She laughed a little at this, absently. Flowers had come to her—great heaps of them. She snatched up an armful of long-stemmed roses; buried her face in them.
Neuerman waved the curtain up again; took her arm, made her go on. She bowed again, out there, hugging her roses, an excited light in her eyes; and once more backed off.
“For God's sake, say something!” cried the manager.
She ignored this; bent over and looked through the heaps of flowers for a certain card. It was not there. She pouted—not like her rather experienced self but like the girl she was playing—and hugged the roses again.
For the twelfth time the curtain rose. Again she could only bow.
Neuerman mopped his forehead; then wrung out his handkerchief.
“Somebody say something,” he cried. “Ardrey could do it.” (Ardrey was the leading man.) “Where's Ardrey? Here you—call Mr. Ardrey! Quick!”
“I'll take the call,” said a quiet voice at his elbow.
Neuerman gave the newcomer a look of intense relief.
Miss Derring caught her breath, reached for a scene-support to steady herself; murmured: