I told her I would. But I didn't just know what I was saying.
Think of Latimer there, Maggie, and think of our last meeting! It
made me tremble. Not that I fancied for a moment he'd betray me.
The man that helps you twice don't hurt you the third time. No,
it wasn't that; it was only that I longed to do well--well before
him, so that--

And then I found myself in an alcove off the parlors, separated
from them by heavy curtains. It was such a pretty little red
bower. Right behind me was the red of the Turkish drapery of a
cozy corner, and just as I took my place under the great
chandelier, the servants pulled the curtains apart and the lights
went out in the parlors.

In that minute I got it, Mag--yes, stage fright. Got it bad.
I suppose it was coming to me, but Lordy! I hadn't ever known
before what it was. I could see the black of the men's clothes in
the long parlors in front of me, and the white of the women's
necks and arms. There were soft ends of talk trailing after the
first silence, and everything was so strange that I seemed to
hear two men's voices which sounded familiar--Latimer's silken
voice, and another, a heavy, coarse bass, that was the last to be
quieted.

I fancied that when that last voice should stop I could begin,
but all at once my mind seemed to turn a somersault, and, instead
of looking out upon them, I seemed to be looking in on myself--to
see a white-faced little girl in a white dress, standing alone
under a blaze of light in a glare of red, gazing fearfully at
this queer, new audience.