But Hilda didn't.
Tonight it was "A Kiss for Cinderella"--! The very name had been
enough to set Jean's cheeks burning and her eyes shining.
"Do you remember, Daddy, that I was six when I first saw her, and she's
as young as ever?"
"Younger." It was at such moments that the Doctor was at his best.
The youth in him matched the youth in his daughter. They were boy and
girl together.
And now the girl on the stage, whose undying youth made her the
interpreter of dreams for those who would never grow up, wove her magic
spells of tears and laughter.
It was not until the first satisfying act was over that Jean drew a
long breath and looked about her.
The house was packed. The old theater with its painted curtain had
nothing modern to recommend it. But to Jean's mind it could not have
been improved. She wanted not one thing changed. For years and years
she had sat in her favorite seat in the seventh row of the parquet and
had loved the golden proscenium arch, the painted goddesses, the red
velvet hangings--she had thrilled to the voice and gesture of the
artists who had played to please her.
Pages:
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35