Part 25 (1/2)
Judith managed to get charcoal before any one else, and then said desperately,
”It's my fault as much as Josephine's, Miss Marlowe--more mine, for Patricia told me to be sure to remind Josephine.”
”You, Judith?” said Miss Marlowe coldly. ”I AM surprised,”--and she wasted no more time on Judith, who went away feeling that she could never be happy again.
Judith didn't go back to Nancy, she wanted to be alone. Her humiliation was very real--not because she had forgotten, though it HAD hurt her pride to think that she had been careless. But there was a deeper hurt than that--she had actually hesitated to take her share of the blame, in spite of precept and example in her home, and here this year at York Hill. She had almost done something quite dishonourable.
”They'd despise me if they knew,” thought Judith, crouching down behind some scenery and wis.h.i.+ng that she could run away instead of waiting to help. ”Why, oh, why do I make so many mistakes and fail so often? But I won't--I won't let that horrid little Top Self conquer”--and, interested in the working of her own mind, she paused a moment to consider how curious it was that all those faces should rise to aid her just when she needed them--”Seemed almost as if they WERE Deep-Down Self--but of course they couldn't be, because that's me--but it's queer--they seemed like a part of me too--”
Just then Catherine on her way to the stage caught sight of Judith, a crumpled little heap behind the screen. She hadn't a moment, but she took one, nevertheless, to stop and pat the back of Judith's neck--her face she couldn't see--and say affectionately, ”Never mind, Judy, dear--we all forget sometimes--you're O.K. really.”
Just a moment--but it brought Judith up out of her gloom.
”Dear old Cathy,” she said to herself as she scrambled up to watch the heroine make her entrance, ”she's a brick, a real brick--I'll NEVER do anything I'd be ashamed to tell her about.”
”Hullo!” whispered Nancy; ”come on over here and you can see better--what's the matter?”
”Why?”
”Well, you look--as if you'd had a small fortune left you.”
”I--think--I have,” said Judith soberly but happily.
”Sh--sh--sh,” commanded Nancy, ”they're beginning. Here, you watch from this crack, and I'll take this one.” And they were soon lost to all sense of surroundings as they followed Jane Austen's delightful story.
Sally May was a delicious Mrs. Bennet--her archness, her querulousness, and above all her talkativeness. Was it Sally May or Mrs. Bennet? Molly Seaton, as Mr. Bennet, proved an excellent foil--reserved, quiet, full of a delightful sarcastic humour.
Miss Marlowe sat in the shadow of the green curtain holding the typewritten ma.n.u.script, ready to prompt any one who stumbled--the first scene was always the difficult one; but it went without a hitch and Judith was soon busily helping to transform the parlour into a ball-room, and listening with great excitement to the applause on the other side of the green curtains.
Then the stage was filled with dainty, slim, ringletted ladies in high-waisted flowered frocks and gentlemen in tight breeches, long-tailed coats, and high stocks, and the curtains rolled back to disclose a prettier and statelier dance than a modern audience often sees.
As the story progressed, Catherine as Elizabeth, and Eleanor as Mr.
Collins, divided the honours pretty equally. No one who had not seen Catherine as Viola could have guessed what a charming Elizabeth she would make, and Eleanor--well, Eleanor _was_ Mr. Collins, a very triumph of imagination! Eleanor had not Catherine's gift, and to picture Elizabeth's delicate subtleties and humours would have been quite beyond her, but she had walked, and talked, and eaten with Mr. Collins until she was that worthy gentleman's double.
Who could ever forget the courts.h.i.+p scene, with Mr. Collins's ponderous declaration and dexterous withdrawal from Mrs. Bennet's clutches?
Contrary to Judith's fears, Mr. Collins's coat withstood the pressure of his windy eloquence and all the seams held fast.