“Is something wrong?” Amy asked.
“No. Not exactly, that is. The scenes we were working on are shaping up very well, but all of us are still a little worried about Paula. Not about her acting,” she added hurriedly. “We think she’s just wonderful. It’s ... well, it’s something else.”
“You’re not still worried about last week, are you?” Peggy asked. “I mean about that scene at Paolo’s? If you are, I’m sure that—”
“No, it’s not that,” Greta said. “We’re all convinced that whatever it was that caused that blowup, it won’t happen again. She’s not at all a temperamental person. No, we’re worried about her health. At least I am.”
“So am I,” Peggy confessed. “Amy and I were talking about it today. She looks so drawn and pale and ... tense. I’ve tried to speak to her about it, but she just refuses to admit that there’s anything wrong.”
“That’s the way she’s been with all of us,” Greta said. “She insists it’s just our imaginations, and that she never felt better. Or she says that it’s a case of character identification, and she’s beginning to look like the part she’s playing. But if that’s true, then she’s the best actress in the history of the theater.”
“Which she may well be,” Peggy said loyally. “But even if she is, I don’t think that’s the cause.”
“Since there doesn’t seem to be anything we can do about it,” Amy commented, “I think the best thing to do is to leave her alone and not bother her by asking about it. If she wants help, she knows we’re her friends.”
“I guess so,” Peggy agreed reluctantly. “Still, I’m worried.”
They continued home in a rather troubled silence.