"For years I wanted to see an American stage and an American
audience," she confided in an undertone, "and to think that when
I do so, it is acting myself, on the other side of the footlights
in a stranger, more dramatic part than any one else in the
theatre. A curious world, isn't it?"
Shirley breathed deeply, drinking in the maddening perfume of her
glorious hair, so perilously near his own face. The shimmer of her
shoulders, the adorable curves of that enticing scarlet mouth
murmuring so near his own, and yet so far away, in this soul-racking
game of make-believe, stirred his blood as nothing else had done in
all the kalaediscopic years.
"Yes, a more than curious world. How things have changed since
last evening when I planned a sleepy evening at the opera. I
wonder what the outcome will be?"
Helene looked up at him quickly, then as suddenly toward the
Russian danseuse within the golden frame of the great proscenium.
The orchestra, with its maddening Slavic music, stirred her
pulses with a strange telepathy.
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