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the door flung open and a young girl,
wearing a short brown
tweed coat and dark green slacks darted in. Pauline knew at
once she was an actress. She wasn’t pretty, but she had a good
stage face. “You’re Pauline Fraser, aren’t you?” cried the girl
in admiration. Pauline smiled. “Yes, but who are you?” “Oh,
you’ve never heard of me. I’m Ann Steward from the Rep.* at
Wanley. I hear Mr. Cheveril is going to stage his new play. I’d
be delighted to get a part in it. I’m ready to do anything!”
Pauline smiled at her. The girl went on: “Miss Fraser, you’re
great. I saw you in Mr. Cheveril’s play ‘The Wandering Light’
three times. You were wonderful! But... er... would you mind if
I say this?” Pauline was amused. “Probably. But go ahead!”
“Well,
at the end of the Second Act, when you learn that your
lover is back and waiting for you, couldn’t it he better to drop
everything from your hands and then run out into the garden?”
Pauline looked at the girl with interest. “Why, as a matter of fact
I wanted to do it like that, only the producer wouldn’t let me.
Look here — you are a real actress!” “I know I am,” cried the
girl, “but I could be a thousand
times better if only I get a
chance in a Cheveril play! Please, Miss Fraser, I don’t want to be
a nuisance, but I simply must talk with him.” “I’m afraid he
won’t speak with you, but I’ll try to persuade him. You’d better
wait outside, he may come any moment.” “Oh, Miss Fraser,
you’re a darling!” said Ann and went out.
Some minutes later Cheveril entered
the room carrying his
script. “We’ve made a little cut and the scene is all right now,
Pauline. You’ll be wanted on the stage in a minute or two.”
“I’m ready, Martin. Oh! I quite forgot! There is a girl here
who is eager to see you. She’s with a local repertory company,
and I shouldn’t be surprised if she’s quite a good actress. You’ll
see her, won’t you?” Without turning Martin answered firmly:
“No. I’m sorry, Pauline, but I’m fed up with young promising
actresses.” “But... but you must see her!” Pauline was reproach
ful. At that moment she was called to the stage and left the
room.
Cheveril was looking through his script when he heard
a young voice behind him: “Mr. Cheveril, I’m
that young
* Rep. — repertory theatre.
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actress... !” “You had no right to come here. Will you please
go?” He didn’t even look at her. “But... but I’ve acted in lots of
your plays — and loved them all!” “I don't care. Please, go out
at once.” There was a strange little pause. “You'll be sorry soon
you said that...” The girl spoke with an odd certainty...
(After J. B. Priestley “A Story of the Theatre”)
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