Among the boarders at Mrs. Flint's were an old lady and her pretty
daughter, both actresses at a respectable theatre. Not stars by any
means, but good second-rate players, doing their work creditably and
earning an honest living. The mother had been kind to Christie in
offering advice, and sympathizing with her disappointments. The
daughter, a gay little lass, had taken Christie to the theatre
several times, there to behold her in all the gauzy glories that
surround the nymphs of spectacular romance.
To Christie this was a great delight, for, though she had pored over
her father's Shakespeare till she knew many scenes by heart, she had
never seen a play till Lucy led her into what seemed an enchanted
world. Her interest and admiration pleased the little actress, and
sundry lifts when she was hurried with her dresses made her grateful
to Christie.
The girl's despondent face, as she came in day after day from her
unsuccessful quest, told its own story, though she uttered no
complaint, and these friendly souls laid their heads together, eager
to help her in their own dramatic fashion.
"I've got it! I've got it! All hail to the queen!" was the cry that
one day startled Christie as she sat thinking anxiously, while
sewing mock-pearls on a crown for Mrs.
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