She was indefinite of
outline still, in the sparse light of that cavernous place; and,
with a veil lifted just to the level of her brows, under a
shadowing black hat, not much was to be clearly discerned of her
except that she was small and pale and had bright eyes. But even
the two words she spoke proved the peculiar quality of her
voice: it was like the tremolo of a zither string; and at the
sound of it the actors on each side of her instinctively moved a
step back for a better view of her, while in his lurking place
old Tinker let his dry lips open a little, which was as near as
he ever came, nowadays, to a look of interest. He had noted that
this voice, sweet as rain, and vibrant, but not loud, was the
ordinary speaking voice of the understudy, and that her "I'm
here," had sounded, soft and clear, across the deep orchestra to
the last row in the house.
"Of course!" Packer cried. "There she is, Mr. Potter! There's
Miss--Miss--"
"Is her name 'Missmiss'?" the star demanded bitterly.
"No sir. I've forgotten it, just this moment, Mr. Potter, but
I've got it. I've got it right here.
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