Almost with the ceasing of tumult she was upon her feet again, her lips still white, her face drawn as if in pain.

Before the startled audience could awaken and realize the truth, she had commenced the speaking of her lines, forcing them into silence, into a hushed and breathless expectancy.
Winston sat leaning forward, his hand gripping the rail, staring at her.

But for that one slender figure the entire stage before him was a blank.

Suddenly he caught Craig by the arm.
"Who is that ?" he questioned, sharply.

"The one in the costume of a peasant girl ?" "Who is it?
Are you crazy?
Why, that 's Lizzie; read your programme, man.