"And then, early in the morning, you, as Edna, can telephone to him and ask him to come down."
"He'll come," I said. "He'll be only too glad to find that Edna has had two days running."
Joy began to enter into the humor of the situation. "I'll not have to make up for the part, at least, shall I? And Edna's costumes will fit me. But do you think I can really do it?"
I was convinced that she could. "When you think that he will be predisposed to find you Edna, and how little cause he has to suspect such impersonation, and moreover how much more like you Edna is becoming, I think that there's very little risk," I said. "The best part of the plan is that after it's over the doctor is likely to go back and he'll be safely out of the way for my experiment."
"Oh, your experiment! How it terrifies me! What are we doing to that poor girl? What possible crime am I consenting to?" Joy broke down again.
Leah put her hand on Joy's arm and looked at her. "You'll do it for my sake, Miss Joy?" she pleaded. I knew well enough that she was not urging her own danger, despite her words. She was desirous only of Joy's peace—but her words had their effect.
"And for mine," I saw fit to add. The double appeal stilled Joy's protest.
We began, therefore, to instruct Joy in her part, and I think that she learned more of her secondary self that night than she had known in all the rest of her life put together. It was not easy for her, at first, to abandon herself to the character, and assume the gaucherie that was typical of Edna. It was hardest of all to do what, indeed, I was loath to teach her, the little coquetries and familiarities which I imagined Edna to be in the habit of lavishing upon the doctor. But there was a humor, as well as a pathos, in the play, and occasionally the fun of it overthrew our seriousness.
So we went over and over the plot that night. Edna's languishing glances, Edna's awkward poses and active gestures, Edna's quick speech and obvious sallies, her impatient, pettish whims, all were rehearsed. Joy, becoming gradually interested in doing her best, threw herself into the attempt. Her mimicry of Edna was a strangely confusing sight—it was like one mirror reflected in another. I took the doctor's part, going through the motions of hypnotizing her, teaching her how to resist while simulating sleep, how to reply, how to awaken from the trance. I prepared her for every complication that I could think of, not forgetting Edna's characteristic treatment of Leah—and I think that this part of her acting did more than anything else, through her indignation, to stimulate her to do her best on the morrow.
Besides all this, she was to do whatever occurred to her at the moment, taking her cue from the doctor. She had, I impressed upon her, always the resource at hand of a pretended fainting fit, after which she might plausibly awaken in her real character as Joy. In any case, I surmised that her failure to enact the part consistently would be attributed by him to her primary self's partial projection into consciousness. And, after all, there were, of course, many points of resemblance between the two women, and with moderate care, he would never suspect that she was feigning. It would scarcely have been possible for Edna to have taken the character of Joy.