Just then Catherine on her way to the stage caught sight of Judith, a crumpled little heap behind the screen. She hadn't a moment, but she took one, nevertheless, to stop and pat the back of Judith's neck—her face she couldn't see—and say affectionately, "Never mind, Judy, dear—we all forget sometimes—you're O.K. really."
Just a moment—but it brought Judith up out of her gloom.
"Dear old Cathy," she said to herself as she scrambled up to watch the heroine make her entrance, "she's a brick, a real brick—I'll never do anything I'd be ashamed to tell her about."
"Hullo!" whispered Nancy; "come on over here and you can see better—what's the matter?"
"Why?"
"Well, you look—as if you'd had a small fortune left you."
"I—think—I have," said Judith soberly but happily.
"Sh—sh—sh," commanded Nancy, "they're beginning. Here, you watch from this crack, and I'll take this one." And they were soon lost to all sense of surroundings as they followed Jane Austen's delightful story.
Sally May was a delicious Mrs. Bennet—her archness, her querulousness, and above all her talkativeness. Was it Sally May or Mrs. Bennet? Molly Seaton, as Mr. Bennet, proved an excellent foil—reserved, quiet, full of a delightful sarcastic humour.
Miss Marlowe sat in the shadow of the green curtain holding the typewritten manuscript, ready to prompt any one who stumbled—the first scene was always the difficult one; but it went without a hitch and Judith was soon busily helping to transform the parlour into a ball-room, and listening with great excitement to the applause on the other side of the green curtains.