An autocratic _Katherine_
might, then, have been overheard addressing a flurried _Petruchio_, in a
corner:
"For pity's sake, child, who is he that you need be afraid of him? He's
no critic, I'll wager, and if he's your cousin he'll be sure to think
you act like a veteran, anyhow. Forget him, and go ahead. You're doing
splendidly. Don't you dare slump just because you're remembering your
audience!"
"Oh, of course I'll try, Miss Gray," replied an extremely feminine voice
from beneath _Petruchio's_ fierce mustachios. "But Richard Kendrick
really is awfully sort of upsetting, don't you know?"
"Of course I don't know," denied Roberta promptly. "As long as Miss
Copeland herself is pleased with us, nobody else matters. And Miss
Copeland is delighted--she sent me special word just now. So stiffen
your backbone, _Petruchio_, and make this next dialogue with me as rapid
as you know. Come back at me like flash-fire--don't lag a breath--we'll
stir the house to laughter, or know the reason why. Ready?"
Her firm hand on Olivia's arm, her bracing words in Olivia's ear, put
courage back into her temporarily stage-struck "leading man," and Olivia
returned to the charge determined to play up to her teacher without
lagging.
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