I flew upstairs in a panic. Cathy was lying on her bed, covered with a down quilt, and a group of anxious girls, half-dressed in various costumes, hovered around her with bottles of eau de Cologne and smelling-salts.
She raised her head languidly when I entered.
"I feel so queer, Phil," she whispered. "I don't believe I can act in the play, after all."
"Let me fetch Mrs. Marshall," I gasped.
"No! No! Not on any account! I shall be all right. I only need quiet. Phil, I want you to take Portia! You know the part as well as I do myself, and the dress fits you. Will you do it to please me?"
"But I cannot leave you if you are ill, Cathy! I can't indeed!"
"You must, you must! I don't want anyone here. I would rather be left quite alone. Millicent has promised to dress you. Oh, go all of you, please! It's getting so late, and the audience will be waiting."
"Someone must take Portia," said Doris. "We certainly can't leave her out. Philippa, you will have to try."
"I don't believe she can do it," said Ernestine, who was to act the part of Lorenzo. "It's a shame to spoil the play. Put it off for half an hour, and perhaps Cathy will be better. I declare I won't act with anyone who has not rehearsed with us beforehand."
"Don't be nasty, Ernestine! Of course you'll be obliged to act with her. How can we put it off? They've been waiting twenty minutes or more already. Come along, girls, we're terribly late! I'm so sorry, Cathy! We'll turn the light low, and you must try to go to sleep;" and Doris drove us from the room into the studio where we were to dress, and hurriedly helped the others to arrange their finishing touches.