to me--only the audiences have appeared to care and appreciate.
Albrecht and all those others have scarcely offered me a word of
encouragement."

"Albrecht and the others are asses," ejaculated Winston, with sudden
indignation. "They imagine they are actors because they prance and
bellow on a stage, and they sneer at any one who is not in their class.
But I can tell you this, Miss Norvell, the manager considers you a
treasure; he said as much to me."

She stood before him, the glare of the stage glinting in her hair, her
hands clasped, her dark eyes eagerly reading his face as though these
unexpected words of appreciation had yielded her renewed courage, like
a glass of wine.

"Really, is that true? Oh, I am so glad. I thought, perhaps, they
were only making fun of me out in front, although I have always tried
so hard to do my very best. You have given me a new hope that I may
indeed master the art. Was that my cue?"

She stepped quickly backward, listening to the voices droning on the
stage, but there remained still a moment of liberty, and she glanced
uncertainly about at Winston.

"Am I to thank you for giving me such immaculate dressing-rooms of
late?" she questioned, just a little archly.

"I certainly wielded the broom."

"It was thoughtful of you," and her clear voice hesitated an instant.