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By JANET REID
tentatively, "Suppose, in this game, you should be temporarily worsted, meet with defeats, disappointments, what effect would it have? What would you do?"
"I'd get up and go at it again," she said. "I'd fight."
She would.
It began, this determination of hers to be an individual via the stage, at the age of four, when, posturing before her mirror, she would "make believe" at being a nun, a fairy queen, a carnival girl, a ragged boy, and it has never wavered, save for the fact that where it began by being the speaking stage it is now, unalterably, the screen.
I asked her what she would do if the speaking stage presented itself as an oppor
"All my life hat been • prolog to this one thing, this career," the aaid. "I have builded and builded for this thing and no other. The one thing I have greatly wanted it to be an individual, to be remembered. I believe that I ahall be." Above, a new portrait; center, in a Texat flower field, and below, in a character pote
lunity and she said she would stick to pictures. She does not believe in dividing one's allegiance. "I believe in doing one thing," she said, "and doing it well. Concentration is everything, on an idea, on a career." She added : "AH my ife has been a prolog to this ont thing, this career. I have builded and builded for
this thing and no other. The one thing I have greatly wanted is to be an individual, to be remembered. I believe that I shall be."
"What do you consider your especial qualifications?" I asked. 'Self-belief. I suppose," she said, consideringly; "I have never credited myself with any superlative beauty nor the drama of a Bernhardt, and yet, if you know what I mean, I feel my own potentialities for both. I believe in the limitlessness of the individual will."
This last was said with a modesty and withal a conviction, a certain poised purpose fulness not to be gainsaid. I said, wonderingly. because of her surface fragility, her youth and belying fairness, "How did you come by this self-confidence of yours?"
"My ancestors," she said. "We are Irish, on both sides, and pioneers. That is one reason. The other is the way I was brought up. Really, I owe everything that I am or ever will be to my mother. My will was never broken. I was allowed, always, to express myself, to feel that I could and must, and I responded, and did. My mother and I have been pals, just two girls together, and always together. I ha*ve hardly ever had a girl friend, nor ever felt the need of one. We talk everything over, we read (Continued on page 104)
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