Magnetism, between you and me, means success on the stage—or anywhere else, for that matter. Take the best actor or actress in the world, one who is perfect in lines, diction and stage business; who is absolute master of the art of stage craft, and rob them of magnetism, and I will show you a failure.
So, you see, this young woman was well equipped for the business she was in, and there is the picture.
Nicely gowned, looking and acting like a thoroughbred, she had a big following of admirers, and there didn’t seem to be anything on earth within reason that she wanted she couldn’t have.
The limit of her vices was a few mild drinking bouts with the boys and the occasional smoking of a cigarette, even though there was a possibility that in the years to come the tobacco would destroy the finer tones of her voice.
The moral end of the business was her own affair, and consequently will not be touched on.
Now look.
See that pallid woman?
The one who has just come in. She is talking to a waiter now. Her thin face is seamed with lines, and the light of youth, of life and of enthusiasm has gone out of her eyes.
You wouldn’t think she was once a beautiful girl with a wonderful voice, would you?
“I had the yin-yin so bad,” she is saying, “that I had to go in and hit two pills before I came out. Now I’m good till the lights go out.”