"Mary Murchison!" gasped the programme-girl. "Oh, Miss O'Keeffe, how wonderful! You nearly made my heart stop—"
"I am sorry, but I do want to take your bedroom. I've left Mrs. Maper, and you are not to ask any questions."
"I haven't time, I'm late already. Fortunately, I only come on in the second act."
"That's nice; put my bag in and I'll come to the theatre with you." The thought was impromptu, an evening with a bed-ridden woman was not exhilarating at such a crisis.
"You ought to be an actress yourself," the programme-girl remarked admiringly on the way.
Eileen shuddered. "No, thank you. Scream the same thing night after night—like a parrot with not even one's own words—I should die of monotony."
"Oh, it isn't at all monotonous. It's a different audience every night, and even the laughs come in different places. My parts have mostly been thinking parts—to-night I'm a prince without a word—but still it's fun."
"But how can you bear strange men staring at you?"
"One gets used to it. The first time they put me in tights I blushed all through the piece, but they had painted me so thick it wasn't visible."
"In short, you blushed unseen."