Pside down. Then she pawed it over. Then she went back to the contents
of the first two boxes, clawing about among the limp garments with which
the table was strewn. She was breathing quickly. Suddenly: "It isn't
here!" she cried. "It isn't here!" She turned and flew to the stairway.
The voices of the men came up to her. She leaned far over the railing.
"McCabe! McCabe!" "Yeh? What do you want?" "The black velvet dress! The
black velvet dress! It isn't there." "Oh, yeh. That's all right. Haddon,
she's got a bug about that dress, and she says she wants to take it to
London with her, to use on the opening night. She says if she wears a
new one that first night, the play'll be a failure. Some temperament,
that girl, since she's got to be a star!" Josie stood clutching the
railing of the stairway. Her disappointment was so bitter that she could
not weep. She felt cheated, outraged. She was frightened at the
intensity of her own sensations. "She might have let me have it," she
said aloud in the dim half light of the hallway. "She's got everything
else in the world. She might have let me have that." Then she went back
into the big, bright sewing room. "Splendour" ran three years in London.
During those three years she saw Sid Hahn only three or four times. He
spent much of his time abroad. Whenever opportunity pr