“I did,” nodded Fraser. “She was delightful. But anything like her acting to-night has never been heard of. All in a minute, you know. Marvellous I call it. And never hesitated for a word.”
“I am glad you are pleased,” Muriel said, simply, but flushing with pleasure at the tone of genuine praise. “I was so horribly frightened and nervous when I heard someone say the house was packed that I thought I should have made an idiot of myself.”
“You positively looked at the audience,” said Carroll. “Bang into the boxes too. My dear child, to talk of nervousness after that! You are a fraud!”
“That was only when Mr. Keene was on the stage with me. I did not feel so afraid then.”
“Your mad scene was quite novel. May one ask whether your rendering was entirely original, Miss Winstanley?” asked Alex. Fraser.
But Keene came up, and laughingly pushed him aside.
“Go home and write your ‘copy’ Fraser. She has had enough of it for one night, and I will not have her interviewed. When you have seen her as ‘Beatrice’ on my stage you shall hear who trained her.”
And by-and-bye the Carrolls took her home.
For one minute, as they were waiting for the brougham and the attention of the Carrolls was taken by some friends, Muriel turned to the actor, who was standing close behind her.
“You have not criticized me,” she said, wistfully. “Mr. Keene was I even half what you expected? Shall I ever be good enough?”