"Then you--"

"No," he said, and went back to the beginning. "I have come--I
wanted to come--I wished to say that I wi--" He put forth a
manful effort which made him master of the speech he had
planned. "I want to thank you for the way you play your part.
What I wrote seemed dry stuff, but when you act it, why, then,
it seems to be--beautiful!"

"Oh! Do you think so?" she cried, her eyes bedewing ineffably.
"Do you think so?"

"Oh--I--oh!--" He got no further, and, although a stranger to
the context of this conversation might have supposed him to be
speaking of a celebrated commonwealth, Mother of Presidents, his
meaning was sufficiently clear to Wanda Malone.

"You're lovely to me," she said, wiping her eyes. "Lovely! I'll
never forget it! I'll never forget anything that's happened to
me all this beautiful, beautiful week!"

The little kerchief she had lifted to her eyes was wet with
tears not of the stage. "It seems so foolish!" she said bravely.
"It's because I'm so happy! Everything has come all at once,
this week. I'd never been in New York before in my life. Doesn't
that seem funny for a girl that's been on the stage ever since
she left school? And now I am here, all at once I get this
beautiful part you've written, and you tell me you like it--and
Mr. Potter says he likes it. Oh! Mr. Potter's just beautiful to
me! Don't you think Mr. Potter's wonderful, Mr. Canby?"