His aspect was singular when, on Clara's entrance into the private room, he laid down his cigarette and scrutinised her.

There was a fiery hue on his visage, and the scowl of his black eyebrows had a peculiar ugliness.
'Miss Vale,' he began, after hesitation, 'do you consider that you played your part this evening with the conscientiousness that may fairly be expected of you ?' 'Perhaps not,' replied the girl, averting her eyes, and resting her hand on the table.
'And may I ask _why_ not ?' 'I didn't feel in the humour.

The house saw no difference.' 'Indeed?
The house saw no difference?
Do you mean to imply that you always play badly ?' 'I mean that the part isn't worth any attention--even if they were able to judge.' There was a perfection of insolence in her tone that in itself spoke strongly for the abilities she could display if occasion offered.
'This is rather an offhand way of treating the subject, madam,' cried Mr.Peel.

'If you disparage our audiences, I beg you to observe that it is much the same thing as telling me that my own successes are worthless!' 'I intended nothing of the kind.' 'Perhaps not.' He thrust his hands into his pockets, and looked down at his boots for an instant.

'So you are discontented with your part ?' 'It's only natural that I should be.' 'I presume you think yourself equal to Juliet, or perhaps Lady Macbeth ?' 'I could play either a good deal better than most women do.' The manager laughed, by no means ill-humouredly.
'I'm sorry I can't bring you out in Shakespeare just at present, Miss Vale; but--should you think it a condescension to play Laura Denton ?' This was Miss Walcott's part, now Grace Danver's.