She was looking at me intently. Then she began to laugh.
"Who," she went on, "but Mistress Sarah Standish? I have a romantic fancy that it is the beginning of a brilliant career."
I was speechless. I could not believe what she was hinting. It was not possible. I was letting my imagination run away with my good sense.
"I ... ?" I stammered.
"Why not? I have already spoken to Lady Willerton. She is not averse. They are all excited about the prospect of doing a play. These house visits often result in a certain ennui for some guests. They are so predictable. One is so very much like another, and that is tiresome when one goes to so many. People aim to be a little different. So ... our little piece will at least enliven the scene. They are all excited and I have said that you are the one to play our little waif. I told them that you had once rehearsed lines with me, so I was sure you could do it. And there was no one who could play the part. Maria perhaps, but she had no heart for it and is happy to pass it on to you. So no difficulties there. Will you take the part, Mistress Standish?"
"I am overcome," I stammered. "I do not know whether ..."
She gave that easy laugh of hers. "That means you will. Then it is settled. Now, there is little time to lose. The play is only three nights away. Tomorrow is a rehearsal. I have a copy here. You will read it through and learn your part, and tomorrow at four of the clock you will come for rehearsal. Take this copy, study it. I want you to show me that I have not been mistaken in you."
"But ... I do not know ... I have never ..."
"That is all part of the life, my dear. It is not all listening to an audience shouting 'Bravo, Madam Sarah.' It is learning parts, suffering that indescribable terror when the moment to go on stage arrives ... and sometimes the audiences are not kind. This will be different. This is not the King's Theatre in Drury Lane, or the Cockpit. This is the home of Sir Henry Willerton where, if you give the worst performance ever seen upon a stage, they will give you some applause. They will be pohte ... always. Do not fear. It is a tryout. It is to amuse the guests who are very ready to be amused; and it will show me—to a degree—whether I was right in my feeling that Mistress Sarah Standish will be an actress."
"It is so ... exciting."
"So, you will do it, Mistress Standish? You will play the part?"
"Oh, I will, I will!"
"I knew you would want to. You are myself when I was your age. Even your name is right. Sarah Standish. I hear it on people's lips. Well, we shall see ... soon. Learn your lines. Practice them every moment you can. There will be someone to prompt you, so do not let the fear of forgetting affect you. On the night, you will be that little waif. Are you happy? Delighted and a little frightened? Is that not so? It is as it should be ... a mingling of the two ... then you will get right into that little waif's skin; and, Sarah Standish, you will decide your fate which, remember, none can do but yourself. I preach. I always do, you know. It is because of my enthusiasm for my profession ... and when I see someone who feels as I do, I rant, as some would tell you. Sarah, Romeo, and little waif ... Good luck on the night."
When she had left me I sat for some time clutching the paper she had given me, staring ahead of me at those shrubs which on another occasion she had converted into Juliet's balcony; and I had never known such exhilarating anticipation before in my life.
When my mother heard that I was to go to Willerton House to perform in a play, she was disconcerted, and I greatly feared that she would forbid me to do so.
"Play-acting!" she cried. "It is doing the work of the Devil. It is against God's laws."
"Oh, come," said my father. " 'Tis not really so. 'Tis nothing but a little diversion."
"Flaunting herself on a stage!"
" 'Tis not really a stage. 'Tis only the Willerton ballroom. Sir Henry approves of it. 'Tis merely a game."
"Game!" snorted my mother. "A game of the Devil."
"Oh, come, Mildred. That is a little strong, is it not?"
"I do not like it."
"I do not see how we can forbid Sarah's going. Sir Henry would take it amiss."
It was the right approach. My mother, practical in the extreme, was fully aware of the advantages which came to us from my father's benevolent employer, and the folly of offending him. She deplored the way of life which the Willertons had taken up since the Restoration of the Monarchy, but, as my father pointed out to her, that was no concern of ours. It was a fact that almost everyone in the country had changed their way of life since then.
So, shaking her head and grumbling that no good would come of this, my mother did not persist with her objections.
As for myself, I was in a haze of wonder. I quickly learned my lines and went about feeling that I was indeed that little waif.
I had stepped into another world. Always before I had gone to Willerton House as the daughter of the estate manager who was there because of the bounty of Sir Henry and Lady Willerton towards the humbler folk. Now I was a guest.
Kitty Carslake was in control. She seized me as soon as I arrived.
"Ha! Here is our little waif. Have you learned your lines? Yes? We shall see. Now we have no time to waste. There is a dress rehearsal first. You will get into your waif's dress at once. There may have to be alterations and what is most important is your gown when you turn to grandeur. I have rifled Maria's wardrobe and have taken one of her gowns which I hope will be a near fit. Get to it. In there, my child. We are starting almost immediately and you are in the first act."
There were several people present. Maria smiled at me and lifted her shoulders, as though to say, "What next?"
I was hastened into a room by Kitty, who showed me the waif's dress and the other which I should wear later. She gave me a special grin.
"Good luck," she whispered.
I had never known such exhilaration.
The performance itself was like a dream to me. I felt this was what I was meant to do. When I stepped on to the stage, I was that little waif. I had a basket which was supposed to contain herrings. I called my wares as one or two of the players strolled past. Then came the moment when the elegant gentleman accidentally knocked my basket from my hand and I had to express my dismay. I heard a faint giggle from the watchers, but it was all real to me. I was nearly starving, and the gentleman had destroyed my hope of eating for the next few days.
"Bravo!" cried a member of the audience—a gentleman sitting in the front row. I was immersed in my part, but I was delighted.
Then I was changing into my beautiful gown—such a contrast to my rags. No herring basket now. I was having an effect on all their lives: on Kitty, who had the main part, of course; on her father, who kept forgetting his lines; and on the young lord who was attracted to Kitty; and she and he might not have overcome their misunderstandings and have regretted it all their lives but for the actions of the little waif, now as splendidly attired as any of them.
It was all highly sentimental, scarcely suitable for the London stage, but it was just the thing for a group of amateurs, and when it was over we stood hand in hand at the front of the dais while the audience applauded. I was standing beside Kitty and she suddenly pushed me forward. The clapping was loud and again I heard that shout of "Bravo!," and I believed it came from the man who had said it before.
This time I was able to see him. He was sitting in the front row of chairs, his arms folded. He looked straight at me and smiled rather roguishly, as though this was all something of a joke—which I suppose it was to the rest of them, though it was very serious to me. He looked very distinguished, but far from young. He must have been in his mid-thirties, and from my fifteen-year-old stance he seemed quite old. There was an air of authority about him, and he was one who would be singled out in a crowd.