Isabelle.
She paused at the top of the staircase. The sensations attributed to divers on spring-boards, leading ladies on opening nights, and lumpy, husky young men on the day of the Big Game, crowded through her. She should have descended to a burst of drums or a discordant blend of themes from “Thais” and “Carmen.” She had never been so curious about her appearance, she had never been so satisfied with it. She had been sixteen years old for six months.
“Isabelle!” called her cousin Sally from the doorway of the dressing-room.
“I’m ready.” She caught a slight lump of nervousness in her throat.
“I had to send back to the house for another pair of slippers. It’ll be just a minute.”
Isabelle started toward the dressing-room for a last peek in the mirror, but something decided her to sta
