And something held it open in spite of me.
No--no, Mag, it wasn't a man. It was a memory. It rose up there and
hit me right over the heart--the memory of Nancy Olden's happiness the
first time she'd come in this very door, feeling that she actually had
a right to use a stage: entrance, feeling that she belonged,
she--Nancy--to this wonderland of the stage!
You must never tell Tom, Mag, promise! He wouldn't see. He couldn't
understand. I couldn't make him know what I felt any more than I'd
dare tell him what I did.