So much so that after the first rehearsal of Ophelia’s part, he directed her to play to the house.
Carroll had come down with about a dozen friends hastily collected, and these, with the employées, made a good appearance in the stalls.
With a few directions, which were given in an undertone, under cover of mere conversation, the girl went through a second time.
“Let yourself go,” said Keene. “Don’t be afraid.”
“You have acted before?” said Rivers to her, who played Laertes. “But I have never had the pleasure of seeing you. I fancied that—from something Mr. Keene said—you were a novice; but I see my error. As he approves of course there can be no doubt of your success. He is well pleased I know.”
“This is my first appearance in London,” she said, quietly. “I have taken parts in a little country theatre.”
He stared at her for a little.
“Then you have genius, Miss Winstanley,” he said, with courteous respect, and Keene approached.
“You have done better than I hoped. It is needless to give you more fatigue. Go and rest until seven. Will you dine here?” to the Carrolls and two eminent critics who had come down out of kindness and friendship for Keene. “It will save you the trouble of going back, and it is past six already.”
They at once accepted, and a very merry party it was.