When I joined her in the green room at one o'clock, she looked anything but dejected, as she dabbed energetically the contents of a rouge pot onto the cheeks of a procession of maidens, filing in turn before her.
"There! go in peace, and dance your best," she cried, flinging away the ruddy rag as the last of the file passed on to the artist who was doing the eyes.
"Everything moves anxiously to-day," the girl said, pathetically, while she rested a moment against the wall. "I suppose I am a simpleton, but I feel as if the crack of doom were at hand. Mariposilla is late, although I told them to send her at half past twelve, and the Harlequin's wife has forgotten his cap," she said, almost hysterically, as she turned from my side to answer a volley of unnecessary questions.
"Where shall we go, Miss Walton?"
"Miss Walton, can't I have some paint on my cheeks?"
"Please, Miss Walton, my slipper is untied!"
"Miss Walton, my sister has lost her hat."
"Go directly onto the stage and stay, in readiness for your positions," the girl answered, distractedly.
"Come," I said, hoping to take her a moment out of herself, "Come with me into one of the flies; I have something to tell you."