It was a long morning. The committee watched its hours go by complacently enough. They had heard Jean again and liked her better; and the two girls who were to compete with her had improved, too, on second trial. There was no doubt that the Portias were good. They were also nervous. Kate Denise didn’t even pretend to “Take notes, young ladies,” though Dr. Hinsdale looked straight at her when he said it, and Babbie Hildreth made herself the butt of endless jibes by absent-mindedly mentioning Nerissa instead of Napoleon in History 10. Jean, on the other hand, was as cool as possible. She sat beside Teddie Wilson in philosophy, much to the annoyance of that unhappy young person, and added insult to injury by trying to discuss the play. Teddie was as unresponsive as she thought consistent with the duty of being lady-like, but Jean didn’t seem to mind, for she went off to lunch smiling a satisfied, triumphant little smile that seemed to say she had gotten just what she wanted out of Teddie.
At two o’clock Mr. Masters and Miss Kingston met the play committee in Miss Kingston’s office, and the Shylock trials began. At ten minutes before three the great Mr. Masters appeared in the door of the office and tossing a careless “Back at four-thirty sharp” over his shoulder, ran down the stairs as lightly as though he were not leaving riot and ruin behind him. A minute later Barbara Gordon came to the door and explained to the Portias who were waiting to come on at three, that it had been found necessary to delay their appearance until evening. Barbara always looked calm and unruffled under the most trying circumstances, but she shut the door unnecessarily hard and the Portias exchanged amazed glances.
“Something’s happened,” declared Babe, sagely.
“‘Oh, wise young judge!’” quoted Nita. “Why don’t you tell us what it is?”
“I must go if we have to come back this evening,” said Kate Denise, and hurried off to find Jean, who had promised to meet her in the library.
Kate understood Jean very well and often disapproved of her, but she had known her a long time and was genuinely fond of her and anxious for her success. Jean had complained of a headache at luncheon and seemed nervous and absent-minded. Kate wondered if she could possibly have broken down and spoiled her chance with Mr. Masters, thus disarranging the committee’s plans.
But Jean scoffed at this idea. “I did my best,” she declared, “and he was awfully nice. You’ll like him, Katie. I suppose he had an engagement, or was tired and wanted to go off somewhere and smoke. He gets up plays all the time, you know. It must be horribly boring.”
Meanwhile Miss Kingston and the play committee sat in mournful conclave. Nobody had much to say. Clara Ellis looked “I told you so” at the rest, and the rest looked back astonishment, dismay and annoyance at Clara.
“Is he generally so—so decided and, well,—so quick to make up his mind?” asked Betty, finally.
Miss Kingston laughed at Betty’s carefully chosen adjectives and shook her head. “He’s generally very patient and encouraging, but to-day something seems to have spoiled his temper. I don’t believe, though, that his irritability has affected his judgment. I agree perfectly with what he said about Miss Eastman.”