There was an expectant hush as everyone in the theater settled back to wait for the girl’s entrance. It came in a rush. The door flew open and Miss Forrester leaped out on stage, clutching the manuscript in one hand. Looking a little like some hunted animal, she darted over to the window and groaned ecstatically. That was the cue for Mr. Fox to read his line, but he was so fascinated by the girl’s entrance, he merely stared at her. The young actress flashed him a peremptory glance and heaved her sigh a second time. The assistant stage manager started guiltily and quickly found the place.
“‘Why did you come in so quietly?’” Mr. Fox read. “‘You’re as furtive as a lady burglar tonight. What’s wrong?’”
He had a high-pitched nasal voice without a trace of expression.
Miss Forrester whirled around with a gasp. “‘Oh!’” she cried in a simpering tone. “‘I didn’t know anybody was here.’”
“‘I’ll go if you like,’” Mr. Fox continued.
Miss Forrester tripped over to him girlishly. “‘Oh, no! Please don’t,’” she said breathlessly. “‘There’s—there’s something I want to talk to you about.’” For some reason, Miss Forrester decided that a laugh would be effective at this point. It rang clear and loud through the hollow stillness of the empty theater.
Peggy saw Craig Claiborne slump deeper into his seat and bury his head in his hands. After a few more moments he unwound himself and stood up. “Thank you—thank you very much, Miss Forrester. We’ll call you.”
Miss Forrester, who had been stopped in mid-sentence, closed her mouth and returned the playscript to Mr. Fox. Flashing Claiborne a smile, she left the stage.
“Miss Palmers, please,” Claiborne announced. “Miss Ruth Palmers.”
Ruth Palmers turned out to be an extremely self-assured young woman who took the script from Mr. Fox as though she were doing him a favor. She glided haughtily to the door and closed it behind her.