Finally, it's the artful construction of the plot that leaves us feeling sympathetic toward Miss Brill. We are made to share her increasing excitement as she imagines that she is not only an observer but also a participant. No, we don't believe that the whole company will suddenly start singing and dancing, but we may feel that Miss Brill is on the verge of a more genuine kind of self-acceptance: her role in life is a minor one, but she has a role all the same. Our perspective of the scene is different from Miss Brill's, but her enthusiasm is contagious and we are led to expect something momentous when the two-star players appear. The letdown is terrible. These giggling, thoughtless adolescents ( themselves putting on an act for each other) have insulted her fur--the emblem of her identity. So Miss Brill has no role to play after all. In Mansfield's carefully controlled and understated conclusion, Miss Brill packs herself away in her "little, dark room." We sympathize with her not because "the truth hurts," but because she has been denied the simple truth that she does, indeed, have a role to play in life.