They felt the difference in their ages and class, and were conscious of a tiny feeling of resentment, not in the girls of the Dramatic Club, but in some of the Juniors who had not been elected.
The curtain rose on time, at exactly eight o’clock. The setting was charming and Phyllis, sure of Janet’s support, accredited herself well.
The ballroom was filled with strange faces, for there were lots of guests, and after the first terrified glance at them, Phyllis kept her eyes on the stage.
By the time the balcony scene came, she was almost calm, and her voice floated clear and mellow as she began—
“He jests at scars who never felt a wound—”
Daphne was a beautiful Juliet, with her soft hair bound down by a fillet of pearls. When she leaned from her balcony to ask—
“What man art thou, who thus bescreened in night so stumbleth on my council?”
The guests caught their breaths from sheer wonder.
Phyllis, perhaps under the witchery of Daphne’s smile, forgot her self-consciousness, and threw herself into the part with the result that she wooed her Juliet with all the ardor of old Verona.
It was a triumph for the Dramatic Club, but for Daphne and Phyllis in particular. They went to their rooms that night with their pretty heads buzzing with all the flattery they had received. But, like the sensible children that they were, they soon dismissed it as unimportant.