"Indeed?" said the director, grimly. "And are all the girls Mr. Marks sees fit to punish at this special time, as able as you are to take part?"
"Ye-yes, sir," quavered Agnes.
"Well!" It was a most expressive observation. But the director said nothing further about Mr. Marks and his discipline. He merely turned and cried:
"Ready for the first act! Clear the stage."
To Madam Shaw he whispered: "Of course, one swallow doesn't make a summer."
"But one good, smart girl like this one may come near to saving the day for you, Professor."
CHAPTER XXIII
SWIFTWING, THE HUMMINGBIRD
The orchestra burst into a low hum of sweet sounds. Agnes had heard them tuning up under the stage for some time; but back in the little hall where the amateur performers were gathered in readiness for their cues, she had not realized that the orchestra members had taken their places.
Having watched the rehearsals so closely since they began, she could now imagine the tall director with his baton, beating time for the opening bars.