The curtain fell on the first act, and the thrilling sound of beating hands came to me dimly.
"They are calling for you," said Shaw excitedly.
"What am I to do?"—nervously.
"What? Haven't you thought out something to say?"—disgustedly.
"Nary a word!"
"Well, just lead out Miss Blank and bow. You're not an old hand, so they will let you off without a speech."
So I led the young woman who had helped to make me famous to the footlights, and bowed. I do not know what caused me to glance up toward the left upper proscenium, but I did so ... and felt my heart stop and then throb violently. It was Miss Berkeley. Heaven only knows how long I should have stared at her but for the warning pressure of the actress' hand over mine. We disappeared behind the curtain. I was confused by many emotions.
While the hands were shifting about the next "set" a boy handed me the crumpled margin of a program. I unfolded it and read: "Will 'Mr. Anonymous' do Miss Berkeley the honor of visiting her box?"
"Mr. Anonymous" presented himself forthwith. Miss Berkeley was with an elderly woman, who proved to be her grandaunt. I was introduced.