“Well, then,” Peggy said, “supposing I’m one of those girls—” She held up her hand. “Now don’t interrupt again,” she warned. “One of those girls who has a certain amount of ability, but not enough to make the grade in the professional theater. In that case, I think I owe it to myself to go back home. Let me act if I want to, but in the local little theater group—not as a starving outsider in New York. Right?”
“I guess so,” Amy agreed quietly. “But only if you’re convinced you don’t have the talent.”
“And that’s what I have to figure out,” Peggy said. “I’m just not sure.”
Further discussion was interrupted by a soft knock.
“Come in,” the girls chorused. The door swung open to reveal May Berriman standing in the hall with a tray in her hands.
“Room service,” she announced as she shouldered her way inside. “Would you mind clearing off that dresser so I can put down the tray?”
“May!” Peggy cried. “What’s all this for?”
“Custom of the house,” May replied loftily as she set down her tray. “We do it whenever a girl has her first big audition. We figure that she’s too exhausted to go out and eat afterward.”
“I don’t believe it,” Peggy said.
“Well, you’re right,” May replied dryly. “But I heard you had a fit of the blues, and I thought this might help. How do you feel?”