She insisted on being dressed and driven down to the
hurried last rehearsal on the afternoon of the performance. But she
could not walk without support.
"You'll have to take it, Phyllis," she conceded. "I shall look as
beautiful as I can, and sit in the audience and hate you."
"You ought to," said Phyllis mournfully. "I know if it were I in
your place, I couldn't bear to come down and look at you."
"I have to, anyway, on account of Laura," said Gail. Miss Ward had
come, and was at that moment getting out of her wraps preparatory to
meeting the cast and rehearsing.
As Phyllis left her to go into the dressing-room and introduce the
stranger, whom she had met, to the others, she heard Joy cry out in
surprise.
"Why, I know you--at least I've seen you, only you don't remember
me," Joy was saying impulsively.
Laura Ward, in the act of slipping off her coat, stopped in surprise.
"Why, I have seen _you_" she said. "Where was it?"
"I was posing for the Morrows," explained Joy. "You ran in and got
some fixative. They had me for their mural decorations----"
_"Joy!"_ called somebody in the tone of imperative need which
is almost as summoning as a telephone bell, and Joy dashed off,
holding up her green water-weeds with one hand and her draperies
with the other. The meeting with Laura Ward seemed a pleasant sort
of crowning to the day. She was the very same vivid, gipsy-looking
girl who had dashed into the Morrow studio for a moment, and who had
seemed to stand, to Joy then, for all the kinds of girl she had
wanted to be and couldn't.
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