“If she had had the murder of a few friends on her conscience, I dare say she would have been,” said Christie, going in to make herself tidy.
“Well, how do you like her as an actress?” asked Mr. Power of David, who stood looking, as if he still saw and heard the haunted lady.
“Very much; but better as a woman. I’d no idea she had it in her,” answered David, in a wonder-stricken tone.
“Plenty of tragedy and comedy in all of us,” began Mr. Power; but David said hastily:
“Yes, but few of us have passion and imagination enough to act Shakspeare in that way.”
“Very true: Christie herself could not give a whole character in that style, and would not think of trying.”
“I think she could; and I’d like to see her try it,” said David, much impressed by the dramatic ability which Christie’s usual quietude had most effectually hidden.
He was still thinking about it, when she came out again. Mr. Power beckoned to her; saying, as she came and stood before him, flushed and kindled with her efforts:
“Now, you must give me a bit from the ‘Merchant of Venice.’ Portia is a favorite character of mine, and I want to see if you can do any thing with it.”
“No, sir, I cannot. I used to study it, but it was too sober to suit me. I am not a judicial woman, so I gave it up,” answered Christie, much flattered by his request, and amused at the respectful way in which David looked at her. Then, as if it just occurred to her, she added, “I remember one little speech that I can say to you, sir, with great truth, and I will, since you like that play.”