Vinnie’s face was the perfection of blank ignorance; her voice was a triumph of stupidity as she exclaimed, “Why, Miss Dover, I always thought actresses had such an awfully good time!”
Miss Dover smiled.
“My poor girl, you have no idea what this theatrical life is. Let me tell you something, Vinnie: you have to pay for your applause on the stage—yes, and a hundred times over. Why, you don’t know when you’re well off. How would you like to stand and wait all day long, month in and month out, for years, in packed, stuffy agencies?” The star shook her head reminiscently. “Wait till you’ve starved and nearly frozen to death in cheap lodging-houses, Miss Vinnie Smith! When I think of the visits to pawnshops! Heavens, I’ve worn clothes like those on a scarecrow! You wouldn’t believe Sarah Dover has patched and borrowed and scrubbed, would you? But, oh, the worst of all was the smiling and smiling, and trying to look prosperous and happy through everything!” She turned and patted Vinnie on the hand. “Just you be thankful, Vinnie Smith, that you’re where you are, and get that stage-struck idea right out of your head.”
Miss Dover leaned forward to the mirror and daintily adjusted a piece of court-plaster. At the sound of sobbing, she turned. Vinnie’s face was hidden in her hands.
“Why, Vinnie!” cried Sarah Dover. “What’s the matter? Vinnie!” She laid her hand tenderly on her maid’s shoulder.
“Oh, I couldn’t bear to think, Miss Dover, that you’d ever had to suffer like that!” Vinnie began to laugh hysterically through her sobs. “It was something in your voice; I kind of forgot where I was, Miss Dover, for a minute, I guess. You made me imagine it all so plain.”
What conversation there was after that dwindled down to cold-cream, cosmetic-sticks, and pins, until Sarah Dover was about to leave her dressing-room. “Strange about that voice I heard,” she muttered thoughtfully. “Vinnie, who has this next room right there? D’you know?”
Vinnie, queerly enough, didn’t know; so there, for a second time, the subject dropped.
During the third week of the popular star’s New York engagement, she arrived at the theater one evening earlier than usual in order to experiment with a new wig. As she stopped to speak to one of the electricians about the spot-light, a voice was heard coming from the direction of her dressing-room. Stealthily, Sarah Dover tiptoed to the door and stopped. For several minutes she leaned against the wall in a spellbound concentration.
When the voice ceased, Miss Dover’s eyes were damp, her hands were cold. She was trembling with puzzled excitement.