The balcony scene came on—the scene in which a Juliet, who is a Juliet, can display her powers to the best advantage. In this scene are opportunities for the display of love and tenderness, maidenly fear and modesty, and womanly passion, which no other play can afford.
Jeffrey, pacing to and fro behind the wings, with fingers lacing and unlacing themselves, was devoured by anxiety, mitigated by hope.
“Now or never!” he muttered. “This is the scene! Oh! Doris, Doris! Now you raise my heart to the seventh heaven, or break it!—break it!”
“Awfully pretty scene, Miss Marlowe,” said Romeo, as they stood together for a moment or two; “you’ll let yourself go now, I expect!”
“Shall I?” she said, dreamily, almost absently. “I don’t know.”
He looked at her curiously.
“Yes, I think I’d put all I know into this,” he said, gently and respectfully. “It’s a big scene for both of us.”
“Yes,” she said, in a low voice. Then she glided past him and took her place on the balcony.
The scene began, the audience was as silent as the grave, as Romeo entered and made his well-known speech.
Then Doris moved forward to the edge of the balcony, and into the glare of limelight that poured down upon her.