for Margaret, who could sing and did not mind wearing plain white.

The children, three Middletons and two Careys, were to be inferior members of the rout, and all was now happily arranged except the music. At first it was thought that the music must come from within doors, but Penelope Carey luckily remembered that her sisters’ governess could play the harp reasonably well, and was a very good sort of girl. It was decided that she should be established behind some shrub and contribute all the music necessary.