"Oh!" answered the girl with her hand on her heart, "I never got such a scare in my life! How, oh, how do you do it? Just look at Dorothy! She's quite white."
And it was difficult for the girl to believe that Miss Morrell had not suffered in the least from such a fall.
"Why, it's just a trade secret," laughed the actress. "Some people never fall well because their nerve fails them at the last moment, but all their lives long are content with a sort of jointed fall—they drop on their knees and then forward on their faces. If it is done very quickly it passes, but one never looks graceful, and the immense effect of the crash of the fall is missing. Then, too, an actress who goes down in that manner not only runs the risk of being made fun of, but the bruising over and over again of the same spot may produce a lump with a very ugly and alarming name.
"But here is the whole wonderful secret." She held out her open hands, and both girls saw their palms were slightly reddened. "Always throw out your hand, both of them in beginning; keep your knees nearly stiff, and just topple over like a great tree, but strike on the flats of your open hands. The blow won't hurt them beyond making them sting a little. Your knees, elbows, head, shoulders, are all safe—yet you have fallen with immense force."
Sybil lifted her hands and made a movement as if about to try the trick, but stopped, looking rather frightened.
"No, no—not here!" said Miss Morrell. "Try on your mattress first, and close your eyes when you have marked where you want to strike, and then the distance won't frighten you so. The bolder you get, the less you will extend your hands. It requires nerve, but I'm sure that is a quality you possess, my dear. Besides, you may not play a part requiring a fall for a year or two yet."
And Sybil blushed hotly because she had been so charged to secrecy that she dared not tell even this woman who was so good to her that she was the girl about whom all the newspaper stories were appearing, and that she was being coached for Juliet.
After a few moments of general conversation the caller rose to go, and, while Mr. Lawton stepped to the door to signal the coachman, who had been keeping his horses moving, Mrs. Lawton explained that in former years the "porte cochère of her old home would have made such action needless, but this," waving her hand condemningly, "was not a home, but—er—er a mere shelter."
"Ah!" graciously responded the actress, "but you know there are people who have the gift of carrying the home atmosphere with them even to a—mere shelter."
And Mrs. Lawton really looked very handsome and quite impressive, for she felt she was receiving her due, and all the time Sybil was secretly squeezing the fingers of her friend, and in the hall, while her father gallantly opened the carriage door, she whispered: "I love you so for having helped me! And Dorothy prays for you!"