The young girl raised her eyes. “I think you’re a good actress. I can’t tell you how good, because that depends on you. It depends on how hard you’re willing to work and how fast you learn. But you have the basic equipment to make it.”
May raised a finger to emphasize her point. “Even so, that’s still not enough. You have to want to do it and you have to have a deep faith that you can do it. Tell me, Peggy, do you think you could play the part of the daughter in Innocent Laughter if you had to? Tell me honestly now.”
Peggy nodded briefly. “Yes,” she said with quiet conviction. “I know I could.”
May sighed and stood up. “Then why do you want to leave New York? Innocent Laughter isn’t the only play you’re ever going to audition for. And the next time you’ll do better. Let’s have a little backbone, Peggy.”
Peggy sat staring at May for a moment, then flung herself into the older woman’s arms. “Oh, May!” she said. “You’re right. I was being—I don’t know what.”
“There, there,” May said soothingly, stroking the girl’s hair. “You’re all right, Peggy. You just needed somebody to talk tough.” She put her hands on Peggy’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “No more of this talk about going home. Promise?”
Peggy nodded. “I promise,” she said with a laugh.
“Good girl. Go ahead and have a cry if you want. It’ll do you good. But don’t forget to eat some supper.” She started to pat Peggy’s hand, but stopped as the telephone buzzer squawked unexpectedly.
“Oh, oh,” May said. “Better not have that cry after all. Somebody wants to talk to you.”
“I’ll go,” Amy cried, going toward the door. They could hear her footsteps echoing down the hallway. The next instant, it seemed, they heard them running back to the room at what sounded like full speed.