Ever since her arrival at Bridgecrap Lily had been convicted of her inferiority to everyone there.
Now, in a glorious flash, she saw her chance of at last achieving a success.
She read the speech without hesitation, and felt that she had read it very well.
"Excellent! I wish I'd given you a bigger part. We'll see...."
Lily was disproportionately excited.
The next day, she was told to give Dorothy's speech again, this time with the necessary action, which included a slow entrance and a dramatic exit prefacing the fall of the curtain.
"Oh, my dear child! Hold yourself properly—you can't walk like that. And your hands—no, no—that won't do. Can't you move properly?"
It was just what Lily could not do. Her instinct for the correct manipulation of words and ideas did not extend to the disposition of her own muscles.
Enforced drill, gymnastics and detested games, begun too late and without any attempt at individual tuition, had failed to impart to Lily the natural poise and erect bearing that made Dorothy Hardinge's movements harmonious. Her body was as self-conscious as her mind was supple and alert.
"No use at all. We can't have her standing about the stage like that. What would Miss Melody say?"