"I see," repeated Gloria, nodding. She touched her lips nervously with the tip of her tongue.
THE TEST
As she came into the set through the real wooden door and closed it carefully behind her, she found herself inconveniently dissatisfied with her clothes. She should have bought a "misses'" dress for the occasion—she could still wear them, and it might have been a good investment if it had accentuated her airy youth.
Her mind snapped sharply into the momentous present as Mr. Debris's voice came from the glare of the white lights in front.
"You look around for your husband.... Now—you don't see him ... you're curious about the office...."
She became conscious of the regular sound of the camera. It worried her. She glanced toward it involuntarily and wondered if she had made up her face correctly. Then, with a definite effort she forced herself to act—and she had never felt that the gestures of her body were so banal, so awkward, so bereft of grace or distinction. She strolled around the office, picking up articles here and there and looking at them inanely. Then she scrutinized the ceiling, the floor, and thoroughly inspected an inconsequential lead pencil on the desk. Finally, because she could think of nothing else to do, and less than nothing to express, she forced a smile.
"All right. Now the phone rings. Ting-a-ling-a-ling! Hesitate, and then answer it."
She hesitated—and then, too quickly, she thought, picked up the receiver.
"Hello."
Her voice was hollow and unreal. The words rang in the empty set like the ineffectualities of a ghost. The absurdities of their requirements appalled her—Did they expect that on an instant's notice she could put herself in the place of this preposterous and unexplained character?