Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the cloister.djvu/90

 at her, and we all three strolled out of the door and into the crisp, cold air. I wondered then, and I've often wondered since, how Sister Chrysostom felt at that moment. Of course we could not see her face under the veil, and she didn't speak. She took her place in the carriage without a word, and we followed her. The coachman had his orders from Grace, and the horses started off with a bound. It couldn't have been much more than five minutes before we were at the stage door of the Academy.

Here, too, Grace had fixed everything. That sister of mine is a treasure. She showed the doorkeeper a pass, and he let us in, and a very grimy boy led us along the dirtiest, darkest passage I've ever seen. Sister Chrysostom caught Grace's arm and said: "You will not leave me for a moment, will you? Do not permit us to be separated."

Grace promised. We both knew how the Sister felt. A sailor clinging to a life-line with the under-tow pulling him down would feel about the same way, I think. The grimy boy knocked at a grimy door and left us standing before it. A voice said, "Come in," and in we went.

I had always supposed that actresses had beautiful dressing-rooms, with soft carpets