“You see, I—”
“Won’t you-all draw your chairs up to the fire?” It was Jensie Crider, the rosy-cheeked mountain girl, who stood beside them. “You see everyone is gone. There is a cool breeze from the lake. The fire is so cheerful!”
“Yes, yes, let us do that!” Jeanne exclaimed quickly, touched by the girl’s simple kindness. “Yes, we shall do that, and you, my dear, shall sit with us.”
“But this—” Miss LeMar’s tone suggested caution. “This is to be something of a secret.”
“This,” Jeanne said in a sharp whisper, “does not matter. In the mountains secrets are kept as nowhere else in the world. Jensie is from the mountains. It is not so?” She turned to Jensie.
“It most certainly is true,” Jensie agreed.
“Oh, well then—” Lorena LeMar moved toward the fire.
“You see,” she threw out a petulant hand as they gathered about the fire, “I am on the lot over there in what they call ‘Little Hollywood.’ Five days from now I am to begin a picture—you know, show the people how it’s done. There are seats for thousands out there, and all that. Bah! I don’t like seats. And I hate people about, when I am making a picture!”
“But people, an audience!” Jeanne murmured, “That is wonderful!”
“Glad you like it. Not for me!” Miss LeMar tossed her head.