" Before the amazed
dramatic company could petition for an explanation, she turned and
left the room. The manager's professional eye followed her out
respectfully--he looked as if he approved of the exit, from a theatrical
point of view.
What new misfortune had befallen the play? The last and worst of all
misfortunes had assailed it. The stout lady had resigned her part.
Not maliciously. Her heart, which had been in the right place
throughout, remained inflexibly in the right place still. Her
explanation of the circumstances proved this, if nothing else did. The
letter began with a statement: She had overheard, at the last rehearsal
(quite unintentionally), personal remarks of which she was the
subject. They might, or might not, have had reference to her--Hair; and
her--Figure. She would not distress Mrs. Marrable by repeating them.
Neither would she mention names, because it was foreign to her nature
to make bad worse. The only course at all consistent with her own
self-respect was to resign her part. She inclosed it, accordingly, to
Mrs. Marrable, with many apologies for her presumption in undertaking a
youthful character, at--what a gentleman was pleased to term--her
Age; and with what two ladies were rude enough to characterize as her
disadvantages of--Hair, and--Figure.
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