Then they swung back into the lines of the play and three minutes later Helen was again in the wings.
Miss Weeks was waiting for her and Helen expected a sharp criticism.
“Supreme comedy,” congratulated the dramatic instructor. “How did you happen to think of that?”
“But I didn’t think of it,” protested Helen. “It was an accident. I was scared to death.”
Miss Weeks stared at her hard.
“Well,” she commented, “you certainly carried it off splendidly. It was the best comedy touch of the show.”
The third act went on and then “The Spell of the Image” was over. The curtain came down on the final curtain call. The orchestra blared as the audience left the hall while parents and friends trooped onto the stage to congratulate the members of the cast.
Helen suddenly felt very tired and there was a mist in her eyes, but she brightened visibly when her mother and Tom, followed by the Stevens, pushed through the crowd. She listened eagerly to their praises and to Tom’s whole-hearted exclamations over her beauty and charm.
Then the lights of the stage dimmed. She had had her hour as an actress; she knew she had acquitted herself well. The smell of grease, paint and powder faded and she was a newspaperwoman again—the editor of the Herald.