AN UNHAPPY PRINCESS
It took Professor Harmon several minutes to reduce the noisy enthusiasts
to the decorous state of order in which they had entered the gymnasium.
Far from being elated over her triumph, Constance Stevens received the
ovation with the shyness of a child brought before an audience against
its will to speak its first piece. She heaved an audible sigh of relief
when at last she was left to herself and retired behind Marjorie and her
friends with a flushed, embarrassed face.
The boys' try-out was shortened considerably by the fact that there were
fewer singers to be heard. When it was over it was announced that Hal
Macy had carried off the rôle of the poor, neglected son, which was in
reality the male lead. The Crane was selected for the king, while
freckle-faced Daniel Seabrooke was chosen for the jester, greatly to his
delight and surprise. There was an emphatic round of applause when
Professor Harmon announced that Constance Stevens had been selected to
sing the Princess. Ellen Seymour captured the rôle of the queen, and to
Mignon La Salle was allotted the part of the disagreeable step-sister.
It was second in importance to that of the Princess, but the French
girl's face was a study as she received the announcement. She tried to
smile, but the baffled anger and keen disappointment which was hers
blazed forth from her elfish eyes. The minor parts were soon given out,
and then came the trial of the chorus.
The hope of Marjorie and her four friends that they might be chosen was
fulfilled. A number of the girls who had sung solos were also selected,
and, with one or two disgruntled exceptions, resigned themselves to the
lesser glory, gratefully accepting what was offered them. It was
evident, however, that pretty faces had much to do with the Professor's
choice of the chorus, and when he had gathered the elect together and
heard them sing "The Star Spangled Banner" as a test, he expressed
himself as satisfied, and appointed a rehearsal for the following
Tuesday afternoon at four o'clock.
With the exception of Constance, it was a most jubilant sextette that
set out for Sargent's, at Marjorie's invitation, after the try-out was
over. She was still somewhat dazed over her success. Although she smiled
as the five girls paid her affectionate tribute, she had little to say.
"Girls, did you see Mignon's face when Connie was singing?" began Muriel
Harding, as soon as they were out of earshot of any possible
participants in the try-out.
"Did we see it? Well, I guess so." Jerry made prompt answer. "At least,
I did. While Connie was singing I was dividing my seeing power between
her and the fair but frowning Mignon. Maybe she wasn't mad! She tried to
pretend she wasn't listening, but she never missed a note. She had sense
enough to know good singing when she heard it."
"I was watching her, too," nodded Muriel Harding. "Her eyes positively
glittered when Professor Harmon almost missed hearing Connie sing. I
knew she was hoping he would. Then Laurie Armitage came to the rescue."
"I was going to say something," was Marjorie's quiet comment. "I had
made up my mind that Connie shouldn't be overlooked. I was so glad when
Laurie spoke to the professor."
"I thought you were," declared Jerry. "I was going to say something, if
no one else did."
"I don't believe any one of us could have stood there and seen Connie
miss her turn without making a fuss," said gentle Irma Linton. "I am so
glad it all came out nicely. Laurie Armitage is a splendid boy."
"So is the Crane," put in Jerry slyly.
"Of course he is," agreed Irma, placidly ignoring Jerry's attempt to
tease. "So is your brother Hal. There are lots of nice boys in Weston
High."
Jerry merely grinned cheerfully at this retort and returned to the
subject of the coming opera. "Is Laurie going to help you with your
songs?" she asked, addressing Constance.
"Yes," replied Constance simply. "He said he would. I can't quite
believe yet that I am to sing the Princess. I may be able to manage the
songs, but I can't act. I imagine Mignon would make a better actress
than I."
"She ought to," jeered Muriel Harding, who could never resist a thrust
at the French girl. "She never does anything else. I don't believe she'd
know her real self if she came face to face with it in broad daylight."
"Oh, forget Mignon. Who was that tall, dark man with Laurie and
Professor Harmon?" interposed Susan Atwell. "You ought to know, Connie.
I saw Laurie introduce you to him."
"His name is Atwell," answered Constance. "He is an actor, I believe. I
don't know why he happened to be at the try-out to-day. Perhaps
Professor Harmon invited him."
"I'll find out all about him and tell you," volunteered Jerry. "Hal may
know. If he doesn't, some one else will."
"For further information, ask brother Hal," giggled Susan.
It was not until Marjorie and Constance had said good-bye to the others
and were strolling home in the spring sunshine that the latter asked,
"Where was Mary to-day?"
"I don't know." Marjorie spoke soberly. "She left the house before I did
this morning. She said last night that she wasn't interested in the
try-out. I thought perhaps she might like to be in the chorus, but she
doesn't appear to care about it. She has a sweet, soprano voice and can
sing well."
"I am sorry," was Constance's brief answer.
"So am I." Marjorie did not continue the painful subject. They had
talked it over so many times, there was nothing left to be said. "I am
glad you were chosen for the Princess," she said after a little silence,
during which the two girls were busy with their own thoughts.
"I am going to try to sing well, if only to please you and Laurie," was
Constance's earnest avowal.
"I'm glad Mignon didn't get the part. It won't be very pleasant for you
to have to sing with her. I wouldn't say this to anyone else, but if I
were you I would keep a watchful eye on her, Connie."
"If she tries to be disagreeable, I shall simply pay no attention to
her."
"That will be best," nodded Marjorie. Nevertheless, she reflected that
as a member of the chorus she would have opportunity to observe the
French girl and mentally decided to keep an eye on her.
"Has Mary come in, Delia?" was Marjorie's quick question, as the maid
answered her ring.
"Here I am," called Mary from the living room. She had heard Marjorie's
question. Now she appeared in the doorway of the living room, viewing
her former chum with sombre gravity. "Who is going to sing the
Princess?" she asked abruptly.
"Connie was chosen. She sang beautifully."
"I'm glad Mignon didn't get the part," muttered Mary. Wheeling about,
she walked into the living room, and, taking up a book she had turned
face downward on the table, became, to all appearances, absorbed in its
pages.
For a moment Marjorie stood watching her through the half-drawn
portieres. She would have liked to continue the conversation, but pride
forbade her to do so. Mary's mood presaged rebuff. Later, at luncheon,
she unbent sufficiently to question Marjorie further regarding the
try-out. Although she did not say so, she was sorry that Mignon had
been given a principal's part in the operetta. Privately, she wished
she had made an attempt to get into the chorus. She, too, was of the
opinion that the French girl would bear watching. Failure to carry off
the highest honors would act as a spur to Mignon's unscrupulous nature,
and sooner or later some one would pay for her defeat.
Mary was quite correct in her conjecture that Mignon would not allow
matters to rest as they were. From the moment that Constance had been
announced as the Princess she had made a vow that by either fair or
unfair means she would supplant "that white-faced cat of a Stevens
girl," who had been awarded the honor that should have been hers. The
first step consisted in holding a private session with Professor Harmon
after the others had gone, to ascertain if by any chance he might be
relied upon to help her. She found him engaged in conversation with the
dark young man. He eyed her with interest, bowed affably when presented
to her by the professor, and expressed somewhat profuse pleasure at
meeting her. In the presence of a stranger, Mignon dared not ask
Professor Harmon openly to reconsider his recent decision in her favor.
Three minutes' conversation with him showed her that, had she made the
request, it would have availed her nothing. The brisk little man's mind
was made up. He congratulated her on capturing second honors with a
finality that could not be assailed. Then a brilliant idea entered her
wily brain.
"Professor Harmon," she began, with a pretty show of girlish confusion,
quite foreign to her usual bold method of reaching out for whatever she
coveted, "I would like to ask you if I might understudy the Princess. Of
course, I know that I can't sing as Miss Stevens sings, and I wouldn't
for the world wish anything to happen to prevent her from singing on the
great night, but I am so fond of music that it would be a pleasure to
understudy the rôle. I shouldn't like anyone to know that I was doing
so, though. It is just a fancy on my part."
"Certainly you may, Miss La Salle," was the professor's hearty response.
"Your idea is excellent. It is a mistake, even in an amateur production,
not to provide an understudy for an important rôle, such as Miss Stevens
will sing. I must provide an understudy for Mr. Macy, and others of the
cast, also. But you are too modest in your request that no one else must
know. I am sure Mr. Armitage will be pleased with your suggestion."
"Oh, please don't tell him!" exclaimed Mignon. A shade of alarm crossed
her dark face, which was not lost on the professor's companion, Ronald
Atwell. A mere acquaintance of Professor Harmon's, he had lately arrived
in Sanford, at the close of a season as leading man in a popular musical
comedy, to visit a cousin. Brought up in that hard school of experience,
the stage, he was an adept at reading signs, and he was by no means
deceived as to the true character of the girl who stood before him. Far
from being displeased with his deductions, he became mildly interested
in her and mentally characterized her as being worth cultivating. He had
watched her during the try-out, and he had glimpsed her true self in
the varying expressions that animated her dark face. He had attended the
try-out on the polite invitation of Professor Harmon, and at the
latter's earnest solicitation had agreed to take charge of the stage
direction of the operetta. The professor had congratulated himself on
obtaining such valuable assistance, while the actor looked upon the
affair as a pastime which would serve to lighten his stay with his
rather dull cousin. He had come to Sanford for a period of relaxation
before going to New York to begin rehearsals with a summer show, and the
prospect of directing the operetta promised to be amusing.
"Very well, I will say nothing," promised the professor amiably. He had
come to the try-out, hoping to see the daughter of his friend capture
the rôle of the Princess, but the enthusiasm of the artist had driven
that hope from his mind when he had heard Constance sing. Now he dwelt
only on the success of the operetta, and was distinctly relieved to find
that Mignon was in an amiable frame of mind over the unexpected change
in his plans. Knowing her tempestuous disposition, he decided that it
would be policy to humor her whim.
"Thank you so much," beamed Mignon. "I must go now. Good-bye."
"I find I must leave you, also," said Ronald Atwell, glancing at his
watch, "or I shall be late for luncheon."
Mignon had already walked toward the east door of the gymnasium. With a
hurried "Good-bye, Professor. I will be here for rehearsal on Tuesday,"
the dark, young man strode after Mignon and overtook her in the
corridor.
"I wonder if our ways lie in the same direction," he said pleasantly. "I
am the guest of Mr. and Mrs. Horton. Mr. Horton is a cousin of mine."
"I pass their house on my way home," was the prompt reply.
Elated at receiving the marked attention of this distinguished stranger,
Mignon exerted herself to the utmost to be agreeable during their walk.
From the few words she had heard pass between the professor and Mr.
Atwell as she approached them, she had gathered the information that the
latter was to manage the stage and coach the actors in the operetta. She
determined that, if it were possible, she would enlist his services in
her behalf. She had counted on Professor Harmon, and he had failed her.
In this good-looking, affable young man she foresaw a valuable ally. The
presentation of "The Rebellious Princess" was still four weeks distant.
A great many things might happen in that time.
Her companion's suave comment, "I think Professor Harmon made a mistake
in assigning the Princess to the young woman who sang last," uttered
with just the exact shade of regret, caused Mignon to thrill with new
hope. Mr. Atwell, at least, was of the same mind as herself. She
brightened visibly when he went on to say that as stage manager he would
try to give her every advantage that lay in his power. "I am certain
that you have within you the possibilities which go to make a great
actress, Miss La Salle," was his parting remark to her, and these
flattering words, which were, in reality, merely idle on the part of the
actor, she accepted as gospel truth. It was always very easy for her to
accept that which she wished to believe, for self-analysis was not one
of her strong points.
When the cast and chorus for the operetta met in the gymnasium the
following Tuesday afternoon, it did not take the lynx-eyed feminine
contingent long to discover that Mignon La Salle had a friend at court.
Laurie Armitage, also, soon became aware of the fact. He was secretly
displeased that Mignon had been chosen to sing in his operetta, and
almost on first acquaintance he had formed a dislike for Ronald Atwell.
Behind his polished manners he read insincerity, and he was sorry that
Professor Harmon had asked this newcomer to assist in managing the
production. But, manlike, he kept his prejudice to himself, admitting
reluctantly that Atwell seemed to know what he was about.
In the frequent rehearsals that followed, however, many irritating
incidents occurred to try his boyish soul. Most of all he disapproved of
the actor manager's brusque manner toward Constance Stevens. He found
fault continually with her in the matter of the speaking of her lines,
and developed a habit of rehearsing her over and over again in a single
scene until she was ready to cry of sheer humiliation at her own failure
to please him. More than once Laurie made private protest to Professor
Harmon, but the latter invariably reminded him that despite Miss
Stevens' beautiful voice, she was far from grasping the principles of
acting, and that Mr. Atwell was a striking example of a conscientious
director.
Lawrence Armitage was not the only one whose resentment against the too
conscientious stage manager had been aroused. His unfair attitude toward
Constance was the subject of many indignant discussions on the part of
the girls who comprised her coterie of intimate friends.
"It's a shame," burst forth Jerry Macy in an undertone to Marjorie, as
they stood together at one side of the gymnasium and watched the
impatient manner in which the actor ordered their idol about. "I
wouldn't stand it, if I were Connie. I guess you know who is to blame
for it, don't you?"
Marjorie nodded. A faint touch of scorn curved her red lips. Mignon's
growing friendship with Ronald Atwell was the talk of the cast. He
frequently accompanied her home from school, invited her to Sargent's,
and it was rumored that he was often a guest at dinner or luncheon at
her home. Proud of the fact that his daughter was to sing an important
rôle in "young Armitage's opera," Mr. La Salle had treated his
daughter's new acquaintance with considerable deference and allowed
Mignon to do as she pleased in the matter of entertaining him.
"Laurie told Hal that he was sorry Professor Harmon had asked that old
crank to help. Laurie didn't say 'old crank,' but I say it, and I mean
it," continued Jerry vindictively. "Don't breathe it to anyone, though.
It was a brotherly confidence and Hal would rave if he knew I repeated
it."
"Jerry," whispered Marjorie. Her brief scorn had faded into a faint
frown of anxiety. "I don't think Mr. Atwell is really the best sort of
person for Mignon to go around with. He is ever so much older than she
and, somehow, he doesn't seem sincere. Someone told Muriel that he told
Mignon she would make a wonderful actress. Mignon was boasting of it.
Suppose she were to get an idea of going on the stage. She is so
headstrong she might run away from home and do that very thing if she
happened to feel like it. I don't like her, but I can't help being just
a little bit sorry for her. You know, she hasn't any mother to help her
and love her and advise her. Her father is so busy making money, he
doesn't pay much attention to her. Fathers are splendid, but mothers are
simply splendiferous. I don't know what I'd do without my Captain."
Marjorie sighed in sweet sympathy for all the motherless girls in the
universe.
"Mothers are a grand institution," agreed Jerry, looking a trifle
solemn. "I think mine is just about right. I never thought of Mignon in
that way before. Now, I suppose I'll have to be sorry for her, too. She
doesn't look as though she needed much sympathy just now. She's so
pleased with the way Connie is being ordered about that she can't see
straight. There, he's through with the poor child at last. Come on. It's
time for the chorus to perform. Try to imagine that this good old gym is
the king's palace and that our mutual friend the Crane is a kingly king.
He looks more like a clothes-pole!"
Marjorie was forced to laugh at Jerry's uncomplimentary comparison.
They had no further opportunity for conversation in the busy hour that
followed. Professor Harmon drilled them rigidly, his short hair
positively standing erect with energy, and they were quite ready to
gather their little band together and hurry off to Sargent's for rest
and ice cream when the rehearsal was at last over.
"See here, Connie, why don't you tell that Atwell man to mind his own
business," sputtered Jerry as the six girls walked down the street in
the direction of their favorite haunt.
"He _is_ minding his business," returned Constance ruefully. Her small
face was very pale and her blue eyes were strained and unhappy. "It is
my fault. But he makes me nervous, and then I can't act. When I am at
home I can say my lines just as I ought, but the minute he begins to
tell me what to do, everything goes wrong. Then he finds fault and
almost makes me cry. I wish I hadn't tried for a part. If it weren't so
late I'd resign from the cast."
"And let Mignon sing the Princess!" came from Muriel in deep disgust.
"Don't you do it," advised Susan. "That's precisely what she'd like you
to do."
"It's a plot between Mignon and Mr. Snapwell--I mean Atwell," declared
Jerry. "She's crazy to be the Princess and he is trying to help her
along. A blind man could see that."
"I think so, too," said Irma Linton slowly. "You must try not to mind
him, Connie, then you won't be nervous."
"Why don't you ask Laurie to interfere?" proposed Jerry. "He looked
crosser than I look when I'm mad when that Atwell man was worrying you
about your lines this afternoon. I'll ask him myself, if you say so."
"No." Constance shook her head. "I wouldn't for the world complain to
Laurie. He has enough to think of now, without bothering his head over
my troubles. I suppose I am too easily hurt. I must learn not to mind
such things, if ever I expect to become a real artist."
"That's the way you ought to feel, Connie," put in Marjorie's soft
voice. She had been thinking seriously, while the others talked, as to
what she might say to cheer up her disconsolate schoolmate. "You were
chosen to sing the part of the Princess, and I am sure no one else can
sing it half so well. Try to think that, all the time you are
rehearsing. Remember, Laurie believes in you, and so do we. When the
great night comes you won't have to listen to that horrid Mr. Atwell's
nagging, or say your lines over and over again. You will truly be the
Princess, and that will make you forget everything else. If you believe
in yourself, nothing can make you fail. For your own sake, don't think
for a minute of giving up the part."