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- white-space: nowrap; - word-spacing: normal; - margin-left: 0; - float: left; - width: 0; - } - p.dropcap:first-letter {float: left; } -} - /* XML end ]]>*/ - - - h1.pg { font-size: 190%; - letter-spacing: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - word-spacing: 0em; - clear: both; } - h2.pg { font-size: 135%; - font-weight: bold; - word-spacing: 0em; - clear: both; } - h3.pg { font-size: 110%; - letter-spacing: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - word-spacing: 0em; - clear: both; } - h4 { text-align: center; - clear: both; } - hr.full { width: 100%; - margin-top: 3em; - margin-bottom: 0em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - height: 4px; - border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ - border-style: solid; - border-color: #000000; - clear: both; } -</style> -</head> -<body> -<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook, Footlights, by Rita Weiman</h1> -<p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you are not -located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this ebook.</p> -<p>Title: Footlights</p> -<p>Author: Rita Weiman</p> -<p>Release Date: December 18, 2019 [eBook #60950]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOOTLIGHTS***</p> -<p> </p> -<h4>E-text prepared by Tim Lindell, David Wilson,<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br /> - from page images generously made available by<br /> - Internet Archive<br /> - (<a href="https://archive.org">https://archive.org</a>)</h4> -<p> </p> -<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> - <tr> - <td valign="top"> - Note: - </td> - <td> - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - <a href="https://archive.org/details/footlights00weim"> - https://archive.org/details/footlights00weim</a> - </td> - </tr> -</table> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p> </p> - -<div class="halftitle"> -<p class="fakeh2"><a name="png.001" id="png.001" href="#png.001"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>i<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>FOOTLIGHTS</p> - -</div> - - -<div class="titlepage"> -<div class="titlepage2"> - -<h1 title="Footlights"><a name="png.003" id="png.003" href="#png.003"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>iii<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>FOOTLIGHTS</h1> - -<p class="author"><small class="allsc">BY</small><br - />RITA WEIMAN</p> - -<img src="images/device.jpg" alt="[Publisher’s Device]" /> - -<p class="pub">NEW YORK<br - />DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY<br - /><small>1923</small></p> - -</div> -</div> - -<div class="verso"> -<p><small class="smc"><a name="png.004" id="png.004" href="#png.004"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>iv<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>Copyright, 1919, 1920, 1921, 1922<br - />By RITA WEIMAN</small></p> - -<p><small class="allsc">PRINTED IN U. S. A.</small></p> - - -</div> - -<div class="dedication"> -<p class="sprd"><a name="png.005" id="png.005" href="#png.005"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>v<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a><i>To</i><br - />MY MOTHER</p> - -<p><i>on whose love and influence<br - />the curtain will never fall.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="toc"> -<h2 title="Contents"><a name="png.007" id="png.007" href="#png.007"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>vii<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CONTENTS</h2> - - -<table summary="Table of Contents"> -<tr><th class="dots"> </th><th class="pg">PAGE</th></tr> -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="dotz"><span class="text"><a href="#png.009">The Curtain Rises</a></span></p></td> - <td class="pg"><a href="#png.009">ix</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="dotz"><span class="text"><a href="#png.013">Footlights</a></span></p></td> - <td class="pg"><a href="#png.013">3</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="dotz"><span class="text"><a href="#png.077">Madame Peacock</a></span></p></td> - <td class="pg"><a href="#png.077">67</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="dotz"><span class="text"><a href="#png.137">Grease-Paint</a></span></p></td> - <td class="pg"><a href="#png.137">127</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="dotz"><span class="text"><a href="#png.179">The Back Drop</a></span></p></td> - <td class="pg"><a href="#png.179">169</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="dotz"><span class="text"><a href="#png.229">Two Masters</a></span></p></td> - <td class="pg"><a href="#png.229">219</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="dotz"><span class="text"><a href="#png.259">Up Stage</a></span></p></td> - <td class="pg"><a href="#png.259">249</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="dotz"><span class="text"><a href="#png.299">Curtain!</a></span></p></td> - <td class="pg"><a href="#png.299">289</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="dotz"><span class="text"><a href="#png.351">The Curtain Falls</a></span></p></td> - <td class="pg"><a href="#png.351">341</a></td></tr> -<tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr><!-- TN: this is solely to stop Kindle applying "enhanced typesetting" --> -</table> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h2 title="The Curtain Rises"><a name="png.009" id="png.009" href="#png.009"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>ix<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>THE CURTAIN RISES</h2> - - -<p>Arched like the dome of heaven, illumined with a glow -not brilliant but warm and intimate, carpeted with velvet -that gives gently to the tread of many feet, the air -vaguely scented with a perfume that has no name, row -upon row of wide, soft-armed chairs facing a curtain that -falls in long, mysterious folds—silent, expectant, tantalizing, -inviting—a world all its own—THE THEATER.</p> - -<p>Behind that curtain—the same world bounded by brick -walls. Scenery with act numbers scrawled in charcoal -across its back being shoved into place, hustling property -men, frantic stage manager, nervous director giving last -minute husky orders, anxiously repeated lines and cues, -the final touches of make-up, restive feet striding dressing-room -floors. There is the murmur of hushed voices, -its excited undercurrent like a rising chant, the tremulo -of uncertainty, the eager activity of that suspended -moment of waiting for the curtain to lift.</p> - -<p>Actors and audience—they must for a few brief hours -change places if this world made for forgetfulness, this -house of dreams is to realize its unwritten law:—“Abandon -care, all ye who enter here:” The spirit of -the theater lays magic fingers over tired eyes. The -audience steps across the footlights and becomes the -actor, throbs to his emotions, sheds his tears, tingles with -his laughter. The actor must step across the footlights -and become the audience, feel his pulse beat, sense his -pleasure or disapproval, know his reaction.</p> - -<p><a name="png.010" id="png.010" href="#png.010"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>x<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>And in proportion to the measure with which each becomes -the other, the enthusiasm with which the audience -acts, the keenness with which the actor observes, the play -lives. The house of dreams is alight! But if either -should fail—and if one fail, it is because the other does—then -the play is phantom. A stalking ghost walks the -boards. The house of dreams goes dark!</p> - -</div> - -<div class="sect"> -<h2 title="Footlights"><a name="png.011" id="png.011" href="#png.011"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>1<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>FOOTLIGHTS</h2> - -<h3 title="Satire"><i>SATIRE</i></h3> - -<p>The Romance of yesterday is the Satire of to-morrow. -Juliet to-day would be a lovesick flapper. We’d regard with -tongue in cheek her moonings to the moon. There is such -a fine line between the smile of sympathy and the smile of -sophistication, that the author confesses she is still in doubt -which the heroine of “Footlights” will call forth—if either.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h2 title=""><a name="png.013" id="png.013" href="#png.013"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>3<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>FOOTLIGHTS</h2> - - - - -<h3 title="Chapter I">CHAPTER I</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">Have</span> you ever been in a small town, small time -vaudeville house? Well, even if you have, and -could live through it, you’ve probably never seen that -mysterious region known as “backstage.” You’ve never -heard warped boards creak under the lightest step. -You’ve never stood in the wings waiting for your turn, -trying to escape the draught that is everywhere, shivering -but afraid to sneeze. You’ve never dodged misdirected -tobacco juice. You’ve never endured the composite -odors only a one time “opery-house,” sometime -warehouse, another time stable, can produce. You’ve -never done your three a day, rain, shine or blizzard, then -rushed to catch a local with oil lamps swinging weirdly -overhead and a jerky halt at every peach tree. But -most of all, if you’re a woman, you’ve never known what -it is to sit weeping in a pea-green walled dressing-room -because you chose to do the darn thing yourself and -won’t go back home and admit you’re beaten.</p> - -<p>If any one of these experiences had been yours, you’d -probably walk straight into the pea-green dressing-room -referred to, pat Elizabeth Parsons on the shoulder and -say, “I’m with you, old girl! It’s a black, black world. -No sunshine anywhere! Never was, never will be!”</p> - -<p>As it happened, those in her world at the moment were -not of her world. They were a hardened lot, with hands -ready to dig down and share a copper with a pal, with -glib greeting in their own peculiar patois as they swung -<a name="png.014" id="png.014" href="#png.014"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>4<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>through the stage entrance, but inured to creaking boards, -to combined odors, to oaths and tobacco juice and icy -currents that gripped more sensitive shoulders like the -hand of death. Life had handed them a deal that wasn’t -exactly square, perhaps. Almost any of them would -have been a knock-out on Broadway! But they had -reached the point where emotion, as well as indignation, -expressed itself in shrugs.</p> - -<p>They could snore peacefully in a swaying day-coach, -dreaming of the hour when the flower of success would -spring up by the wayside. So Elizabeth Parsons wept -alone. Her make-up boxes reeled in every direction as -her head went down in their midst. Her hands, pressed -against her lips, tried to still the sobs she knew were -cowardly. Her body shook with that least beautiful of -human emotions, self-pity, and she wished she were dead.</p> - -<p>A gale of sleet and snow tore against her little alley -window. It rattled the single pane furiously. It forced -its way through cracks and dripped into pools of water -on the stone floor. It blurred the already dull electric -globes round her dressing-table with a dank mist and -soaked a chill into her bones. But it had nothing whatever -to do with her tears. They were the result of an -accumulation of misery and loneliness, and finally the -receipt of a wire from her booking agent advising her -that her route had been changed. For the next three -days she must play her own home town.</p> - -<p>It was the crowning humiliation! She had endured -the disappointment of all the rest of it; but to go back -to the barnlike old theater in Main Street, wedged between -movies and tinsel acrobats, was too much. To -<a name="png.015" id="png.015" href="#png.015"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>5<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>hear the wagging tongues and see the wagging heads of -those who had warned her two years ago that New York -was a pit of the devil; to let them see that even his -satanic majesty had let her sink into oblivion, was more -than she could bear.</p> - -<p>From the stage at the foot of the iron stairs came a -crashing chord and the voice of Jack Halloran, “The Funniest -Man in the World,” singing a nasal travesty:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div>“Oh, Rigoletto—give me a stiletto!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Elizabeth raised her head, mopped away the tears, and -rearranged her make-up. Her turn was next but one.</p> - -<p class="poster">“BETTY PARSONS—FAMOUS IMITATOR OF<br - />FAMOUS STARS<br - />STRAIGHT FROM BROADWAY.”</p> - -<p>So proclaimed the announcements that accompanied -her pictures outside the theater. They always made -Elizabeth smile. She had certainly come from Broadway—straight.</p> - -<p>She brushed back her soft brown hair, pinned a towel -round it, laid on a layer of grease-paint. A supply -was needed to blot out traces of the last bad half hour. -She beaded the lashes, penciled black shadows under -them that made her gray eyes look green, and carmined -her lips so that the slightly austere New England lines of -them softened into luscious curves.</p> - -<p>In the midst of transforming a primrose into an orchid, -and with thoughts still fastened on the dreaded to-morrow, -she did not hear the knock on her door. It was -<a name="png.016" id="png.016" href="#png.016"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>6<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>repeated. Turning, she saw a white square of paper -shoved through the crack. She picked it up wonderingly. -Communications from any one but her agent were almost -unknown quantities.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p class="noindent">Dear Lizzie Parsons (she read),</p> - -<p>I’m outside of the door waiting to come in and say -hello.</p> - -<p class="sig"><span class="yours">Your old friend,</span><br - /><span class="smc">Lou Seabury</span>.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>In spite of her dread, in spite of her determination to -die rather than face home folks, she dropped her powder -puff, made one bound for the door, flung it wide.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Rigoletti—give me a yard of spaghetti,” warbled -Halloran from below.</p> - -<p>With a little checked cry, Elizabeth reached out both -hands. A plump, pink cheeked young man took -them and somewhat diffidently stepped into the little -square of room. But Elizabeth clung to him shamelessly -and her voice caught when she tried to speak. He was -the first link between two years of loneliness and the -yesterdays of happy childhood.</p> - -<p>“Lou,” came at last, “Lou Seabury!”</p> - -<p>“I got a nerve, haven’t I,—walkin’ in on you like this?”</p> - -<p>His pink face flushed a deeper pink as she pulled the -chair from the dressing-table, thrust him into it, and -stood looking down. “You’re just an angel from heaven, -that’s what you are! How ever in the world did you -find me?”</p> - -<p>“I came over here yesterday to look at some threshin’ -machines. Scott Brothers are sellin’ out and Dad got -<a name="png.017" id="png.017" href="#png.017"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>7<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>word they’re lettin’ their stuff go dirt cheap, so he sent me -to take a squint. By Jiminy, I almost dropped dead -when I went past the theater this afternoon and saw your -picture. Maybe I didn’t go right up to the girl in the -ticket box and tell her I was an old friend of yours!”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth’s tongue went into her cheek. “And what -did she say?”</p> - -<p>“Asked why I didn’t come in to see you perform to-night -and I said I would. But first I made up my mind -I’d let you know I was here. Say—what is it you do?”</p> - -<p>“Imitations.”</p> - -<p>“Who do you imitate?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Ethel Barrymore and Elsie Janis and Eddie Foy -and George Cohan and Nazimova—” She reeled off a -list, most of them strange to him.</p> - -<p>“I’ll bet you’re great. Gee—Lizzie—but you’re -pretty.” His round face went scarlet as the words -popped out and he shifted uneasily under the loose ill-fitting -coat that hung from his broad shoulders.</p> - -<p>She met his wide-eyed admiration with a smile. “It’s -the paint, Lou.”</p> - -<p>“No, sirree! You always were pretty. I used to -watch you sittin’ beside me in the choir, and when you -threw back your head and sort of closed your eyes to sing, -I didn’t wonder Sam Goodwin was crazy about you.”</p> - -<p>“Is he still organist at the First Presbyterian?”</p> - -<p>“Yep.”</p> - -<p>“And are you still in the choir?”</p> - -<p>“Yep.” His boyish brown eyes dropped. His plump -hands twisted the brim of his wide slouch hat. “Guess -that’s the most I’ll ever amount to.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.018" id="png.018" href="#png.018"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>8<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“But that beautiful voice of yours—it’s a sin!”</p> - -<p>“My Dad don’t think so. Gimcracks, he calls it. I -asked him once to give me enough to get it trained,” the -eyes lifted with a twinkle, “and I never asked him again.”</p> - -<p>She patted his arm sympathetically. “He wouldn’t -understand—of course.”</p> - -<p>“Gee, I wish I had your sand, Lizzie! To break away—and -make good.”</p> - -<p>She turned swiftly to the mirror, picked up the discarded -puff, dabbed some powder on her nose, then carefully -rouged her nostrils. And if a tear smudged into the -shadow under her eye, he didn’t notice it.</p> - -<p>He watched her fascinated, every move, every -practiced touch to her make-up. She had unpinned the -towel and her hair fluffed like a golden brown halo round -her small, mobile face. And catching his rapt expression -in the mirror, it flashed over her that to him she did represent -success. The mere fact that she had broken the -chains of New England tradition, that she had crossed -the rubicon of the footlights, put her on a plane apart.</p> - -<p>Somehow the look in his nice eyes, of wonder, of envy, -of homage—the look she had so often worn when from a -fifty cent seat in the gallery she had studied the methods -of the stars she impersonated—gave her new courage. -To-night<!-- TN: original lacks hyphen; added for consistency --> she would not go through her ten minutes listlessly -with just one idea uppermost—to get her theater -trunk packed in a rush so that she might snatch a few -hours’ sleep before making the train in the dull gray -dawn. To-night she would be sure at least of an audience -of one, of interest and enthusiasm and a thrill of -<a name="png.019" id="png.019" href="#png.019"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>9<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>excitement—and these she would merit. She would do -her turn for Lou Seabury in a way he’d never forget.</p> - -<p>She drew a stool from under the dressing-table, sat -down and plied him with hurried questions about the -folks at home. He gave her the latest news, little intimate -bits that mean nothing but are so dear to one who -knows no fireside but the battered washstand and cracked -basin of a third-rate hotel room.</p> - -<p>Grand’pa Terwilliger, seventy-nine, was keeping -company with the widow Bonser but was scared to marry -her for fear folks would talk. Grace Perkins had a new -baby. Stanley Perkins had married a stenographer in -Boston and bought a flivver. He, Lou, had bought a -victrola for fifteen dollars second-hand and had some -crackerjack opera records for it. She ought to hear -them!</p> - -<p>When finally she sent him round to the front of the -house and hurried down the ugly iron steps, her low-heeled -white slippers touched them with an eager lightness -they had not known for months.</p> - -<p>The curtain was rung down on a one-act sketch. A -placard announced “Miss Betty Parsons—in her Famous -Imitations.”</p> - -<p>With a dazzling smile, Elizabeth sallied forth, cane in -hand singing, “I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy.”</p> - -<p>Through her repertoire she went, changing like a -chameleon from the bland grin and strut of Eddie Foy -to the crumpled pleading and out-flung hands of Nazimova -in “The Doll’s House.” She plunged into Nora’s -final scene with her husband:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p><a name="png.020" id="png.020" href="#png.020"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>10<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>... “When your terror was over—not for what threatened -me, but for yourself ... then it seemed to me—as -though nothing had happened. I was your lark again, your -doll just as before—whom you would take twice as much -care of in future, because she was so weak and fragile. -Torwald—in that moment it burst upon me that I had been -living here these eight years with a strange man.... Oh, -I can’t bear to think of it! I could <em>tear</em> myself to pieces!”</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>The greater part of the audience had never heard of -the Russian actress, knew less of the Scandinavian author. -But the sob in the voice of the frail little girl on -the stage, the anguish in her face got them by the throat.</p> - -<p>There was a spontaneous burst of applause that held -for a moment while Betty bowed, glance straying into -the misty auditorium, heart fluttering with a gratification -it had not known since the Grand Central spilled her into -the bewildering maze that is New York.</p> - -<p>She swung quickly into ragtime after that, the drawling -syncopation and rolling step of a black-face comedian, -and as a conclusion gave them Elsie Janis in one of the -songs from her latest Broadway success.</p> - -<p>They brought her back several times. She threw them -a final kiss, disappeared into the wings and whisked -up the stairs. Lou was going to see the show to its finish, -then call for her. He was sure they could persuade the -proprietor of the hotel where she was staying to fix up -a little supper of sandwiches and milk.</p> - -<p>She slipped out of her white dress and into a dark one, -folded the former in layers of tissue paper and laid it in -the top trunk tray, stuffing stockings into the corners to -keep it in place. She gathered together her make-up, -<a name="png.021" id="png.021" href="#png.021"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>11<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>packed it into a tin box. To-morrow another pea-green -dressing-room, or perhaps, saffron-yellow. The week following, -one of chalk-blue. And so on, ad infinitum. -Of such her infinite variety!</p> - -<p>A knock came at the door. She glanced at the gold -watch which had been her grandmother’s. Ten-fifteen. -Lou had probably tired of the show.</p> - -<p>Pulling on her black velvet tarn, she called gaily—“Come -in!”</p> - -<p>A mellow voice answered interrogatively, “Miss Parsons?”</p> - -<p>It was then she wheeled about. Standing framed in -the doorway was a tall man with a cloud of black hair -sweeping from a white forehead and a pair of intense -dark eyes. Elizabeth knew him instantly.</p> - -<p>No mistaking that face and long, lean figure.</p> - -<p>She drew a bewildered hand across a bewildered brow. -In the doorway of her dressing-room stood Oswald Kane, -famous New York theatrical producer!</p> - -<p>She made no attempt at speech, just stared at him.</p> - -<p>He smiled. “You expected some one else, I see. May -I come in?” And as she nodded, “You know me?”</p> - -<p>She nodded again, indicated the chair and sank onto -the low stool. She couldn’t have stood another instant.</p> - -<p>“You’re wondering, of course, why I am here,” the low -musical voice went on.</p> - -<p>“Y-yes.”</p> - -<p>“I’m very much interested in your work, Miss Parsons. -I have come to see it three times—last night and -twice to-day. Until to-night, however, I was not quite -sure of you. There was a listless quality. Had any one, -<a name="png.022" id="png.022" href="#png.022"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>12<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>perhaps, informed you that I was in front to-night?”</p> - -<p>“If any one had, I’d probably have died of nervousness.”</p> - -<p>He smiled again, ran a hand through his heavy hair, -pushing it back from his forehead, and leaned forward. -“You seem to be a very talented little girl. No technique, -of course. You have the A B C’s of that to -learn. But you have a flexible voice and expressive -face, and you showed in that Nazimova bit emotional -possibilities. Your reproduction of her tone and accent -were really excellent.”</p> - -<p>“Th—thank you,” came with difficulty.</p> - -<p>“Of course, I have no proof that you can act. Even -if you can, it will require infinite patience and training -to make an actress of you. But I could do it, I believe.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth gulped.</p> - -<p>He shook back his shock of hair. His burrowing eyes -narrowed. His fingers hesitatingly played with the thin -watch chain that spanned his high waistcoat. “The -majority of actresses on the American stage are mere -mummers. Those I have made are artistes. But in order -to accomplish this, they have given themselves into -my hands—absolutely. I have taken girls out of the -chorus and made stars of them in the drama—not because -they were lovely to look at, or quick or clever, but -because I have worked hard with them, with infinite patience -developed their personalities, injected into them -the inspiration that is Oswald Kane.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>“Of course there must be ability or I would not waste -my time. I must be sure the seed is there to be nursed -<a name="png.023" id="png.023" href="#png.023"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>13<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>into a beautiful flower. But first and foremost, the actress -I train must obliterate self. She must become so -much clay for me to model. She must accept my direction -without question. She must obey as a soldier obeys -his commanding officer.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” sighed Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>“I see you now not as you are, but as what I can make -of you. No two of my stars are alike. Each has distinct -and startling personality. That is why the American -public looks to me for sensations. Not one is the actress -she was when I discovered her. They are, one and all, -Oswald Kane creations.” He leaned back, still studying -her.</p> - -<p>Elizabeth felt a sea of eyes upon her in a gaze of hypnosis. -She stared back like one in a trance.</p> - -<p>He sat for a long moment silent. Then the low, quiet -voice went on, richly vibrant as the tones of a cello.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I think I might do something with you. That -Nazimova bit showed promise. But it will require training -and patience—infinite patience. You will have to -work hard without complaint, hours over one line, weeks -over one short scene. And no recognition, perhaps, for -some years to come. You must not consider mundane -things. Money must count for nothing. I cannot think -of money in connection with my art. You must never -grow tired or disgruntled. Above all, you must not question. -And in the end, a great artiste, my child,—a great -artiste.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth nodded mechanically. She felt like screaming.</p> - -<p>He got up slowly as if still uncertain, moved into a -<a name="png.024" id="png.024" href="#png.024"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>14<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>corner of the little room, eyes still upon her. “Will you -take off your hat and smooth down your hair. I must -see your features at close range.”</p> - -<p>With fingers that trembled and stiffened, she pulled off -her tam, combed back her fluffy brown hair and breathlessly -lifted her profile to the light. It was, as he had -said, a face not beautiful, but malleable to mood as wax, -with gray eyes set wide apart, a short nose, full sensitive -red lips, deep-cleft chin and swift change of expression -that was almost a change of feature. And there was in -her slim figure with its soft suggestion of curve, the magnetism -of youth, the flame of enduring energy.</p> - -<p>He moved finally toward the door.</p> - -<p>“You will take the 11:18 to-night to New York, cancel -all bookings, and I shall expect you at my theater to-morrow -at noon.”</p> - -<p>Elizabeth found her voice at last. “If you knew how -many, many times I’ve gone to your office, Mr. Kane, -and begged on my knees for just one little word with -you!”</p> - -<p>He smiled once more, that charming, somewhat deprecatory -smile of his. “That is not my way of engaging -artistes. I must seek them, not they me. I never see -those who come to my office, unless I have sent for them. -No, my way is to haunt out-of-the-way places. Railroad -stations, unknown stock theaters, cheap theatrical hotels, -vaudeville houses like this. There, occasionally, I -find my flower among the weeds. And when I do, I pluck -it to transplant in my own garden. If I discover one a -year, I ask no more.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.025" id="png.025" href="#png.025"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>15<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -A sob broke in Elizabeth’s throat. “Oh, Mr. Kane—I—I’m -so proud—and so—so grateful.”</p> - -<p>He took her trembling hand, patted it with his own -rather soft, artistic one. “You must prove a good pupil, -that is all. Remember—no mention of this when you go -to cancel your booking—no mention of my name to any -one. For a time we must keep the agreement to ourselves. -Until you have my permission, the fact that you -have come under my management is to remain absolutely -unknown to any but ourselves.”</p> - -<p>She looked up at him wonderingly, “Anything you -wish, of course.”</p> - -<p>He dropped her hand, ran his fingers once more -through the dark thatch that persistently fell over his -eyes. “I must have absolute faith in you, little girl,—and -you in Oswald Kane.”</p> - -<p>“I—I have.”</p> - -<p>“That is as it should be. To-morrow, then, at noon.”</p> - -<p>He was gone.</p> - -<p>In less than twenty minutes, after the manner of such -happenings, a miracle had been wrought.</p> - -<p>Elizabeth stood dazed an instant. Then she stumbled -to the window, flung up the sash and leaned out to drink -in the gale-slashed air with deep convulsive breaths.</p> - -<p>“Oh God,” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks, -“help me to make good. Help me—help me!”</p> - -<p>And so it happened that on a biting day in January, -1917, at the stroke of twelve, Elizabeth Parsons, aged -twenty-three, entered the sanctum sanctorum of Oswald -Kane, was handed a pen by his business manager and -<a name="png.026" id="png.026" href="#png.026"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>16<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>forthwith signed away five years of her life with an option -on the next five, at the rate of fifty dollars per week -for the first two years, one hundred for the third, and -one hundred and fifty for each year following.</p> - -<p>But just then Elizabeth would have signed away her -whole life for nothing.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter II"><a name="png.027" id="png.027" href="#png.027"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>17<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER II</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">On</span> a brilliant night in January, 1920, under the -sponsorship of Oswald Kane, Mme. Lisa Parsinova -made her bow to an expectant New York public.</p> - -<p>For a long time, almost a year to be exact, Mr. Kane -had been letting fall gentle hints of his discovery of a -rare Russian genius, driven by the war to these shores. -He was having her instructed in English, the story went, -and once equal to the exigencies of emotional acting in -a strange tongue, she would be presented by him to an -American public which could not fail to be entranced by -her great art. All this had been revealed in various interviews, -bit by bit—a word here, a phrase there, a subtle -suggestion elsewhere. At first he had not given out -her name, had been gradually prevailed upon to do so, -and by the time he announced the date of her première<!-- TN: original reads "premiére" -->, -“Mme. Lisa Parsinova” was on the lips of all that eager -theater-going throng alert for a new sensation.</p> - -<p>Stories of a cloudy past had already gone the rounds, -vaguely suggested by Mr. Kane’s press representative, not -through the medium of the press. There were tales of -her startling beauty, her lovers, her temper. But so far -no one had been permitted even a glimpse of her.</p> - -<p>So that when she made her appearance the opening -night, the gasp of thrilled admiration that met her was -very genuine. The play was “The Temptress”—Oriental -in atmosphere, written for her by Kane and a young -collaborator whose name didn’t particularly matter. The -<a name="png.028" id="png.028" href="#png.028"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>18<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>plot was not by any means unconventional, that of a -slave of early Egypt wreaking revenge through the ages -upon the descendants of the master, who, because she refused -to yield to him, threw her to the crocodiles.</p> - -<p>The first act, a prologue, took place on a flagged terrace -of a palace by the slow-flowing Nile. As the curtain -rose, faint zephyrs of incense wafted outward, a misty -aroma. The terrace glistened under a golden moon with -still stars piercing a sky of emerald. The tinkle of -some far-off languorous instrument sounded soft against -the night. And waiting, his lustful gaze on the marble -steps, sat the master.</p> - -<p>Slowly, the slave descended. Sullen and silent, she -slunk forward, like some halting panther in the night.</p> - -<p>Her body gleamed, golden as the moon, sinuous and -satiny under the transparent cestus. Her bare feet -moved noiselessly, every step one of infinite grace. She -came forward, eyes brooding, and stood half shrinking, -half defiant before the long stone bench where sat her -master. Suddenly she raised her head, tossed back her -short black hair and faced him.</p> - -<p>As by a signal, opera-glasses went up, a sigh of pleasure -went through the house. The audience waited. -She opened her lips and her voice, low and liquid, flowed -out, thrilling through their veins. The thick contralto -of it, the fascinating foreign accent, completely captivated -them.</p> - -<p>He reached out, drew her toward him. One felt the -wave of terror seizing her. His big hands grasped her -shoulders. She gave a smothered cry and he laughed.</p> - -<p><a name="png.029" id="png.029" href="#png.029"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>19<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -She pleaded, then resisted, and finally, voice rising like -a viol with strings drawn taut, defied him, calling upon -the gods to save her for the man she loved.</p> - -<p>And all the while he laughed, a chuckling laugh full of -anticipation.</p> - -<p>At last his arms closed round the golden body, his lips -bent to hers. The sudden gleam of a tiny dagger, its -clatter as he caught her upraised arm,—and he flung her -from him, clapping his hands for the eunuchs who waited.</p> - -<p>With one swift word he condemned her.</p> - -<p>She crumpled at his feet. The black men lifted her. -She cried out in horror, a curse upon him and his through -all the ages.</p> - -<p>A long moan as they bore her away, a pause, a splash -against the silence, and the curtain descended.</p> - -<p>For a breath the house sat motionless. Then came a -surge of applause. But the curtain did not rise.</p> - -<p>Buzz of conversation met the upgoing lights. Only a -few, however, moved from their seats. Those who did -came together in the lobby and discussed the new star -with a wonder close to awe.</p> - -<p>“They sure can turn them out over there,” avowed -one seasoned first nighter. “Temperament, that’s the -answer, Slav temperament. No little cut and dried two-by-four -conventions to tie them down. They’ve got -something the American woman don’t know the first -thing about.”</p> - -<p>“Well, they know how to let go, for one thing!”</p> - -<p>The curtain rose on Act II, a modern drawing-room -in the London home of an English peer, member of -<a name="png.030" id="png.030" href="#png.030"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>20<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>Parliament, on the occasion of his thirty-ninth birthday. He -entered, big, handsome, with his little, clinging English -wife.</p> - -<p>There was revealed the fact that for generations the -oldest male of his line died before the age of forty, a -violent death. They married, there were children, and -always reaching the prime of manhood, they were cut -down. A curse upon his family it seemed to be and the -little wife trembled.</p> - -<p>Guests dropped in to tea. With them came the announcement -that a prominent barrister was bringing a -French authoress who had asked to meet their host. She -had heard him in the House of Lords. They spoke of her -beauty, her extraordinary personality.</p> - -<p>Then Mme. Parsinova appeared. In the brilliantly -lighted set, the audience had its first good look at her. -Slim, with a slenderness that made her seem tall, a mass -of pitch-black hair piled high on her small head, a pair -of burning eyes, dark and shadowed, creamy skin, a -short nose, deep-cleft chin, and scarlet lips full and mobile, -she seemed a living flame. She moved forward -with gliding step, her lizard-green velvet gown clinging -about her limbs, her sable cloak drooping from her shoulders. -And one felt at once, as her white hand, weighted -with a cabochon emerald, rested in his, the spell she -would weave about the insular and very British member -of Parliament.</p> - -<p>Not so insular at that, for it developed that in his -veins ran a strain, a very thin strain, of the blood of -Egypt.</p> - -<p><a name="png.031" id="png.031" href="#png.031"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>21<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -There followed the love story, obvious if you like, but -with the everlasting thrill and appeal of a great passion, -magnificently portrayed. For as the drama moved to its -climax, the spirit of the slave which through the ages had -visited its will upon the family of its master, found itself -captive. The French woman fell madly in love with her -victim and in the end gave her life that the curse might -be lifted and his saved.</p> - -<p>In the climactic love scene at the end of Act III when -passion tore from her lips, an onrushing tide, the beautiful -voice ran a crescendo of emotion that was almost -song. Its strange accent stirred and fascinated. Its -abandon was that of a soul giving all, sweeping aside like -an avalanche law, thought, ultimate penalty.</p> - -<p>And still at the curtain, when the house rang with demands -for her, Parsinova did not appear. Oswald Kane -made his accustomed speech, coming before the purple -velvet curtain to tell his audience in his usual reticent -manner how deeply he appreciated their reception of -the genius he had discovered. He thanked them—he -thanked them—he thanked them. He raised a graceful -hand, pushed back his weight of hair and slipped into the -wings while the house resounded once more with clapping -hands and stamping feet, and a full fifteen minutes -elapsed before the play could go on.</p> - -<p>All through the final act sounded the low note of -tragedy, the realization that she who for centuries had -ruthlessly taken toll must now once more be sacrificed -that the one who had become dearer than life might -endure.</p> - -<p>When the audience finally rose after another futile -<a name="png.032" id="png.032" href="#png.032"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>22<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>attempt to bring her out, the women’s eyes were red, the -men’s faces white. New York was undoubtedly taken -by storm. It had been more than a typical Kane first -night. It had been a Kane ovation.</p> - -<p>In the first row a man got to his feet as if shaking off -a spell. He was tall, very erect, almost rawboned, with -hair turning gray about the temples, a demanding jaw, -sharp straight nose and eyes that somehow seemed -younger than the rest of his face, younger than the bushy -black brows that mounted over them. They had caught -Parsinova’s gaze, those eyes, as it swept once or twice -over the audience. They had held it longer than was -fair to her.</p> - -<p>“Great, isn’t she, Rand?” His companion tapped his -arm as he stood gazing at the fallen curtain.</p> - -<p>“Paralyzing,” was the laconic reply. He wheeled about -and made his way up the aisle, followed by the other -man.</p> - -<p>Outside, close to the shadowy stage entrance, Oswald -Kane’s car, a royal blue limousine, and a curious throng -of bystanders waited.</p> - -<p>Inside, Oswald Kane himself begged the circle of those -privileged by wealth, position, influence, who clustered -round the door of the star’s dressing-room, to excuse -her for to-night. Madame was completely exhausted.</p> - -<p>When both crowds, tired of waiting, had dispersed -two figures hurried down the little alley that led to the -stage door and entered the limousine.</p> - -<p>The door slammed.</p> - -<p>The car rolled out and east toward Fifth Avenue.</p> - -<p>The man switched off the light that illumined the -<a name="png.033" id="png.033" href="#png.033"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>23<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>woman’s white face. Her dark-shadowed eyes were -burning with excitement. She leaned back, closing them, -and heaved a great sigh. He leaned forward, hair falling -over his eyes, echoed the sigh, and his hand shut tightly -round her ungloved one. With a tense, almost nervous -movement she drew it away, shrank imperceptibly into -her corner.</p> - -<p>“They are at your feet,” he whispered. “I have made -you.”</p> - -<p>She did not answer—merely opened her eyes and -looked at him and through the darkness, something like -tears glistened on the lashes.</p> - -<p>They drove on in silence. He recaptured her hand, -held it to his lips. She looked away.</p> - -<p>The car drew up before a modest apartment building -in a side street. He helped her out, entered with her, -and the elevator swung them upward. He made a movement -for the key she took from her bag but she unlocked -the door and led the way into the foyer.</p> - -<p>Slowly he reached up, lifted the fur toque from her -black hair and the wrap from her shoulders, and his -touch lingered caressingly as he turned her toward -him.</p> - -<p>“You are my creation!” he told her. “Parsinova cannot -exist without me.”</p> - -<p>Into the throat of the great Russian actress with the -questionable past came a flutter of fear. Her lips quivered. -She gave a convulsive choking sound. Her eyes -raced the length of the hall as though she wanted to run -away, then went pleading up to his. He smiled down -into them, drew her firmly to him.</p> - -<p><a name="png.034" id="png.034" href="#png.034"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>24<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -With a swift, hysterical laugh, a twist of her body, she -was out of his arms and across the foyer.</p> - -<p>“Come,” she called.</p> - -<p>She opened a door at the other side. The gold flames -of a log fire played upon the face of the little gray-haired -woman in dusky silk who rose to greet her.</p> - -<p>“Mother,” said Parsinova, “kiss your child and thank -Mr. Kane. I think I’ve made a hit.”</p> - -<p>Oswald Kane watched with a frown as she held out her -arms adoringly to the little old woman.</p> - -<p>For over a year the little mother had had a way of -appearing in the background whenever he claimed the -few sentimental hours which should have been but small -acknowledgment of his new pupil’s debt to him.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter III"><a name="png.035" id="png.035" href="#png.035"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>25<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER III</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">Parsinova</span> instantly became the rage.</p> - -<p>She gave delicious interviews in which she misapplied -American slang in a way that made the press -chuckle. She spoke of the tragedy of Russia. She told -of her struggles there. She gave her impressions of the -American theater; American art; American fashions; the -energy of the American man; the vitality of the American -woman.</p> - -<p>“They do not give as we foreign women,” she said. -“They take. And so it is that they grow rich—in -beauty—and are forever young.”</p> - -<p>“But emotionally?” prompted the interviewer.</p> - -<p>“I have said—they are forever young. Emotionally—they -are children always.”</p> - -<p>This statement was followed by indignant protest from -American actresses and the sort of heated dramatic controversy -that delighted the soul of Oswald Kane.</p> - -<p>She received all reporters in her dressing-room at the -theater. If any one save Kane knew where she lived, no -one had ever crossed the sacred threshold.</p> - -<p>“I live two lives quite a-part,” she said. “One in my -home which is for me a-lone. And one in the theater -which is for my dear public.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Kane amplified this by stating that her hours at -home were spent in study. Others intimated that her -hours at home were given to some mysterious romance.</p> - -<p>In spite of which she was not a hermit. Society, with -<a name="png.036" id="png.036" href="#png.036"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>26<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>a capital S, sought the privilege of entertaining her. -Occasionally she accepted a dinner invitation—never on -any day but Sunday, however—or permitted a tea to -be given in her honor. She went nowhere during the -week.</p> - -<p>Her dressing-room was always fragrant with flowers. -Kane had had it done over when she took possession. -An alcove had been cut off for her make-up table, and the -orchid silken drapes, black rug, suspended lights and -carved chairs of the outer room gave it more the impression -of a salon. Here she held court. Here she read -the hysterical notes of matinée girls, the pleas of dilletanti -youth that she dine or sup with them, the tributes of -actors, the encomium of the world in general. Here, -every week or so, she went into tantrums, threatening to -kill her maid in a voice that caused the stage hands to -tremble, until Kane himself had to be called to calm her. -Here she smoked Russian cigarettes and looked over the -urgent invitations that piled mountain high upon the -bronze tray.</p> - -<p>It was only at home in a cretonne hung bedroom, furnished -with a rigid fourposter and dotted swiss curtains -through which sunlight flowed, that she wept and sometimes -felt lonely.</p> - -<p>She played of course to packed houses. The S. R. O. -sign was a common occurrence. More than once in that -same place in the front row, the footlights illumined the -face of the man whose intent gaze had fastened on hers -the opening night. He seemed never to tire of her art.</p> - -<p>Early in March Mrs. Collingwood Martin gave a reception -for her. Mrs. Julian van Ness Collingwood -<a name="png.037" id="png.037" href="#png.037"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>27<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>Martin flattered herself, with justification, that in her -wide old house facing Washington Square she maintained -the nearest approach to a salon that could be found this -side of Paris.</p> - -<p>Her high drawing-room brought together leading -spirits of the professional, business and diplomatic worlds, -and her gracefully tinted head was never troubled with -fear that the wrong ones might meet. All those on her -selected list were the right ones, each interested in what -the other represented. Many a little coup between the -artiste and the financier is consummated under the guise -of drinking a cup of tea or punch. And more than one -professional has amassed a neat little fortune by making -wide-eyed queries of the Wall Street man about his end of -the game.</p> - -<p>On the afternoon in question the rooms on the lower -floor were crowded with laughter, perfume, silks, jewels, -furs and the hum of animated voices.</p> - -<p>Bowls of early spring bloom, azaleas, jonquils, mammoth -daisies, stood on tables and at either side of the -arched doorway. A faint blue haze of cigarette smoke -hung overhead. Twilight had sifted through sunlight before -Parsinova appeared. She always came late.</p> - -<p>As she stood, a silhouette within the white arch between -the shining bowls of jonquils, there was a general -hush, then a forward movement. She was gowned -entirely in black—black lace trailing from her feet, a -black hat shadowing her face, and drooping from it to -curl against her shoulder, a black paradise. Black pearls -dangled from her ears and a strand of them about her -neck emphasized its whiteness.</p> - -<p><a name="png.038" id="png.038" href="#png.038"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>28<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Isn’t she wonderful? What personality—what atmosphere!”</p> - -<p>“There’s no one like her.”</p> - -<p>“She fairly oozes temperament.”</p> - -<p>“Absolutely startling!”</p> - -<p>“By Jove—these foreigners! Naughty but—er—so -promising, don’t you know!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Collingwood Martin bore her triumphantly to a -thronelike chair and presented the guests in turn.</p> - -<p>Parsinova’s manner was charming, a bit weary but gracious, -and her efforts to carry on a conversation in -colloquial English were excruciating.</p> - -<p>“That lit-tle French gentleman by the punch bowl,—I -fear he has on a biscuit,” she told the group of adorers.</p> - -<p>They looked puzzled. Then one of them flung back -his head with a laugh. “You mean he has a bun on.”</p> - -<p>“I shall never be right,” she sighed in the chorus of -laughter that followed.</p> - -<p>From the music-room came a clear tenor singing the -“Ave Maria.” Silence met the lifted voice and at the -final sobbing note, gentle applause.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Collingwood Martin swept toward her guest of -honor.</p> - -<p>“Darling,” she smiled with that touch of privileged intimacy -she loved to assume, “here is some one most anxious -to meet you. Let me present Signor Luigi Rogero -of the Metropolitan.”</p> - -<p>Parsinova looked up and out from under dropped lids. -Then she wondered whether any one saw the start she -gave. Facing her with lips bent to her outstretched hand -stood Lou Seabury.</p> - -<p><a name="png.039" id="png.039" href="#png.039"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>29<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -No mistaking him in spite of the close-fitting coat, -carefully waxed little mustache and black-ribboned -monocle! Due to a New York tailor’s art, his plump -figure had grown slimmer. In place of the loose disjointed -shamble of old home days, he bore himself with -consummate <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">savoir faire</i>. But the pink cheeks and kind -brown eyes were the same.</p> - -<p>Parsinova waited breathlessly for some sign of recognition. -None came. In perfect English he merely -voiced his satisfaction at the meeting and joined the -group about her chair. It was not until she rose to -leave and he craved the honor of escorting her to her car -that she met his gaze with curious question in her own. -But his eyes were blank so far as any subtle meaning -was concerned.</p> - -<p>He followed down the steps, helped her into the perfectly -appointed limousine. An impulse she made no -attempt to curb prompted her to ask if she could drive -him uptown. They had gone several blocks before either -spoke. Then very low came the words:—</p> - -<p>“Lizzie Parsons,—you’re a wonder!”</p> - -<p>Instinctively she looked about to make sure his -whisper had not been overheard. Then she gave a long, -smothered laugh and clutched his hand just as she had -that night in the three-a-day vaudeville theater.</p> - -<p>“Lou,” she breathed, “I’m so glad, so glad!”</p> - -<p>“Were you surprised to see me?”</p> - -<p>“Surprised? I almost died.” She gave a little gasp. -“Were you surprised to see me?”</p> - -<p>“Not a bit.”</p> - -<p>“You knew me then—at once?”</p> - -<p><a name="png.040" id="png.040" href="#png.040"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>30<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“I’ve known who you were ever since your opening. -I was there. Matter of fact, I have you to thank for the -brilliant idea that made me an Italian.”</p> - -<p>“Me?”</p> - -<p>“Yep.” He lapsed into the old lingo and she -closed her eyes with a beatific smile. “You don’t think -my brains would ever be equal to such an inspiration.”</p> - -<p>“Mine weren’t either. It was Oswald Kane’s.”</p> - -<p>“Nobody would ever guess that you’re anything but -Russian from the word go.”</p> - -<p>“You did.”</p> - -<p>“That was only because I’d known you. And even -then I mightn’t have been on if I hadn’t heard your imitations. -Do you remember that night?”</p> - -<p>“Do I remember it! That was the night that ‘made -me what I am to-day.’”</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>“I did my best to please you,” she went on, “and -Oswald Kane was in front and liked my act. He came -back afterward and arranged to sign me.”</p> - -<p>“So that was why you left me cold. I dated you for -supper and went round after the show, to find my bird -had flown. Believe me, I was the most disappointed -rube in town.”</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t have remembered my own name after -Kane saw me.”</p> - -<p>“Is that why you canned it?”</p> - -<p>She laughed then, her low, rich contralto. “That was -all his plan. I was as amazed when he told me about it -as if he’d asked me to change my skin. He’s never told -<a name="png.041" id="png.041" href="#png.041"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>31<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>me why he did it—he doesn’t trouble to tell you why. -But I suppose he thought the public needed a thrill, -something new, something different. And my impersonations -gave him the idea. I think I might have -made good if he had let me go on as just plain Parsons. -But of course, not half the hit that Parsinova has -made.”</p> - -<p>“They sure are crazy about you. I wondered often -how you were getting on.”</p> - -<p>“You didn’t guess that somebody was making a new -woman of me, did you?”</p> - -<p>His gaze, as it traveled from her dark-rimmed eyes -shadowed by the drooping hat, to the long white hands -and slim black-swathed body, held the same look of awe -it had worn the night he had seen her make up.</p> - -<p>“Lordy, girl!” he gasped. “How you must have -worked to accomplish it!”</p> - -<p>“Work!” came in a breath. “I worked like a galley -slave—never stopping, except for sleep. Even while I -ate I studied—Russian and French, and gesture and -movement. I even learned to eat herring. And all the -time he was teaching me to act. In four years—almost—I’ve -seen no one, talked to no one but him. I’ve had -to obliterate self completely. He has in reality created -Lisa Parsinova.”</p> - -<p>“He had to have the material to do it. The stuff was -there.”</p> - -<p>“But he is a genius, Lou. He knows his public just as -a magician knows his bag of tricks.”</p> - -<p>The traffic at Thirty-fourth Street halted them. They -spoke in whispers, and every now and then her eyes -<a name="png.042" id="png.042" href="#png.042"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>32<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>rested with a look of caution on the inexpressive back of -her chauffeur.</p> - -<p>“Do you think he can hear?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“’Course not.”</p> - -<p>“I have to be so careful.”</p> - -<p>She turned to him, eyes alight with interest as they -started on up the Avenue. “Tell me about yourself. -You’re another man, too.”</p> - -<p>“Dad died shortly after I saw you,” he explained. -“Apoplexy. And I thought of you, the break you had -made, the gamble you took. So I gathered together what -he left me, sold out to my brother Jim, and came to New -York to stake everything on that voice you took such -stock in. I went to Fernald and he thought he could do -something with it. I’ve been in training so to speak ever -since. And this season he got me the job with the -Metropolitan.”</p> - -<p>“If only I could hear you!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I haven’t done much—not yet. A few matinées -and one or two Saturday nights. Next year, though, -they’ve promised me a go at leads.”</p> - -<p>“I knew if ever you had the chance you’d prove yourself.”</p> - -<p>“I owe a great part of that chance to Randolph,—you -know, Hubert Randolph. He’s one of the directors of -the Metropolitan. I met him at Fernald’s studio last -winter and it was through him that Fernald pushed me. -He’s interested in you, by the way,—thinks you’re the -greatest actress of the century.”</p> - -<p>“The century is very young,” she smiled.</p> - -<p>“Well, Rand’s seen them all in the last fifteen or -<a name="png.043" id="png.043" href="#png.043"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>33<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>twenty years and knows what he’s talking about. -We were at your opening together and he said then you -were paralyzing.”</p> - -<p>“Did I do that to you, too?”</p> - -<p>“Paralyze me? Bet your life you did! When you -walked out on that stage and raised your head, a ramrod -went up my back. ‘That’s Lizzie Parsons,’ I said to myself, -‘or I’ll be shot.’ Then I thought I must be loony, -that when I’d see you in a better light without the short -wig, I’d laugh at my mistake. But in the second act I -knew I was right, in spite of the black hair—”</p> - -<p>“It’s dyed, Lou.” She made the confession haltingly. -“At first I didn’t want to. My hair seemed sort of part -of me—the color, I mean. But that’s just why he made -me do it; it was a question of personality, he said. I -begged him to let me wear a wig but he was afraid it -would be detected. And he was right, I dare say. He’s -always right.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you worry about the way it looks, either. You -used to be just pretty. Now you’re a beauty!”</p> - -<p>“Am I—really?” There was a childish earnestness in -the query.</p> - -<p>“Should have heard Randolph rave! Say, I’m dining -with him to-night. Why not come along? He’s crazy to -meet you and he won’t go to any of those society fandangles -to do it.”</p> - -<p>“Meet a stranger—with you around? Oh—I -couldn’t! I’d burst into straight English as naturally as -you burst into song. And that would ruin me.”</p> - -<p>He patted her hand and his kind brown eyes beamed. -“Nonsense! You’re too clever an actress for that.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.044" id="png.044" href="#png.044"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>34<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -There was something pathetic in the way she clung to -his handclasp. “It’s so good finding you this way. I -haven’t any friends—no one to whom I can actually talk. -With me it isn’t a case of acting behind the footlights. -I’m acting all the time, except when I’m alone.”</p> - -<p>“But it’s not acting any more—this Russian business, -is it?”</p> - -<p>“No—it’s myself, the greater part of self, I dare say. -But Lizzie Parsons isn’t all dead yet and I don’t want her -to die—” She blinked up at him. “Don’t make me cry, -please,—or the shadows will all come off my eyes.”</p> - -<p>His eyes took in the luxurious appointment of the car, -mauve enameled vanity apparatus on one side, smoking -outfit on the other, gilt vase with its spray of fresh orchids, -soft tan cushions and robe of fur. He gave her -a warming look of satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“I should say the exchange was all for the better. -You must be making a mint.”</p> - -<p>“One hundred and fifty a week.”</p> - -<p>“One hundred and fifty—?”</p> - -<p>“That’s my contract.”</p> - -<p>“But good Lord—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I made it with my eyes open. It extends over -the first five years—with an option on the next five.”</p> - -<p>“But all this—” He waved his arm, bewildered, -through the air.</p> - -<p>“All this he gives me—my clothes, my car and its upkeep, -my jewels, though they’re mostly paste, everything -except my home. I wouldn’t let him give me that.”</p> - -<p>He made an attempt to conceal the swift suspicion that -<a name="png.045" id="png.045" href="#png.045"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>35<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>would have clouded any man’s eyes. Instantly she saw -and answered it.</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t misunderstand! It’s purely a matter of -business. I’ve got to be equipped to play my part off -the stage and I don’t earn enough to do it on my own.”</p> - -<p>“Then why doesn’t he give you enough?”</p> - -<p>“I should probably grow too independent. This way -he holds the reins. That’s only supposition, of course. -I’ve never discussed it. One can’t discuss money with -Oswald Kane.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a damned outrage!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no it isn’t. He took a sporting chance. He -staked time and effort and money on a venture that -might have proved a hopeless failure. I had everything -to gain. And now that I’ve made good under his guidance, -it’s only fair that he should reap the harvest.”</p> - -<p>“Indefinitely?”</p> - -<p>“For six years to come, at any rate,—until my contract -expires.” She leaned back, eyes closed, and an -intensely weary look dropped the corners of her red, -mobile mouth.</p> - -<p>They drew near the park. She urged him to ride with -her a bit and they drove into the blue velvet dusk, past -the shimmer of lake curled among the bushes. The car -glided on swiftly through cool dark silence.</p> - -<p>“You haven’t told me yet how I inspired you to become -an Italian,” she prompted.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that—simple enough! Randolph remarked the -night of your première that there was an aura of romance -about artistes from the other side, particularly when they -<a name="png.046" id="png.046" href="#png.046"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>36<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>hailed from Southern Europe; sort of Oriental, you understand. -The next day I went to Fernald. ‘Can’t you -change me to something Italian?’ I said. ‘Seabury’s a -rotten name for an opera singer.’ Well, he did it. Of -course, I make no attempt at accent—I couldn’t handle -that job in conversation. But the people I’ve met don’t -look for it; they understand the fact that I was brought -up in England. All I have to be careful of is my grammar.”</p> - -<p>They laughed together. As her laugh bubbled -girlishly into the quiet night, she halted it with a swift -movement of hand to lips and once more sent that look -of caution at her chauffeur’s back.</p> - -<p>He reminded her of his dinner engagement with Randolph. -“He’s made up his mind to know you informally. -And that’s all he has to do to get what he wants. He’s a -human dynamo, that man. Never knew anybody with -his finger in so many pies and able to put over whatever -he tackles. Sooner or later you’re bound to meet him -in his own way. Might as well be to-night.”</p> - -<p>“What good would it do? He’ll never know me—the -real me.”</p> - -<p>“He’ll know a fascinating woman, any way you look at -it.”</p> - -<p>But she dropped him at the bachelor apartment on -Park Avenue in spite of his pleas.</p> - -<p>“Come and see me, Lou, often,” she murmured, giving -him her address as he stepped out of the car. “You -don’t know what a joy it is to play at being myself.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter IV"><a name="png.047" id="png.047" href="#png.047"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>37<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER IV</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">It</span> was inevitable that Parsinova should meet Hubert -Randolph, as Lou Seabury had prophesied. It was -not inevitable that he should prove to be the man whose -intent gaze had held hers from the first row. But when -one considers that Randolph had determined from the -moment he saw her to know her in an unprofessional -capacity, his accomplishment of that end was in the -natural order of things.</p> - -<p>Hubert Randolph was not a self-made man. He had -succeeded, made his name stand firm in the humming -world of finance, in spite of the handicap of having been -born to the purple. Early in his boyhood he had started -out to forget that he was a Hamilton Randolph and he -had been forgetting it satisfactorily ever since. At -Harvard he had become the pal of men who tutored in -their leisure hours, thereby improving his mind. Also, -he had never taken the trouble to inform them to which -particular Randolph family he belonged. It was unimportant. -He had spent a winter in a shack in Arizona, -partly for his health, but largely to familiarize himself -with the workings of a matrix mine in which the Randolphs -had an interest. He had chummed with the -miners, chewed tobacco and acquired a red-bronze that -had never quite worn off.</p> - -<p>He had climbed Pike’s Peak, had shot big game in the -Andes. And then he had come back to civilization and -taken a clerkship in the brokerage offices of Parker, -<a name="png.048" id="png.048" href="#png.048"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>38<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>Gaines and McCaffery, to study banking methods from -the bottom up.</p> - -<p>At thirty-eight, or it may have been thirty-nine, he -was an authority on banking, stood ace high in Washington, -and was known as a patron of the arts. The -Randolph family never understood why he had gone to -all that bother. It was so old, so distinguished, that to -have a member attempt to distinguish it further was almost -an insult. However, Rand, as he was known -among intimates, never troubled to consult the family -as to his movements. He saw as little of them as possible.</p> - -<p>“Don’t concern yourself about me,” he was in the habit -of telling his sister when she tried to propel him in the -direction of one of her parties. “I’m a hopeless sort of -devil who likes to choose his own friends.”</p> - -<p>Once she persuaded him to attend a tea and he appeared -with a youth in a shiny coat and cuffs that -separated from his shirt.</p> - -<p>“He’s a coming violinist,” he whispered. “I thought -you’d like him to play. But he’s hungry—give him -something to eat first.”</p> - -<p>She never attempted to persuade him after that.</p> - -<p>Parsinova met Hubert Randolph in a funny little restaurant -which years back had been a stable. It was conducted -by a group of painters for the benefit of a Disabled -Veteran’s Relief Fund all their own. He had arranged -the party for the Sunday following her meeting -with Seabury but it took her old friend another week to -convince her that she could carry it through.</p> - -<p>The occasion was not propitious. She had had a bad -<a name="png.049" id="png.049" href="#png.049"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>39<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>half hour that afternoon with Kane when he resented the -omnipresence of her mother.</p> - -<p>“She annoys me. She seems to be behind you like a -shadow. You must send her away! Some one is bound -to discover her.”</p> - -<p>“That is impossible. She goes nowhere, sees no one. -I shall keep her here.” Parsinova’s eyes glittered and -for a moment it seemed likely that a backstage tantrum -would be duplicated in fact.</p> - -<p>So that when she fastened the short black satin dress -up the front into a high collar under her ears and pulled -the brim of her black satin hat in a shading dip, it was in -a mood that omened no particularly cordial reception of -Mr. Hubert Randolph.</p> - -<p>Seabury called for her and Randolph met them in the -cobbled courtyard that led to their unique dining place. -In the dark she did not recognize him. But as they -stood in the doorway where an old lantern swung, she -stopped and peered at him.</p> - -<p>“I have seen you be-fore!”</p> - -<p>“Have you?”</p> - -<p>“Many times—in the firs’ row. And you look’ as if—you -like me.”</p> - -<p>“I do,” came promptly with a smile.</p> - -<p>“No—no,” her eyes gave him a piquant uptilt, “my -art, I mean to say. Me—you do not know.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to.”</p> - -<p>He led the way indoors. She glanced about and -her mood dissolved into a new interest. First the man, -then the charm of this quaint place. The stalls had -been left standing and in each a table was set. Over -<a name="png.050" id="png.050" href="#png.050"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>40<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>each from the beamed ceiling swung a lantern -similar to the one outside. There were no brilliant -lights, no noises of clinking glass and silver.</p> - -<p>She slid along the upholstered seat that lined the stall -to the place he indicated at the table’s head. The men -seated themselves at either side.</p> - -<p>“This is great, Rand,” remarked Seabury. “How is it -you never brought me here?”</p> - -<p>“I saved it for Madame. What does she think of -it?”</p> - -<p>“Fas-scinating. I feel quite like a thorough-bred -horse.” Then she looked at him gratefully. “And one -is not—on ex-hibition.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to exhibit you,” rejoined her host. -“You’ll find that out.”</p> - -<p>She did find it out in the weeks that followed. They -dined frequently at “The Mews,” sometimes with Seabury, -more often alone.</p> - -<p>At first she protested. She could not! But in the end -Randolph won out. They arrived always at six when the -place was practically empty and by seven-thirty she was -at the theater.</p> - -<p>As the weather turned warmer they drove occasionally -to the country and back in time for the performance. -She never permitted him to call for her but arranged to -meet him at the theater. They never went to conspicuous -hotels or restaurants. He seemed to enjoy -being with her away from the stare of the world. One -Sunday in April when they had planned to lunch at -an inn that dots the shore of the Hudson, he appeared -with two hampers and announced that they were -<a name="png.051" id="png.051" href="#png.051"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>41<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>going to picnic. They left the car at the top of a slope, -scrambled down and unpacked the baskets with the anticipation -of boy and girl off for a holiday. She pulled off -her hat with its floating veil and sat cross-legged on the -rug he had spread under a willow tree.</p> - -<p>Sitting there watching him, this man so intensely real, -so intensely himself, a sense of infinite sadness swept -over her. She wanted just for to-day to drop all sham. -Not that her pose was ever difficult. Like all affectation -used incessantly, she was no longer conscious of it. It -was herself. But in these rare days spent with Randolph -in the brimming sunlight, soft with young green things, -she wanted with a ridiculously hopeless yearning to let -him glimpse Elizabeth Parsons, the girl who would have -let her hair fly in the wind for sheer joy of springtime, -the girl who lived only in hidden moments.</p> - -<p>Sometimes she compromised by letting Parsinova express -Elizabeth’s thoughts, her ideals, separating the two -women only by the breadth of an accent. Often she -caught him looking at her curiously, as if trying to link -some simply expressed idea of living with the reputation -of the woman sitting opposite him. But more frequently -they were content to enjoy the moment, tramping through -the woods, discovering new sun-flecked trails, drinking -in the sweetness of April and companionship.</p> - -<p>He had suggested that he stop for her at her home but -she put him off with excuses, obvious and sometimes -lame.</p> - -<p>Once he reproached her.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you let me come to see you?”</p> - -<p>“You can—at any time you wish.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.052" id="png.052" href="#png.052"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>42<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Not at the theater. When I worship you, I like it to -be from the other side of the footlights.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! Then what is it you wish to do on this side?”</p> - -<p>“Adore you! And you haven’t even told me what -street you live in.”</p> - -<p>“Then it should be quite ea-sy. One adores that -which one knows least a-bout.”</p> - -<p>“In other words a man loves what he doesn’t understand -and likes what he does?”</p> - -<p>“That is ex-actly what I wish to say. Is it not -strange?—when a man wish’ to make a woman love him, -he say:—‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mon adorée</i>, you are such a my-stery to me.’ -And when a woman wish’ to make a man love her, she -tell him:—‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mon amour</i>, I understan’ you per-fec’ly.’”</p> - -<p>He gave a ringing laugh, then leaned across the table.</p> - -<p>“Your foreign men have a dozen ways of telling a -woman they want her love. We Americans, when we -care—the real thing—are awkward as boys and a little -afraid.”</p> - -<p>“A-fraid?” Parsinova’s eyes were wondering, while -Elizabeth Parsons’ soul cried out that she, too, could know -such fear. “But why?”</p> - -<p>“Less experience.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes laughed into his then. “The Latin in love is -an art-iste,—the American an art-i-san. Is that what -you wish to say?”</p> - - - -<p class="tb">“Have you ever heard that Ade classic?—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div>‘I never run from the man behind the gun,</div> -<div>Tho’ other chaps are cowards,</div> -<div class="i2"><span class="ns"> </span>As for me—not!</div> -<div>But my courage fades away,</div> -<div>And I don’t know what to say,<a name="png.053" id="png.053" href="#png.053"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>43<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a></div> -<div>When I meet the little girl</div> -<div class="i2"><span class="ns"> </span>Behind the tea-pot.’”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Me-not. Tea-pot,” she repeated with a frown of -concentration in which lurked a smile. “How ver-y -droll your classics are.”</p> - -<p>His rather severe mouth lifted with a whimsical twist. -“After all, it resolves itself into this—a man fears, not -what a woman is, but what she seems to be.”</p> - -<p>Parsinova met the steady gaze with a quick startled -look and bit her lip to keep it from quivering. But his -next words answered the unspoken question that for a -second shook her perfect poise.</p> - -<p>“I wonder—” he said slowly, “I wonder if you’re as -simple as you seem complex.”</p> - -<p>She did not reply at once, did not lift her eyes. They -wandered out through the wide window to the sheen of -river and hazy Palisades in the distance. Randolph had -driven her out to Longue Vue at the hour when the sun -slides lazily into soft spring shadows.</p> - -<p>“Why do you think me—as you say—com-plex?” -She lifted her eyes and the sun slanted across them. -Perhaps that was why he failed to give her a direct -answer.</p> - -<p>“Odd,” he observed, “I didn’t guess you had gray eyes. -They look so dark from the stage. They’re wonderful -eyes at close inspection, by the way.”</p> - -<p>“Are they, too,—com-plex?”</p> - -<p>“Full of secrets.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, but there you are wrong—quite wrong, my friend. -<a name="png.054" id="png.054" href="#png.054"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>44<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>Most of their life they ’ave given to study. What -secret’ could they possess?”</p> - -<p>She hated herself while she said it, hated Kane and the -stage and the success she had made. But most of all she -hated Elizabeth Parsons for allowing Parsinova to dominate -her. To this one man she wanted so devoutly to -reveal herself as she was. Ridiculous, of course, the -desire—for it was Parsinova who charmed him. That -was all too evident.</p> - -<p>The hours she loved best were those in which he told -her of his travels, his life in the West. In that she could -evince an interest that was sincere. She could picture -him in rough flannel shirt and corduroy trousers, hobnobbing -with the miners, one of them. He was the true -democrat, eager to learn first-hand instead of living by -proxy.</p> - -<p>She would draw him out, welcoming the opportunity -to be for the moment Elizabeth Parsons, if only as a -listener.</p> - -<p>When he left her at the theater that evening, he -startled her by saying abruptly:</p> - -<p>“I’m coming to dine with you next Sunday.”</p> - -<p>It was just as he helped her out of the car and she -stopped short, hand still in his. “You—are coming—?”</p> - -<p>“That’s it, in your home. Oh, I’ve found out where -you live. But I had a notion that I’d like you to tell -me.”</p> - -<p>“How—did you find out?”</p> - -<p>“Had you followed, perhaps. At any rate, you can’t -keep me away any longer.”</p> - -<p>“You—you must not come.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.055" id="png.055" href="#png.055"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>45<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -He regarded her closely, his thick brows coming together. -“Is there any particular reason why you shut -me out?”</p> - -<p>She remembered suddenly that her hand was still in his. -His tense grip was hurting her.</p> - -<p>“Please!” She made a futile effort to draw it away.</p> - -<p>“Is there?”</p> - -<p>“Many—reasons.” Her lips hesitated over the words.</p> - -<p>“Any one reason, I should say.”</p> - -<p>In spite of herself, she looked up at him. “No—one.”</p> - -<p>“Right, then. Sunday next.”</p> - -<p>He dropped her hand quickly, stepped back into the -car.</p> - -<p>The next three days she spent buying high-backed -cathedral chairs and carved tables and tabourets for her -living-room. Down came the cretonne hangings and up -went heavy purple velvet ones that shut out the blessed -light of day. She selected a black rug that made the -room look hideously somber and for the divan, gold cushions -weighted with tassels. When she finished, she -had consumed several months’ salary. But the transformation -was complete. Once more Elizabeth Parsons -was wiped off this mortal sphere. Soon no shadow would -be left of her, not even in the sacred nook she had saved -to call “home.”</p> - -<p>With an anxiety close to terror she waited for Hubert -Randolph. She was wearing white, soft, creamy, floating. -There ought, at least, be some spot of light in the -mysteriously shadowed room.</p> - -<p>He came at seven. She went to the door herself and -let him into the little foyer. His eyes were alight with -<a name="png.056" id="png.056" href="#png.056"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>46<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>eagerness. They had the look of a small boy’s bound -for a fishing trip on Sunday.</p> - -<p>He caught her hand. “You know how glad I am to -be here.”</p> - -<p>“You know,” she rejoined to her own surprise, “how I -am glad—for you to be here.”</p> - -<p>He followed into the living-room. “Odd,” he observed -almost to himself, “I’ve pictured it often—but not -like this. I’d an idea of light things—woman things -about you.”</p> - -<p>She could have laughed with sardonic glee at the -thought of how she had dragged down those light, woman -things and spent a small fortune to create another atmosphere.</p> - -<p>“But on the whole,” he proceeded speculatively, “these -are you, aren’t they?”</p> - -<p>“A woman is so man-y things—so man-y moods, I wish -to say—that there is no one room can express her.”</p> - -<p>Her apartment was in one of those modern houses -where dinner is cooked by a chef downstairs and sent up -via the dumbwaiter. To Parsinova this had proved a -convenience, saving as it did the necessity of curious -servants. To-night she had arranged for one of the -waiters from the restaurant below to serve them. But -in spite of him, noiselessly in the background, it was a -cozy, intimate little party that somehow brought them -closer than all their former dinners. The small table set -in a corner of the living-room, its glistening silver and -lacy feminine damask, the dishes she had herself ordered, -created a sense of home dangerous to the peace of mind -of an actress wedded to her art.</p> - -<p><a name="png.057" id="png.057" href="#png.057"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>47<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -To crown the illusion, when the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">café noir</i> had been -served and the waiter disappeared, Randolph pulled -a pipe from his pocket and asked if he might light it. -“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to smoke a -pipe with you.”</p> - -<p>“But I do not—smoke a pipe.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t interpret me so literally. A pipe means fireside, -something intimate and real. I’ve always thought -it would be nice, one of these days, to see your face -through pipe smoke. May I?”</p> - -<p>She nodded, curled on a cushion by the fire. It was a -rainy night. The logs whirred merrily. “Now—tell me -more about your won-der-ful West.” She lighted a -cigarette and listened, eyes partly closed, and a sweet -tranquillity bathed her soul.</p> - -<p>He pulled his chair closer. Unconsciously, perhaps, -her head dropped against the arm. If a moment later -she felt a hand lightly caress her hair, she gave no sign. -Parsinova fans would undoubtedly have been amazed at -the scene—the Russian actress curled like a kitten at -the foot of a man’s chair while he painted with broad -strokes pictures of prairie life.</p> - -<p>It was what he did just as he was leaving that -shattered her serenity like an explosion. They were -standing in the foyer and she had given him her hand -with her “Good-night,” when suddenly she was in his -arms. They closed round her, swept her to him and his -lips were on hers. For a long moment they stood so. -Then, without a word, he put her at arm’s length, held -her eyes with a look whose intensity she found impossible -to read. An instant later she was alone.</p> - -<p><a name="png.058" id="png.058" href="#png.058"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>48<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -But those few moments brought her up sharp. Hours -afterward she felt the vice of his arms gripping her, the -thrill of his kiss, and knew that she loved him. Subconsciously -she had known it a long time. But she had -never faced the issue. Content with a comradeship dear -to both Elizabeth Parsons and Lisa Parsinova, she had -drifted without any forward look, without taking count -of what payment the future might exact. And now the -hour had come. Elizabeth Parsons, who had never loved -before, loved Hubert Randolph. Hubert Randolph -loved Parsinova who, according to all report, had loved -many times and with not too much reserve. Long hours -she lay staring into the blank darkness of her room. Out -of it she could draw nothing but misery.</p> - -<p>Heretofore she had accepted Parsinova’s manufactured -past without question. Now it was a lurid -flame, flaring through the smoke of all reasoning, torturing -her—more real because it was unreal. Had it -been fact, there would be no problem. As things were, -it was the ghost at the banquet, a ghost of that which -had never been. And there was no solution! There -never would be!</p> - -<p>Elizabeth Parsons was New England. It was part of -her plan of life to marry when she loved. That was as -fundamental as the blood in her veins. The very intensity -of emotion of which she was capable was reëxpressed -in her intensity of adherence to the moral conduct generations -of upright-living ancestors had laid down for her. -From that there could be no swerving. It was part of -her.</p> - -<p>Throughout the dragging hours of that night she tried -<a name="png.059" id="png.059" href="#png.059"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>49<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>desperately to read into the embrace of the man who had -taken her love, some interpretation other than the obvious. -And suddenly it came to her that even granted he -might possibly be willing to give her his name, it was impossible -for her to accept it. He did not know Elizabeth -Parsons—would not, if he did, evince the slightest -interest in her. It was the Russian actress he adored, -the woman she was not. If he wanted her and she -dared to marry him, she would have to live day and night -a lie she could not—and what was more, would not—carry -through. In love she would have to be herself. -Brilliant as was her Slav rendering of it on the stage, in -life she was just an American girl who wanted to live it -with all her soul. When he took Parsinova in his arms, -he would be holding Lizzie Parsons. The sophisticated -Russian lips against his would be giving him New England -kisses. Well—not quite that! But one certainty -she must face. To the man who had fallen in love with -the Russian actress, the American girl would mean less -than nothing. She hated her! In the confusion of her -soul she did not know which hated the other more.</p> - -<p>Had there been any doubt in her mind as to the hopelessness -of her situation, Oswald Kane himself pounded -the last nail in the coffin a few days later. A chatty little -sheet given to imparting information about important -people had got wind of Randolph’s devotion. It announced -subtly that the walls the Russian actress had -built up between herself and American men had evidently -been shattered by one who heretofore had evinced but -slight interest in the beauties of his own set. It hinted -at their runs in his car out of New York and wondered -<a name="png.060" id="png.060" href="#png.060"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>50<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>amiably whether he intended converting his bungalow up -Westchester way into a dovecote.</p> - -<p>The day it appeared on the news-stands Oswald Kane -paid her an early visit. For the first time she saw him -with his smooth exterior ruffled. It was a matinée day -and she was having an eleven o’clock breakfast when he -arrived. A note from Randolph asking why she had refused -to see him the day before lay on the table beside -her plate. She looked tired and her eyes needed no artificial -shadows.</p> - -<p>Kane came into the room, then turned and stared at -the new furnishings.</p> - -<p>“Do you like it?” she asked. “I’ve had it done over.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“I thought it safe—in case any one should find me out -and drop in.”</p> - -<p>“Some one has found you out.” He handed her the -society sheet, open at the pointed paragraph that concerned -her.</p> - -<p>“I should like to know,” he began, his mellow voice -going sharp, “who the man is.”</p> - -<p>She hastily slipped Randolph’s note into the pocket of -her dress. “I should like to be able to tell you.”</p> - -<p>“You mean he does not exist.”</p> - -<p>“I mean that if he did, it would be quite my own affair, -wouldn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“No. If you play a dangerous game and lose, Oswald -Kane loses with you. If any man discovers the truth -about you, it means your professional death as well as -mine.”</p> - -<p>“You need never worry—about that.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.061" id="png.061" href="#png.061"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>51<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Whether it was the hopeless note in her voice or the -look in her eyes, his voice softened. He went close to -her.</p> - -<p>“There is just one,” he whispered, “who knows you as -you are. Lisa Parsinova has the right to no man’s love -but Oswald Kane’s. Forget those New England prejudices!”</p> - -<p>She dropped quickly into a chair. “Lisa Parsinova -has the right to no man’s love <em>at all</em>.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes closed. Her voice went on monotonously.</p> - -<p>“You see, I’ve thought it all out. I’ve swamped the -girl I was and it’s as final as if I’d killed her. One of -these days, perhaps—when my contract with you has -been filled—Parsinova will sail back to Russia or be -drowned or something, and out of her ashes will rise a -spinster named Lizzie Parsons who doesn’t really matter, -who’ll just pass out—alone. But until then you are -quite safe. Only—please—never speak again of—of -loving me.”</p> - -<p>Kane bowed. “You are a great artiste, in spite of -that. And at least you cannot deny me the joy of the -creator.”</p> - -<p>“I shall never forget what you’ve done for me. I shall -never betray you in any way.”</p> - -<p>She kept her word to the letter. Had she followed -inclination she would have gone through her performances -mechanically. A numbness had taken hold of her, -of utter misery, utter futility. But her work did not fall -off in brilliance. Particularly in the love scenes and in -the final tragic sacrifice, did her beautiful voice shake -with a suffering so intense that it was real.</p> - -<p><a name="png.062" id="png.062" href="#png.062"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>52<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Randolph she saw several times a week in his accustomed -place in the first row. But his efforts to see -her she ignored. A scene with him would be unbearable, -leading as it must nowhere. So she left his notes unanswered, -knowing he would eventually conclude that his -passion the night of their last meeting had been unwelcome, -that she was choosing the simplest means of -telling him so. He wrote at first anxiously, then demandingly, -and when she failed to answer—stopped. -When the notes ceased to come she felt more miserably -alone than ever in her life, reaching back into the past for -their hours together as groping thoughts reach for -memories of the dead.</p> - -<p>She grew thin as a rail and her pallor was no longer -creamy. It was dead white, with unbecoming lines -traced from nose to mouth. Seabury remarked the -change and suggested that she needed a change of air.</p> - -<p>“You’ve been working too hard and you show it. -When does your season close?”</p> - -<p>“Sometime in June.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you get Kane to let you off the end of this -month?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to be let off. I’d like to play all -summer.”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord, it would kill you!”</p> - -<p>“It will kill me if I don’t work.”</p> - -<p>“Look here!” He went over to her chair, looked at -her closely. “What’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>He had dropped in to tea at her apartment. She was -seated behind the copper samovar, white face emphasized -<a name="png.063" id="png.063" href="#png.063"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>53<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>against the dark hangings, fingers moving restlessly -among the tea things.</p> - -<p>“Something’s wrong,” he persisted as she did not -answer. “What is it?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, a million things,—a million little things that don’t -count.”</p> - -<p>“Looks to me if it was one big thing that does.” -He drew her out of the chair—toward the window. -“Come on—’fess up to papa!”</p> - -<p>“Well, for one thing—” she bit her lip, woman-wise -trying in her own soul to veer away from the big issue by -concentrating on a lesser. “My mother’s blackmailing -me.”</p> - -<p>“Your—what?”</p> - -<p>She looked up, met his stare of dismay. “The little -old lady you see around here sometimes.”</p> - -<p>“I thought she was a maid. Look here—I don’t -understand. You—why, Lizzie Parsons, you’ve been an -orphan for years!”</p> - -<p>“I know I have. But I had to have some one—mother -preferred—to protect me.”</p> - -<p>“I see—” A light dawned.</p> - -<p>“So I engaged her. She looked the part and seemed -a gentle, pathetic soul—and now she’s blackmailing me.”</p> - -<p>He grinned in spite of the seriousness of it. “Is she -likely ever to squeal?”</p> - -<p>“Not as long as I give her all the money she wants. -But it’s getting on my nerves. She makes my life miserable -by threatening to take my story to the newspapers.”</p> - -<p>“Next time she does it, send for me and I’ll bully her -<a name="png.064" id="png.064" href="#png.064"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>54<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>into keeping quiet.” He made a move toward the door. -“Is she here? I’ll do it now.”</p> - -<p>“No—no!” She stopped him. “Let well enough -alone.”</p> - -<p>He took her hand. “Poor kid, you are in a mess!”</p> - -<p>“I’ve committed suicide, Lou,” she said abruptly.</p> - -<p>He looked at her silently, then shook his head. “What -else is bothering you?”</p> - -<p>“What—what makes you ask that?”</p> - -<p>“A blackmailing mama might make you look tired and -worried but she wouldn’t put all that sorrow into your -eyes. Why, you look like Isolde—by Jove, that’s it! -Love stuff!”</p> - -<p>“How absurd!” She looked away. “Whom could I -be in love with?”</p> - -<p>“Not with me, that’s a sure thing. Though, of course -you know I’m in love with you.”</p> - -<p>“Lou—!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t worry. I know I haven’t a chance. But I -care enough to be darned upset by your condition. Now, -come along, let papa fix things for you.”</p> - -<p>“They can’t be fixed, Lou, ever. When you’ve chosen -to be two people in one, you’ve got to stand up and take -the consequences if God ordains that two’s company and -three’s a crowd.” She gave him a smile, whimsical but -without mirth. “Have you ever heard that saying: ‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Je -suis ce que je suis, mais je ne suis pas ce que je suis?</i>’”</p> - -<p>Seabury’s brow wrinkled. “I sing French. I don’t -speak it.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a play on verbs: ‘I am what I am, but I am not -what I follow,’” she translated. “Well, that’s me!”</p> - -<p><a name="png.065" id="png.065" href="#png.065"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>55<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -He tried to persuade her to give him her confidence but -she smiled and told him there was nothing further to -confide.</p> - -<p>A few weeks later just before her season closed, he -asked what plans she had made for the summer. Kane -was arranging to send her on tour with “The Temptress” -before opening in New York in a play being written -for her. She would have July and part of August to -rest.</p> - -<p>“I shall stay in town,” she told him, “and study.”</p> - -<p>He protested vehemently.</p> - -<p>“No use, Lou! I couldn’t bear being among -people and this is the best place to hide away. Besides, -there’s my mother to consider. I can’t risk having her -run loose in New York without me.”</p> - -<p>“But you must rest!”</p> - -<p>“I must keep going, with as much work as I can manage.”</p> - -<p>He bent over her, his kind brown eyes troubled.</p> - -<p>“You’ll kill yourself.”</p> - -<p>“On the contrary, I wish that I weren’t so intensely -alive.” Then she smiled and patted his shoulder. -“Don’t worry about Lisa Parsinova. She’s in fine -shape.”</p> - -<p>“But Lizzie Parsons?” he put in.</p> - -<p>“She doesn’t count.”</p> - -<p>“Seen Rand lately?” he asked casually as he got up to -go.</p> - -<p>“A number of times.” She had seen him only too -frequently from the far side of the footlights. “Have -you?”</p> - -<p><a name="png.066" id="png.066" href="#png.066"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>56<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“No. He’s busy. Getting ready to go to Arizona. -But of course you know about that.”</p> - -<p>“Y—yes. Has he told you when he leaves?”</p> - -<p>“Tuesday of next week. May be gone a year. Don’t -know why.”</p> - -<p>She turned her back to the light so that her face was -blurred and misty and he could not read its expression. -“Do you—do you think he looks quite well?” she -prompted, eager for some news, any news of him.</p> - -<p>“Well, it struck me he looked a bit seedy last time I -saw him—not just up to the mark, that is. Probably -spring fever. How does he impress you?”</p> - -<p>“I—I hadn’t noticed any change.”</p> - -<p>When he had gone, she picked up the calendar on her -desk and stared at the day and date. Friday! By this -time next week, a stretch of continent would rush between -her and Hubert Randolph. She shrugged her shoulders -with a short laugh. What mattered miles when worlds -stretched between them now!</p> - -<p>She went into her bedroom, locked the door. Lizzie -Parsons leaned close to her mirror, stared into it. The -white face and black-rimmed eyes of Lisa Parsinova -stared back. A frenzy seized her. She caught hold of -the first object her hand touched—a hair brush—and -flung it full force at the reflected face. The glass -splintered. Then she stepped back in trembling terror. -Good heavens! Was she actually becoming that -Russian fiend?</p> - -<p>On Monday night her gaze wandered instinctively -toward Hubert’s accustomed place in the orchestra. He -<a name="png.067" id="png.067" href="#png.067"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>57<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>was not there. Of course she had expected that, but -she would have liked just one more look at him. -Women have a strange way of wanting that which tortures -them.</p> - -<p>After the final curtain Kane appeared in her dressing-room -and suggested that they take a drive up Riverside -and a bite of supper somewhere along the road. He -wanted to talk to her about the new play, about her route -for the coming season and a date for her New York opening. -His attitude had become thoroughly friendly and -businesslike. He was too much the artist to allow failure -in a lesser game to interfere with success in a greater.</p> - -<p>It was nearing one when they drove back through the -soft summer night. The air touched her face like velvet -but brought no drowsiness to her eyes, no balm to the -realization of blankness ahead—not of weeks or months, -but of years.</p> - -<p>With the passing of those years it was inevitable that -she become Parsinova—with nothing left of poor, defunct -Lizzie Parsons but the recollection of a love that had -touched her life like the moon on a summer sea.</p> - -<p>The Drive was still dotted with strolling couples oblivious -of passers-by. Cars sped past them, wheels expertly -manipulated by one hand. Mingled young laughter rang -out like bells.</p> - -<p>Kane’s rich voice flowed on, dwelling now on this, now -on that scene of the play. She listened absently, eyes -straying in a way that was absurd toward the magic of -a June night, the enviable good fortune of those who -could become part of it.</p> - -<p><a name="png.068" id="png.068" href="#png.068"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>58<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“I shall give you even greater opportunities than you -have had. I shall produce a piece of work that will be -epoch-making,” he told her.</p> - -<p>She told him how pleased she was.</p> - -<p>When they arrived at her apartment she asked him -not to trouble getting out of the car, and stood and -watched it swing round the corner. Then slowly she -turned and went indoors.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter V"><a name="png.069" id="png.069" href="#png.069"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>59<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER V</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">Parsinova</span> unlocked her door, stepped into the little -foyer and after an instant’s pause to take off hat -and dustcoat, crossed the hall to her living-room. Once -more cretonne hung in the doorway and slips of it covered -the furniture. Summer had served as sufficient excuse -to convert the place to its former simplicity. The -sight of cathedral chairs and gold cushions had for the -past few weeks depressed her to the point of mania. -More than once she wanted to tear them to bits.</p> - -<p>The dim light from the foyer sifted weirdly into the -dark, playing here and there like ghost hands lifting the -shadows. She felt her way toward the fireplace, dropped -to the floor, her head touching the chair arm, and stared -at the spot where in the flames she had visualized the -scenes he painted. It was blank now, just a vague -square full of darkness, but it gave her back his voice, -the sense of his strength, the caress of his arms. It sent -once more sifting upward the aroma of cloudy pipe smoke -through which he had wanted to see her face. Her eyes -closed. Almost she sensed him there in the magic of one -of those long silences that needed no words. Almost she -could feel his touch upon her hair, her longing made it -so real.</p> - -<p>Tears came hot under her lids, the first she had shed -since that night. They streamed shamelessly down her -cheeks and onto the sheer clinging dress. All pose—and -she had grown used to posing even to herself—slid from -<a name="png.070" id="png.070" href="#png.070"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>60<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>her. Her poise slipped with it. The great Parsinova -became just a lonely, huddled heap of a girl.</p> - -<p>She lay so, whispering his name shamelessly into the -darkness when suddenly it seemed that she was being -lifted and drawn into the big chair. It was like embarking -into some dreamland of her own making. She held -her breath, choked with the fear that she might shatter -it. The caress upon her hair, arms closing round her, lips -seeking hers! It was not until she had the actual sense -of a rough coat against her cheek that, galvanized with -terror, she started up and backed toward the floor lamp -that stood at one side of the fireplace.</p> - -<p>The soft light went up. Hubert Randolph was sitting -there! It was impossible of course! Slowly she went -toward him, reached out a hand, touched his arm.</p> - -<p>He laughed. “Oh, I’m real enough!”</p> - -<p>She forgot her accent. At that moment she could not -have assumed it even though the future, though life itself, -depended on it. “But how—how—”</p> - -<p>“I’ve been waiting for you since eleven-thirty,” he put -in, apparently not noticing the difference. “I concluded -I was entitled at least to a ‘good-by’ from the woman I -love.”</p> - -<p>She gazed at him silently a moment and then because -her heart and throat were full, she voiced a triviality. -“How did you get in?”</p> - -<p>“Your little old woman! I bribed her. I’d had an -idea I could go away without seeing you. Well, I -couldn’t, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>Her nerves were quivering like live things. She moved -<a name="png.071" id="png.071" href="#png.071"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>61<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>toward the couch, dropped on it. “I—” she said at -last haltingly—“I am not the woman you love.”</p> - -<p>He looked across at her.</p> - -<p>She went on without meeting his eyes. After the unconscious -revelation she had given him during those moments -when she thought herself alone, she could no more -have stopped the confession that came now than she could -have stopped her breath.</p> - -<p>“I am not any of the things you think me—not one -of them. I am not Russian—not foreign at all. I was -born in Vermont of American parents. Up to the time I -met Kane, my struggle for existence was in cheap vaudeville -houses, not in Moscow. I’ve never had any -lovers—”</p> - -<p>“Well,” came with a low chuckle, “no man could object -to that.”</p> - -<p>She looked up. Her eyes met his, amazed. “You -don’t understand. I am not Lisa Parsinova—there is -no such person. I am Lizzie Parsons and I’ve imposed -on you just as I’m imposing on the American public.”</p> - -<p>“The American public asks chiefly to be charmed and -interested. If you’re doing that for them, they don’t -care whether you’re Yankee or Hindustani.”</p> - -<p>She continued to stare at him, in bewildered fashion -striving to interpret his nonchalance. “You—you can’t -possibly understand,” she breathed at last. “Aren’t -you surprised?”</p> - -<p>“Not in the least. You see, I’ve been Kane’s backer -for years. I was with him in the vaudeville house the -<a name="png.072" id="png.072" href="#png.072"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>62<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>night he first saw you. As a matter of fact, I was the one -who suggested to him that you’d be a winner on Broadway. -Of course the foreign stuff was his. Any number -of times I’ve watched him work with you from an adjoining -room. You don’t know what pride I’ve felt in your -success.”</p> - -<p>“Then why, all these months, have you let me believe -you were being fooled?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I hadn’t exactly taken count of the fact that -I was going to love you. And when the blow came I -realized that if I’d been lucky enough to make you care -anything for me, you couldn’t go on acting to me. You’d -have to tell me—and I wanted you to, because you -couldn’t help it. That night when I had you in my arms, -I thought some sort of admission would come. When it -didn’t and you ignored all my attempts to see you, I -could only conclude I’d lost out.”</p> - -<p>“You didn’t guess—”</p> - -<p>“Not until to-night.”</p> - -<p>She still groped uncertainly, not able to fasten on any -one fact. “It was Kane, then, who told you where I -lived.”</p> - -<p>“No. Your little old woman here.”</p> - -<p>“My little old woman?”</p> - -<p>“She’s a canny soul. Must have found one of my -notes that you brought home from the theater or something -like that, because she looked me up one day and -offered to sell me some interesting information about you. -I paid her <em>not</em> to sell it and threatened her with jail if -she went to anybody else. Told her she was guilty of a -criminal offense that could send her up for twenty years. -<a name="png.073" id="png.073" href="#png.073"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>63<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>I think I made it strong enough to shut her up for the -rest of her days.”</p> - -<p>“She’s been collecting from me just the same straight -along.”</p> - -<p>He flung back his head. “I said she was canny. Before -I go West I’ll have another talk with her.”</p> - -<p>“You—you’re going to-morrow?”</p> - -<p>“No, I’m waiting over. You close Saturday night. -We’ll leave Sunday.”</p> - -<p>With the last words, he leaned forward. She took a -quick step toward the wide chair, then stopped abruptly.</p> - -<p>“But what am I to do with Parsinova?”</p> - -<p>He pulled out his pipe, reflectively examined it.</p> - -<p>“Think of the novelty—I’ll have two wives in one.”</p> - -<p>Her lips tightened.</p> - -<p>“No, you won’t! I’m going to take that woman out -on a lake this summer and capsize the boat—drown her! -And the body will never be found. Then I’m going to -let my hair go back to its own color! Which one of us -is it,” she added suddenly, “that you love?”</p> - -<p>He laid his pipe on the chair arm.</p> - -<p>“The little girl who called to me in the dark. Now -come back here, Lizzie Parsons, where you belong!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll always be jealous of that Russian devil!” she -warned him.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="sect"> -<h2 title="Madame Peacock"><a name="png.075" id="png.075" href="#png.075"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>65<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>MADAME PEACOCK</h2> - -<h3 title="Character Drama"><i>CHARACTER DRAMA</i></h3> - - -<p>The battle royal of all time is between character and circumstance. -The way we meet the experience that waits -for us round the corner is the eternal Comédie Humaine. -Success is the hole in the ground—the banana peel—the -stumbling block that may trip us up. It is as uncertain as -to-morrow.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h2 title=""><a name="png.077" id="png.077" href="#png.077"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>67<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>MADAME PEACOCK</h2> - - -<h3 title="Chapter I">CHAPTER I</h3> - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">Of</span> course that was not her name. No one knew just -how she had been christened—if at all. To a worshipful -public she was known as Jane Goring, which, as -names go, answered all purposes and was quite as simple -as she was ornate. But “Peacock” was the title of the -play in which she had made the season’s hit and a wave -of fads in honor of it had typhooned over New York in -consequence.</p> - -<p>There were perfumes with bottles far more valuable -than their contents on which strutted the iridescent -bird of beauty. There were soaps and powders and -sachets sold in green satin boxes similarly decorated and -similarly priced. Peacock feather fans swayed at dances -and the opera despite the age-old hoodoo. Beaded bags -were worked in the popular design. Dressmakers dictated -the spreading train. Blues and greens in every conceivably -odd shade were introduced as the new color. -The peacock coiffure<!-- TN: original reads "coiffeur" -->, originated by Goring, was imitated -by dowager and débutante, by movie star and chorus -queen, by the girl behind the counter even unto the cash -girl—hair drawn flat over the top of the head and puffed -out stiffly at the ears, the whole being completed by a -comb that jutted at right angles. In Goring’s mahogany -swirl, framing as it did a face rather broad at the cheek-bones -and tapering heart-shaped to the chin, an impertinent -nose and sleepy green-gray eyes that lifted at the -corners, the effect was startling. But the variegated -<a name="png.078" id="png.078" href="#png.078"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>68<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>types it crowned north, south and east of Broadway -would scarcely have inspired an artist to his best work.</p> - -<p>At the moment we make our bow to Jane Goring—for -Goring bowed to no one—she was on the top rung -of the ladder of success. Her head had reached the -clouds and was held accordingly. So that when she -looked at you, she always looked <em>down</em> at you. Which -made those whom she addressed feel infinitely small even -when they were tall, always excepting representatives -of the press. They found her always gracious, always -smiling with corners of eyes and lips lifted and a -look of wonder at their great kindness to her. Each -time she received them it was in some new and amazing -costume in one of the shades she had made popular, -with jangling jade or emeralds in her ears and green -lights darting from the comb in her hair. She spoke at -length of the arts and collected immense royalties from -candy boxes, silk advertisements and cold creams bearing -her name and endorsement.</p> - -<p>Somewhere in the dim and distant past her flaming head -and Jap-like eyes had graced the chorus. She had lived -in a hall bedroom; had been caught frying chops over -an alcohol stove; had been lectured by the landlady; -had found the milk frozen to her window sill on winter -mornings; had known the exquisite thrill of being raised -to a few lines of persiflage with the musical comedy’s -comedian. In those days a young newspaper man, Bob -McNaughton, had found her out, proclaimed her a genius, -and married her—not because of her genius, however, -but because he adored her. They had spent their -<a name="png.079" id="png.079" href="#png.079"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>69<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>honeymoon one Sunday on the Palisades, and he had kissed her -finger tips one by one and told her how he was going to -make her.</p> - -<p>“There’s Jefferson who has our dramatic column—I’ll -get him to give you a boost every now and then. He -stands in with a bunch of critics. He’ll drop a word -about you and they’re bound to take notice. You’ll see, -darling, what I’m going to do for you!”</p> - -<p>And she had put her vivid head on his shoulder and -gazed down at the shining river and murmured that she -didn’t care whether he did anything for her or not. She -loved him—she didn’t want anything in the world but -him.</p> - -<p>The hall bedroom had given place to the third-story -back, the frying chops to a French table d’hôte that -boasted a bottle of red ink with a sixty-cent dinner, and -Jane Goring was happy in the possession of a broad -shoulder to weep on when the latest step came hard or -the director asked casually if her legs were made of -leather.</p> - -<p>In the years that followed, the ardent young husband -had made good his promises. He had systematically -press-agented Goring with a sincerity and enthusiasm -born of love. Untiringly he had worked to bring her -first to managerial, then to public notice. And his efforts, -added to natural talent and a bizarre personality, had -hoisted her to the top rung heretofore mentioned. “Peacock” -marked the fourth season of her success.</p> - -<p>But long before that Bob McNaughton had awakened -one morning to find gray hairs threading his brown, and -<a name="png.080" id="png.080" href="#png.080"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>70<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>himself still a reporter—by no means a star one. He -had been so busy making her career that he had forgotten -to make his own.</p> - -<p>It was about this time that his wife left him. Not actually -left him, of course, for at that particular moment -Goring would not have stooped to anything so disturbing -as divorce. Waves of popular favor had begun to roll -smoothly up the beach of her ambition. But her temperament -demanded a home all her own. So they maintained -separate apartments—had done so for several -years—his a room and bath in a downtown bachelor hotel, -hers a nine room and three-bath duplex in an uptown -studio building.</p> - -<p>In the beginning they had seen each other occasionally. -But each time they met, Bob seemed to have grown -grayer. Whether this fact was a reminder that her own -hair, left to itself, might show the same tendency, or -whether it was just the look in his eyes—the same look -they had worn that Sunday on the Palisades—seeing him -began to tell on her nerves.</p> - -<p>More and more she denied herself to him until he -became more of a stranger in her beautiful rooms than -the flock of tame robins who pecked out of her hand at -afternoon tea.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, few of Goring’s vast throng of -admirers even guessed there was a husband in the offing. -Women persistently married her off to her handsome -leading man, and more than one young millionaire -about town ecstatically visualized her presiding at his dinner -table.</p> - -<p>So far as Jane Goring was concerned, Bob McNaughton -<a name="png.081" id="png.081" href="#png.081"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>71<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>belonged to another life. Thus it was rather a shock -to come home from the theater one night when “Peacock” -was at the height of its run and find her husband waiting -for her. It was fully five months since she had seen him; -over a year since she had been at home to him after -the theater.</p> - -<p>He was striding up and down her drawing-room, hands -thrust deep into his pockets, head bent. But when one -considers that her drawing-room consisted of three thrown -into one, it was not surprising that at first she was not -conscious of another’s presence. She came in, switched -on the sidelights, dropped her furs and sank on the -davenport, hand hovering toward the table back of her, -when from the other end of the room, her name was -spoken.</p> - -<p>She sat up, startled, and saw Bob coming into the range -of bluish light from a Chinese temple lamp at the side -of the piano. Jane Goring looked her amazement. He -drew nearer, stopped abruptly and faced her.</p> - -<p>“My apologies,” he said with a slight, rather twisted -smile, “for calling so late.”</p> - -<p>She dropped back, the look of amazement still lighting -her long sleepy eyes. “You did rather—startle me.”</p> - -<p>For a moment neither spoke. Then he indicated the -other corner of the deep-cushioned couch, “May I sit -down?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly.” It was accompanied by a slight shrug.</p> - -<p>His hand dove into his vest pocket and brought out a -silver cigarette case. He clicked it open, held it out to -her. She may or may not have noticed that his movements -were tense and jerky, that the case was held not -<a name="png.082" id="png.082" href="#png.082"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>72<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>quite steadily. She gave a faint gesture of dissent, reaching -once more to the table at her back, and opened a gold -lacquer box.</p> - -<p>“I have a new special brand—imported for me from -Egypt.”</p> - -<p>He took one of his own, pocketing the case, and she -waited for some explanation of his visit.</p> - -<p>“You’re looking well,” he began after a moment without -looking at her.</p> - -<p>“Feeling very fit,” she returned, and waited once more.</p> - -<p>He did not speak, just sat staring down at his rather -tightly clenched hands.</p> - -<p>She did notice then that he was looking old—years -older than when she had last seen him. Bob was forty-two,—to-night -he looked fifty. Jane was,—well, not even -“Who’s Who” knew exactly how old Jane Goring was—any -woman who will tell her right age will tell anything!—but -she looked well under thirty.</p> - -<p>The silence seemed to demand something of her.</p> - -<p>“And you?” she queried politely.</p> - -<p>He wheeled round in his corner. “That’s just what -I’ve come to see you about,” he brought out. “Matter -of fact, I waited until the last minute—didn’t want to -bother you with it.”</p> - -<p>“The last minute?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I’m pulling up stakes—beating it for Colorado -to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>At the back of Jane Goring’s brain, though even to -herself she did not acknowledge it, flared a sudden flash -of relief. Like a jagged streak of lightning across a summer -sky it was there—and gone.</p> - -<p><a name="png.083" id="png.083" href="#png.083"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>73<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Where—in Colorado?”</p> - -<p>“Denver.”</p> - -<p>“With what paper?”</p> - -<p>“None, for a time. It’s like this.” He paused, seemed -to be searching for words, his hands clenched and unclenched -nervously. “I’ve been seeing Frothingham, the -specialist, you know. Oh, it’s nothing—contraction in -the chest now and then and bit of a cough in bad weather. -Beastly uncomfortable, though. He tells me if I go now -I can get rid of it in six months or so.”</p> - -<p>Goring gazed at the breadth of shoulder on which her -head had snuggled so peacefully in the old days. Not -that that phase of it occurred to her just then, but she -stared at the big frame and could scarcely credit what he -told her.</p> - -<p>“But how in the world did you get such a thing?”</p> - -<p>“It got me, my dear,—before I knew it. Fellow living -alone’s apt to grow careless. Anyway, there it is, and -it’s up to me to light out.”</p> - -<p>Silence again for a moment, then—“I’m sorry, old boy,” -she murmured.</p> - -<p>“That’s good to know.” He slid nearer to her along -the couch. Her face through the pungent smoke from -the Egyptian cigarette was an indefinite white blur, vague -as a dream, impossible to read. “I was hoping, in a -way, that you would be. Makes it easier for me to put -up the proposition I have in mind.”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” she questioned as he paused again.</p> - -<p>“But first I want to outline something of my plans once -I knock this bug on the head.”</p> - -<p>“Yes?”</p> - -<p><a name="png.084" id="png.084" href="#png.084"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>74<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“The Graystone has made me an offer. I’ve been interested -in the movie game for the past few years; been -studying it from the inside. And recently Crosby Stone—he’s -vice-president of the Graystone—asked me to go -to the Coast and take charge of the editorial department -at their Western studio. I told him that for the present -I couldn’t consider it—health needed jogging up. He -said the job would be there for me whenever I wanted -it.”</p> - -<p>“Seems to me an excellent idea,” she observed.</p> - -<p>“Now what I wanted to ask you is this.” He -fumbled for his case once more. Against the light from -the table lamp, his features formed a sharp tense silhouette. -He bent forward, struck a match. It flared upward, -emphasized the lines that were almost ridges in his -face. Suddenly he turned, and his next words came -thick. “Janey, I want you to do this much. Will you—when -you close—take a run out to Colorado and spend -part of the summer with me?”</p> - -<p>The tapering white hand that held the cigarette to her -lips dropped as if stricken. She straightened and -her drowsy green eyes looked down on him from the immense -height of the top rung.</p> - -<p>“My dear boy!” she ejaculated.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” he put in quickly, “I wouldn’t expect you -to stay in Denver. Must be any number of mountain -resorts we could go to—I’ll ask Frothingham.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear boy, I couldn’t possibly. To begin -with, I’m taking ‘Peacock’ on the road early in August, -playing Philadelphia, Boston, Chicago—all the big cities. -<a name="png.085" id="png.085" href="#png.085"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>75<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>Cleeburg wants to keep me out in it until February when -we begin work on a new production. That leaves me only -a few weeks’ vacation—”</p> - -<p>“Spend them with me. Janey—” He leaned over with -a swift, impulsive movement, lifted her left hand, the little -finger of which was completely covered by a big beetle-green -scarab, and kissed the tips one by one. “Janey, -there’s just you—no one else! These last years have -been hell. I’ve missed you—I’ve wanted you! A few -weeks—is that too much to ask?”</p> - -<p>She drew her hand away—gently enough. But a little -shudder of disgust ran down her spine. “But I can’t, -don’t you see?” she began conversationally. “Those few -weeks I must have to myself. I need the rest.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t we take it together? Can’t we go up into the -mountains—away from the muck of the world—and get -to know each other all over again? Remember our -honeymoon, dear, the afternoon by the river? What a -happy pair of kids we were! Let’s have a taste of -that, just a taste again.”</p> - -<p>A slight flicker of amusement—oh, very slight—raised -the corners of her upslanted eyes. “Afraid we’ve passed -the honeymoon age, dear boy.”</p> - -<p>“It’s your love I want, Janey,” came from him desperately. -“Just to feel that you’ll come to me for a time -when I need you.”</p> - -<p>She got up, crushed the spark from her cigarette, tossed -it with a gesture of distaste into the tray and moved -toward the piano. In her trailing green gown with its -fanlike train—Goring never wore short skirts—and her -<a name="png.086" id="png.086" href="#png.086"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>76<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>dangling scarab earrings, she looked very exotic, very -tall and altogether unapproachable. She trailed the -length of the room and stopped under the Chinese temple -lamp. Its blue light shed an aura about her, giving her -skin the moon-glow that Henner’s brush has made immortal.</p> - -<p>Her husband gazed after her. Mercifully she stopped -with her back toward him, and he failed to get the expression -that pressed close her lips. His eyes had followed -her with dog-like pleading. Without meeting them -she knew—felt it. Neither could she escape the urge in -his voice. In the old days, that deep tender note had -thrilled her, made her yearn for him, given her the assurance -that whatever happened, Bob would be there to -make things right. To-night it merely annoyed her, rendered -her position more difficult. Seeing Bob at all had -become trying and the very thought of the thing he now -suggested irritated her beyond measure. She had so -completely done with him—finished! Taking advantage -of this sudden illness was taking advantage of her. With -all her being she resented it.</p> - -<p>She stood for a moment turned from him, fingering -the blue and gold tassel that hung from a bit of Chinese -embroidery flung across the piano. Finally she turned -back, face as void of light or shade as the old idol enshrined -in a corner.</p> - -<p>“Suppose we have a snack of supper and talk things -over,” she suggested.</p> - -<p>He was sitting bent almost double, elbows on knees, -head in hands. A wave of contempt for his attitude of -dejection swept over her. She was so palpitant with life, -<a name="png.087" id="png.087" href="#png.087"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>77<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>vibrating with the thrill—ever new, ever sweet—that the -laurel wreath brings.</p> - -<p>Without waiting for a reply she rang. A tired-eyed -maid appeared. Goring gave her directions and when the -girl had gone out, proceeded to chat casually about affairs -of the theater—a new firm of managers recently bobbed -up on the horizon with a new play by a new author; the -outlook for next season; the trend toward satirical -comedy.</p> - -<p>Bob sat without moving, knuckles pressing white -against his forehead, the veins on his hands standing out -like blue welts.</p> - -<p>Presently he looked up.</p> - -<p>“I take it you are <em>not</em> coming out to me.”</p> - -<p>Goring in the depths of a chair some distance from -him stirred uneasily. “My dear boy, I’ve told you. It’s -not only impractical—it’s impossible.”</p> - -<p>“Of course! I was an ass to think you might.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t you see? I’m not my own mistress. I belong -to my public. I’ve got to conserve my strength for them—and -my work.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,—I see.”</p> - -<p>“If I consulted my own desires—but I haven’t the -moral right. I must sacrifice what you want—what I -want—to what my public expects of me.”</p> - -<p>He might have reminded her of the years he had given -to creating that public for her. He might have dwelt at -length on his Machiavellian boosting of a red-haired show -girl through the columns of his own paper and gradually -with insertions here and there in periodicals of the theater, -until managers began to ask who this Jane Goring was. -<a name="png.088" id="png.088" href="#png.088"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>78<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>He might have made mention of the evenings he had -spent round the Lambs and the Friars adding to his list -of acquaintances, as men can only at men’s clubs, those -who would eventually be of service to her.</p> - -<p>He merely smiled with his lips, lighted another cigarette -and tried to cover the fact that the flame flickered.</p> - -<p>“You must understand how I’m placed,” she persisted.</p> - -<p>“I understand.”</p> - -<p>His laconic reply, followed by flat silence, instead of -alleviating, somehow increased her discomfort.</p> - -<p>After a moment he spoke. “Ever read ‘Frankenstein,’ -Janey?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Queer tale of a chap who tried to create a superman.”</p> - -<p>“Well?” Her brows contracted, puzzled.</p> - -<p>“Well—his superman rose up and destroyed him.”</p> - -<p>“I fail to see—” The frown deepened.</p> - -<p>“Oh, just a flight of fancy. Don’t mind me.” Again -his hand struck a flickering match.</p> - -<p>“Ought you to smoke so much?” she asked, to fill in -the gap. “I shouldn’t think it would be good for—for—”</p> - -<p>“My lungs? Oh, nothing wrong with them—actually. -Dare say they’ll pull up O.K. once I pull out of this town. -Y’know what Paul Bourget said about New York. Fellow -asked him how he liked our climate, and he answered, -‘But my dear man,—you do not have climate. You have -samples of weather!’”</p> - -<p>She laughed and the weight of the air lifted somewhat. -The maid brought in a steaming chafing dish, set it on -a nest of tables and drew out the smaller two, placing -them in front of the couch.</p> - -<p><a name="png.089" id="png.089" href="#png.089"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>79<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Goring moved over, once more took the corner opposite -her husband. His eyes traveled the length of her.</p> - -<p>“You grow more beautiful every time I see you, Janey. -Success is a first rate old alchemist, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>She smiled down, her whole face softening.</p> - -<p>The maid laid an embroidered doily of finest linen -on each of the two small tables and brought silver platters -of creamed mushrooms with a faint aroma of sherry. -From a dusty bottle marked Amontillado she poured into -slim-necked glasses the same wine, glistening and amber.</p> - -<p>When she had finished serving them, she asked tentatively -if madame wished her to wait up.</p> - -<p>Goring wondered why the question brought from Bob -a look of curiosity, why he turned and watched her, waiting; -why he smiled—with his eyes this time—when she -told the girl to go to bed.</p> - -<p>She moved nearer—the tables were placed side by side—and -sipped the sherry. A few moments passed during -which she noticed uncomfortably that he had not touched -the dainty, tempting dish before him.</p> - -<p>“You’re not eating?”</p> - -<p>“Not particularly hungry.” He lifted his glass, twirling -it between thumb and forefinger, his gaze never leaving -her. “I want to fill my eyes with you, Janey. May -be a long time before I see you again.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes warmed to the tense adulation in his. After -all, he did look beastly ill, and the least she could do -would be to give him the memory of a little kindness to -carry away.</p> - -<p>“And I want you to know, Bob, that I’ll be thinking -of you, hoping and praying that before long you’ll be -<a name="png.090" id="png.090" href="#png.090"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>80<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>quite fit again.” She leaned over, touching his hand -lightly with hers. Instantly his closed over it—feverishly, -as a man clings to hope when his ship of life has -been broken into wreckage.</p> - -<p>“Will you, Janey?”</p> - -<p>“Of course.”</p> - -<p>“That will help—some.” He put down the glass and -caught her other hand, drawing her nearer. “I’d like to -feel there’s still a corner for me. No other fellow taking -my place, I mean.”</p> - -<p>“How absurd! You know I haven’t time even to think -of men.”</p> - -<p>“They have plenty of time to think of you.” Again -that quizzical smile. “I’ve got that much over them, -haven’t I? You’re <em>my</em> wife.”</p> - -<p>She smiled back and tried to draw away but he held -her with the grip of hot iron.</p> - -<p>“That’s what I’ve got over them, Janey—all of them. -You may belong to your public now but you’ve been -mine. We’ve had our youth together, haven’t we?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“We’ve had the best of life together.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Nobody can take that from me.” He spoke breathlessly.</p> - -<p>Suddenly his arm went round her, crushed her to him -and his lips were against hers. “My love!” he whispered.</p> - -<p>Jane Goring’s body went rigid. She drew herself erect -and the warmth died out of her eyes as swiftly as a flame -extinguished. Sharply her slim white hands thrust out -<a name="png.091" id="png.091" href="#png.091"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>81<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>in defense. She pulled backward. Their gaze met—locked. -In his was hurt question. In hers a flash of -fury. He sat staring at her a moment and he did not -look <em>up</em>. It was a look direct, straight, boring to the -heart of her.</p> - -<p>And then he got to his feet. “I beg your pardon,” he -began. “I—I thought—” He paused, jaws coming together -as though clamped. Without another look at her -he walked the length of the room.</p> - -<p>At the door he turned. “Damn me for my humility!” -he said.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> - -<h3 title="Chapter II"><a name="png.092" id="png.092" href="#png.092"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>82<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER II</h3> - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">Exceeding</span> the most exalted expectations, “Peacock” -ran two full seasons. It might even have -packed houses during the hot spell, save that the star decided -to give herself a rest, well-earned, and, of course -without her, the theater had to remain dark. At the end -of four weeks spent at a fashionable Adirondack hotel -where she was fêted like visiting royalty and her gowns -created a sensation, she reopened and the continued success -of the play warranted Cleeburg’s decision to give it -another season on Broadway.</p> - -<p>During all that time Goring had not a word from -her husband. Even of his Denver address she was unaware. -But the fact that he did not write failed to disturb -her. It was a relief rather. The first few months -of his absence she dreaded another plea from him. In -case his health had grown no better, or—as was quite -possible—had grown worse, further excuses would be -difficult. As the weeks rolled into months and the months -accumulated into a year and still not a line, the thought -of him lapsed into merely perfunctory curiosity. He -must be alive or she’d have been informed. Hence, if -ever she needed to get in touch with him it would be -easy enough to do so through his former paper or his -clubs. Thus she blotted even the thought of him from -her books.</p> - -<p>Another season of acclaim on the road and she was -back in New York ready for rehearsals. Her new play, -<a name="png.093" id="png.093" href="#png.093"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>83<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>made to order for her by a prominent dramatist, was -read by him in her apartment the day of her arrival.</p> - -<p>Cleeburg met her at the Grand Central, full of enthusiasm, -chewing the butt of a cigar while his hands outlined -the plot as an artist smudges in with charcoal the -foundations of his picture.</p> - -<p>Goring’s manager had started life as a newsboy somewhere -east of Broadway and a few of the habits of childhood -had become the habits of a lifetime. His manners -were not Chesterfieldian. Frequently he forgot to take -off his hat when a lady entered the room. His cigar was -removed from the right-hand corner of his mouth only to -be shifted to the left. But more than one actress out -of a job could borrow a hundred or two from him with -no surer guarantee than her I.O.U. And those of the -chorus whose eyes had not grown hard from seeing too -much of the Rialto when lights are brightest, affectionately -called him “Papa.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph Cleeburg or ’Dolph as he was familiarly -named—was short and stocky; heavily built, in fact, but -with a lightness of foot that enabled him to prance about -the stage while directing, and an Oriental imagination -that carried him into any rôle he wanted to assume without -making him appear ridiculous. One of the ablest -directors in the country, in spite of English that sometimes -tobogganed, he always took his productions personally -in hand once the first rough edges were smoothed -down. With Goring, of course, he assumed charge from -the beginning. She would have no one else.</p> - -<p>The manager’s admiration for his star had at the start -been of the proverbial cat-and-queen variety. But as -<a name="png.094" id="png.094" href="#png.094"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>84<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>their association stretched over the years, it was shorn of -the awe in which he had first held her and once he had -even reached the point of proposing. It was when she -informed him that she and Bob had separated.</p> - -<p>“Divorce?” he had asked quickly. And with her -shake of the head, “Well, if ever you do, there’s little -’Dolph waiting to step into his shoes. Don’t forget that, -Jane. It’s straight goods.”</p> - -<p>The proposal had vastly amused her.</p> - -<p>They drove up town through the fresh sweetness of a -May morning. Cleeburg’s panama dropped to the floor -of the car as he excitedly sketched the story in the air, -one idea tumbling after the other as fast as words would -come. His bald head shone as did his eyes. All his -features were prominent—nose, eyes, teeth—but most -prominent of all was his smile which seemed to light like -an arc his round commonplace face. This he flashed delightedly -as Goring listened with a calmness unbroken.</p> - -<p>“It’s sure fire, Jane! Sure fire! We got a bigger go -than ‘Peacock’ and that’s going some.”</p> - -<p>Jane Goring said little until the apartment was reached. -Then she shook hands with the author who was -waiting for them, left the two men together while she -changed from her traveling clothes, and an hour later -glided in cool and revived in a peacock-blue house-gown -whose sleeves floated outward like wings. Cleeburg’s -watch was in his hand, but he pocketed it without -a word as she entered, and settled back in his -chair.</p> - -<p>The author opened his script and began to read. His -voice filled the silent room, chorused occasionally by the -<a name="png.095" id="png.095" href="#png.095"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>85<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>gay trill of birds from the park across the way or city -sounds from the street below.</p> - -<p>The manager’s smile broadened with satisfaction as he -progressed. The cigar moved back and forth, propelled -by emotion. But Goring listened without comment, eyes -half closed, gazing down at the playwright’s head bowed -over his manuscript.</p> - -<p>Presently a new sound broke upon the stillness. It -was from neither bird nor branch, neither the clang of -bells nor the rush of traffic. It was light and regular, -and it came from within—the steady tapping of a slippered -foot. Toward the end of Act II it became noticeable -and Cleeburg looked round interrogatively.</p> - -<p>Tap—tap! Tap—tap! More swift, more impatient,—until -the author’s voice proclaimed “Curtain.”</p> - -<p>Then Jane Goring spoke—and the tapping was explained. -“But, my dear Mr. Thorne, you don’t expect -me to play the lead in <em>that</em>?”</p> - -<p>Cleeburg wheeled about in his chair. “What’s the -matter with it?”</p> - -<p>“Why, there’s nothing for me—not a thing!”</p> - -<p>“Nothing for you?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing! Not a single opportunity in those first two -acts.”</p> - -<p>Cleeburg sprang up. His cigar rotaried excitedly. -“No opportunities? My God, Jane, what do you want? -As the play stands, you’re the whole show!”</p> - -<p>“As the play stands, you might as well hand it to Harrison -Burke”—Burke was her leading man—“and let me -retire,” came coolly.</p> - -<p>The playwright’s eyes began to smoulder. “I don’t get -<a name="png.096" id="png.096" href="#png.096"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>86<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>you, Miss Goring. This character has been absolutely -built round you.”</p> - -<p>She turned on him, still cool, still aloof.</p> - -<p>“Then why is your man allowed to dominate every -scene?”</p> - -<p>“He isn’t,” the author protested. “The sympathy is -yours, even when I’ve been compelled to give him the long -speeches.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see it—not at all. You don’t even give me an -opportunity to wear decent clothes.”</p> - -<p>“That comes in your last act,” Cleeburg burst out.</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t want to wait until the last act.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t very well put a factory girl in satins,” the -playwright observed.</p> - -<p>“Why make her a factory girl?”</p> - -<p>He threw up his hands and subsided.</p> - -<p>Cleeburg took to pacing the floor. “Look here, Jane,” -he said finally, “let’s get a line on this. You’ve given ’em -a fashion plate for three solid years. Show ’em you can -do something else. Otherwise they’ll get sick and tired -of you. This part’s great—just what you need. You -act through the first two acts and in the last you splurge. -What more do you want?”</p> - -<p>“I want it understood that I’m the star of the production!”</p> - -<p>“Well, it is. Nobody else has a chance. Good Lord, -Burke’s speeches are just feeders! You’ve got—everything.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see it.”</p> - -<p>The dramatist, who was sufficiently famous to be -<a name="png.097" id="png.097" href="#png.097"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>87<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>independent of stars, rose. “Under the circumstances, -there’s no need to read further.”</p> - -<p>“Hold on! Hold on!” Cleeburg clutched his arm. -“Don’t take it like that, old man. Let’s go into the thing -and see what can be done to please all parties.”</p> - -<p>They did go into it for three long hours, at the end of -which Jane Goring insisted that she must have luncheon. -She was as unruffled as when she had entered—and as -firm. Cleeburg was mopping his brow. Through his -glasses the playwright’s eyes were blazing. It was then -two forty-five. By that hour they had compromised to -the extent of cutting some of the hero’s long speeches -and giving her a chance to change her costume in the -last act.</p> - -<p>At luncheon Cleeburg consumed little more than whiskey -and soda, and wondered why he got no cooler. -Likewise he swore at the twittering of the birds and the -distant clang of street cars.</p> - -<p>When Jane Goring had finished the last morsel of her -chicken salad and leisurely emptied her cup of Chinese -tea, they adjourned once more to the drawing-room and -the discussion was resumed.</p> - -<p>A lantern of golden fire was hanging in the Western -sky by the time the play had been revamped to the star’s -satisfaction. More than once its author took hat in hand -and made for the door. But Cleeburg’s persuasive -clutch and the whisper that an additional advance would -be paid for his trouble detained him. And finally an -agreement was reached.</p> - -<p>Her objection to the drama as it stood, however, -<a name="png.098" id="png.098" href="#png.098"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>88<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>necessitated a postponement of rehearsals and it was late -July before the company assembled on the stage of a -playhouse just off Broadway. It annoyed Goring to -forego her usual few weeks of rest but since she wished -to have a New York opening in October, there was nothing -else to be done.</p> - -<p>The day the company was called was dank and humid, -a breathless day thick with summer dust, ominous with -thunderclouds.</p> - -<p>At ten Goring emerged from a cold bath, was dressed by -her maid’s moist fingers, and at eleven crossed the soggy -pavement from her car to the stage entrance. The drive -downtown had been stifling. It dizzied her. To enter -the dark passageway and look out into the space of auditorium, -linen-covered, was a relief.</p> - -<p>What is there about an empty theater that fascinates? -The bare boards of the stage, the heaps of scenery piled -against bare brick walls, the bare table and chairs ranged -to form a semicircle within which the actors move back -and forth, the single electric light, bare of shade, jutting -up in the center like a giant eye in the cool darkness—surely -there is no illusion about them, no suggestion of -the world of make-believe into which they evolve. Yet -the very odor of the place redolent of grease-paint—those -who love it sniff it as a thoroughbred sniffs tanbark.</p> - -<p>Manager, actors, author—they are about to conjure -from those bare boards all the elements of life. Conflict, -laughter, tears, love, hate, happiness—death! -Theirs to build, theirs to take the written page and make -of it a tingling human thing. Theirs to people empty -<a name="png.099" id="png.099" href="#png.099"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>89<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>chairs. Theirs to clothe with flesh and blood a skeleton. -A wave of the wand and into emptiness springs a home -with soft rugs and rich-colored hangings, deep divans, -the ring of voices, the flooding of moonlight or warm -glow of the sun. And best of all, out in that empty -auditorium when the lights go up will throng a crowd -whose hearts will be theirs to thrill, to wring, to charm. -Theirs the blessed privilege, the joy of creation. That’s -why they love it in spite of the ache of disappointment, -the discouragement of failure. That’s why they cling to -it.</p> - -<p>Those assembled on the stage that throttling day of -July had risen tired from their beds, dragged wearily in -from the street, noticed that the management had electric -fans going and laughed at the idea of getting any relief -from them. Yet the instant Goring appeared, followed -a few minutes later by Cleeburg, a light sprang into -their eyes, the spontaneous light of anticipation, and they -promptly forgot the weather. The play had been read -to them the day before and their parts assigned, so that -they were ready to plunge into work.</p> - -<p>Goring shook hands with her leading man and nodded -to the rest, all of whom were known to her—she had -practically the same support from year to year—except -a slight girl whose face was so thin that her eyes looked -abnormally big and hungry. It made their expression -almost frightened.</p> - -<p>The company ran quickly through the first act, parts in -hand, while Cleeburg sat under an electric fan and listened. -Then, after a few words with the author who -was hunched in a seat somewhere in the ghostlike -<a name="png.100" id="png.100" href="#png.100"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>90<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>auditorium, he ripped off pongee coat, his collar and necktie, -and real work began.</p> - -<p>Goring did little but read at the first rehearsals. She -liked to conserve her energy for the long sessions Cleeburg -put her through during the last weeks.</p> - -<p>When they left the theater at five everybody looked -wilted but the star. The hour for lunch had been consumed -largely with liquid refreshment and most of them -again made for soda fountains.</p> - -<p>Goring dined with her manager on the Astor Roof. -The storm, threatening all day, had not yet broken and -a black hood of clouds bore down on the city like the -shadow of death. Cleeburg, full of plans, ordered a near-champagne -cup and substantial dinner and appeared not -to notice the depression above and around them. But -Goring it affected unpleasantly. She felt irritable, annoyed -by the fact that he could eat a heavy dinner -on such a night, prone to find fault with the service, -rubbed the wrong way by the strum of the summer orchestra.</p> - -<p>“Did you notice how much older Burke looks?”</p> - -<p>“Looks good to me,” Cleeburg lifted a cup of steaming -bullion while she played with a jellied one before -her.</p> - -<p>“He’s losing his figure, I think.”</p> - -<p>“We ain’t any of us chickens, Jane.”</p> - -<p>She pushed the cup away.</p> - -<p>“Not that you ain’t a pippin,” he added hastily. -“You’ve got the lines—you’ll always have ’em.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t talk as if I were a hundred.” Her voice was -so sharp that it cut.</p> - -<p><a name="png.101" id="png.101" href="#png.101"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>91<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Good Lord, no! Not one on Broadway to-day can -touch you.”</p> - -<p>She softened a bit. “Who’s the new girl?”</p> - -<p>“Who?”</p> - -<p>“The one who plays my sister.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that one! Forget her name. Lewis has it.”</p> - -<p>“Where did you get her?”</p> - -<p>“She’s been hanging round the office, Lewis says, and -couple of weeks ago she held me up on my way out. -Poor little thing looked as if she needed a job so I gave -her that sister bit. Hair’s something the color of yours—that -decided me.”</p> - -<p>“She has a funny hysterical catch in her voice. Did -you notice it?”</p> - -<p>“Probably she’s hungry. Looks it—poor kid! Must -have Lewis slip her an advance on her salary.”</p> - -<p>With gusto he cut into the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">filet mignon</i> and helped -himself to some new peas. The sight of the red blood -oozing from the meat made Goring feel ill. She turned -her attention to the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">halibut parisienne</i> the waiter placed -before her. But even the slices of tomato and crisp garnishing -of lettuce could not tempt her appetite.</p> - -<p>“I can’t see why you gave her the part—she’s so -homely.”</p> - -<p>“That needn’t hurt you any.”</p> - -<p>“But she has a scene with me, even though it is only -a bit.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe when she gets a square meal in her she won’t -look so much like a ghost.”</p> - -<p>He lit a cigar, rolling it between his lips with the joy -of an epicure.</p> - -<p><a name="png.102" id="png.102" href="#png.102"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>92<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Goring cooled her hot throat with an ice, frowning -at his complacent finality. It increased her own irritation, -made her want to grip him by the shoulders and -shake him.</p> - -<p>The girl <em>was</em> homely. Why did he argue about it?</p> - -<p>A zigzag of lightning cut through the sky. With a -crash it tore open and the deluge descended like the -wrath of God sent to cleanse a heathen city. Crash after -crash, fire upon fire, barrages of rain hurled against the -buildings, shaking their very walls.</p> - -<p>Goring shivered. In spite of the stewing heat a chill -went through her.</p> - -<p>“Let’s get out of this,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Better wait till it’s over.”</p> - -<p>“I want to go home now.”</p> - -<p>Cleeburg signed the check.</p> - -<p>Like the lightning his car zigzagged through the storm. -Water sprang from the streets against the windshield. -The noise about them was deafening. Goring clung -to the window strap at her side. For some unknown -reason her nerves were keyed to the nth degree. She -felt choked, as if shrieking alone would clear her throat. -The first day of work and this beastly weather, she told -herself, were responsible.</p> - -<p>Throughout the long night the storm raged. And tossing -between soft linen sheets she did not close her eyes.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter III"><a name="png.103" id="png.103" href="#png.103"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>93<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER III</h3> - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">They</span> opened in Washington the end of August. -Cleeburg tried to get Atlantic City but the theater -had been booked weeks before his bid for it. Hence, in -spite of the star’s popularity, they did not play to -capacity. The season in the Capital was at low ebb. -Most of the homes were closed and the usual Goring -audiences were out of the city. Which after all was -an advantage, for the play was still very rough.</p> - -<p>All things considered, both Goring and her manager -were rather pleased than otherwise. The four weeks of -rehearsal had been torrid, record-breaking heat rising -from the pavements, the city consumed by fever. The -effect upon the company had been in ratio thereto. They -were limp by the date of opening, unequal to their best -in spite of the utmost effort.</p> - -<p>And Goring’s rôle was difficult. She did not like it as -well as “Peacock.” There was more drama, more opportunity -for emotional acting, but less for the display -of gowns and the bizarre beauty that had made both -men and women flock to the other play. However, as -Cleeburg had said, she couldn’t afford to stamp herself -a one-part actress. And there was no denying the interest -of the story.</p> - -<p>As never before, Cleeburg had put her through her -paces. At the theater after the company had dispersed, -at her apartment in the evenings, he had gone over her -part again and again coaching her scene by scene, speech -<a name="png.104" id="png.104" href="#png.104"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>94<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>by speech, until the rest, knowing nothing of those extra -sessions, judged her a miracle at quick study.</p> - -<p>“Unbend, Jane!” he would say, prancing up and down -her long drawing-room. “Come off your perch! You -love him, Jane! You love him! D’you know what that -means? You’d die for him. He ain’t your kind and -you’d go through hell to get to him. Ever felt that way? -Well, think about it—concentrate on it—and you’ll get -it over.”</p> - -<p>Vaguely, like a curtain lifted on another life, memory -drifted before her eyes the vision of an afternoon on -the Palisades when a vivid-haired girl clung to a brown-haired -boy, whispering over and over that she loved him—didn’t -want anything ever in the whole wide world but -him.</p> - -<p>For purposes of the drama she concentrated on it.</p> - -<p>Quite like the actress she was, she flung herself into -the passion of those first months as if she had lived them -yesterday. Fortunately for her the Goring of to-day, the -actress, was a shell into which emotion could be poured -as one pours burning fluid into an empty vessel.</p> - -<p>Little ’Dolph, with cigar twirling, eyes popping, perspiration -dripping from his forehead, and a silk handkerchief -tied round his short neck, kept her keyed to the -highest pitch—no let-down, no time to think of self or -the weather or rest; no time for anything but the part -in hand. Though he would not have known whence the -quotation sprang, with him “The play’s the thing” was -a litany.</p> - -<p>Critics in the Capital and in Baltimore were almost -unanimous in the opinion that it was a vital thing, sure -<a name="png.105" id="png.105" href="#png.105"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>95<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>of ultimate success when placed on view for the thumbs-up, -thumbs-down decision of that capricious goddess—Broadway.</p> - -<p>As a rule Goring and her leading man were the only -two mentioned in the reviews, but this time almost every -member of the company came in for a quota of praise. -The old mother, the character man, the juvenile comedian, -even the homely little sister with her wide hungry -eyes and the queer catch in her voice, each had a word -or two.</p> - -<p>Gloria Cromwell was the girl’s name. It was quite -as ornate as she was plain. Goring laughed the first -time she heard it.</p> - -<p>“Sounds as though she found it in a dime novel,” she -told Cleeburg. “Why don’t you make her change it?”</p> - -<p>“Says it’s her own. Anyhow, it don’t matter.”</p> - -<p>“No—I dare say it doesn’t. She’s entitled to something -to make her conspicuous.”</p> - -<p>Often she noticed the girl at rehearsal sitting in the -theater after her bit was done, leaning forward, chin in -her cupped hands, mop of reddish hair falling over eyes -that devoured every move the star made. Once they -met at the stage entrance on their way out.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you go home earlier?” Goring asked. -“I’m sure Mr. Cleeburg will excuse you when you’re -through.”</p> - -<p>“I’d rather stay,” the girl answered in her peculiar -breathless tone. “I can learn so much from you, Miss -Goring. Besides,” she paused, hesitated, “I—live in a -furnished room. It isn’t much to go home to.”</p> - -<p>“Have you been in New York long?” Goring put -<a name="png.106" id="png.106" href="#png.106"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>96<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>the question as they moved toward the street side by -side.</p> - -<p>“A year and a half—that is, this time. I used to -come whenever I could scrape together the fare while I -was doing stock in the West. But there never seemed -to be an opening for me. Then I decided I’d best just -come and wait around or I’d never get a chance. And -I waited, all right.”</p> - -<p>Another pause while the wide wistful eyes filled with -the same look of fright they had worn that first day at -the theater—only this time it was the fright of memory.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Cleeburg has been wonderful to me. I’ll never -be able to thank him enough.”</p> - -<p>They had reached the curb. Goring smiled. “I shall -tell him that,” she said, and with a nod stepped into her -car and drove off.</p> - -<p>In Washington she noticed that Miss Cromwell was -looking better, though the eyes were as hungry as ever -and the figure as slight. Undoubtedly Cleeburg was -right. What she had needed was a few square meals. -Her strength seemed to increase as work increased and in -their scene together Goring remarked a give and take -that made her own work mount to greater intensity. It -was a short scene in which the younger sister who had -hovered like a silent brooding shadow in the background -pleaded with the older not to break away from her own -class, not to try to go into a world she did not understand—and -was met by the defiance of one molded to -make a place for herself in any world. The scene went -so well, in fact, that the author, at Cleeburg’s request, -lengthened it. At the end when Goring held out her -<a name="png.107" id="png.107" href="#png.107"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>97<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>arms and folded the weeping girl in them, a gratifying -sniffle and the flutter of white went through the house. -Which is the most either star or manager can ask.</p> - -<p>The company rehearsed the greater part of the night -preceding the New York première, though Goring left -the theater early to allow herself plenty of time for rest -and the customary massage. She liked to relax -thoroughly before the strenuous demands on the nerves -which an opening always made. In her sea-blue silk -draped bed she would lie for hours while the magic hands -of the Swedish woman who attended her each day sent -tingling through her veins an injection of new life. And -finally a delicious drowsiness would creep over her like -a thin veil drawn between her and the turmoil of the outside -world. She would find herself presently floating on -the waters of Lethe, arms outstretched, a smile upon -her lips, a gentle undulation as of waves rising and falling -beneath her. Small wonder that when she drifted -back to reality some hours later she felt rejuvenated, -with a calm and control equal to any emergency.</p> - -<p>She reached the theater a little after seven. On the -way in she met Miss Cromwell. The girl’s eyes were -burning. Their hungry look had gone completely and in -its place had come a glow like a great light from within.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Miss Goring,” she breathed in passing, “I’m so -thrilled. I’ve lived and lived for this—New York! -And now it’s come! It’s actually come!”</p> - -<p>Goring nodded, voiced a perfunctory “Good luck,” -and wondered in her soul what it would be like to feel -once more that closing of the throat, that turmoil of -beating heart, that utter abandon of joy in opportunity -<a name="png.108" id="png.108" href="#png.108"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>98<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>realized. It thrust her back to the day when she had -signed her first contract with Cleeburg. She and Bob -had sat facing each other a long space without a word, -his two hands gripping hers until they ached. And then—</p> - -<p>“I’m so glad, little girl—so damn glad!” had come -from him huskily.</p> - -<p>Then his hands had loosed and swept round her and -he had held her close and she had cried into the lapel -of his blue serge coat, tears of sheer happiness.</p> - -<p>Cleeburg came to her dressing-room shortly before the -rise of the curtain to tell her the house was packed. They -were standing three rows deep—he was sure of a knock-out. -He brought her a pile of telegrams from members -of the profession and friends in the social world. She -read them leisurely. It was her first opening on which -there was not a long one from her husband. Not that -she really missed it, but the lack gave her a curious feeling -of wonder as to what had become of him.</p> - -<p>Her maid gave her hair a final pat and she stepped -back to survey. It was an odd Jane Goring who gazed -critically out of the mirror. No jangling jade, no spreading -tail, no sensuous color of plumage. Just a blue -serge dress of last year’s cut, a little shabby, open -at the throat. It had been selected by the author, not -without some protest from the star. She had wanted -at least to go to a good tailor, but he had dragged her -into a department store and made her buy one from stock -at twenty-nine forty-nine. She had to admit that the effect, -while not beautiful, was absolutely in character. -Her shoes she had insisted upon getting at a Fifth Avenue -boot shop. Feet are more conspicuous on the stage than -<a name="png.109" id="png.109" href="#png.109"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>99<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>anywhere else in life and she must be well shod to do -herself justice. Her hair, too, was groomed. The Goring -coiffure<!-- TN: original reads "coiffeur" --> was abandoned until the last act but the -faint wave necessary to it could not have passed unnoticed -in the coils clustered about the factory girl’s ears.</p> - -<p>She went out, followed by her maid, and waited in -the wings for her cue. Then came the inevitable tightening -of the heart cords, the tense straining of muscles to -achieve the best, the twinge of fear, all the tearing thrill -of embarkation on a new venture. It lasted only an -instant, however, an instant that ended in her entrance, -followed by a crashing burst of applause. She bowed -again and again, and the sweetness of it flowed like -wine in her blood. The play halted, action suspended -in mid-air, while the actress took the tribute she had -known would greet her.</p> - -<p>After which the audience settled back to be entertained. -From the beginning interest was evident, the heroine’s -fight to make her own life apart from the prejudice -which is as rampant in the lower as in the upper -classes holding them. The struggle of evolution is the -most human, most vital problem in the world.</p> - -<p>All through the first act the conflict endured, the -girl’s discontent striking like flint on steel until the final -scene when the little sister, matted hair falling over -her eyes, dropped on her knees, crying: “All I know -is—you’re goin’. You’re leavin’ me! An’ you can’t—you -mustn’t! You’re gonna get hurt with them people -you don’t know. They’re gonna step on you an’ -make fun of you an’ beat you down until you ain’t got -no fight left. You don’t belong there—you don’t -<a name="png.110" id="png.110" href="#png.110"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>100<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>belong! Stay here with me! I’m your sister, your own -blood—an’ I love you, I love you! Nobody couldn’t -love you no more’n I do!”</p> - -<p>Gloria Cromwell’s slight figure shook with the words, -her eyes burned into Goring’s. That queer hysterical -note lifted her voice into a throb that was heartrending, -and as the star drew her close she seemed to crumple -like a broken flower.</p> - -<p>The applause that met the curtain’s descent was interspersed -with the same gratifying sniffle they had encountered -all along the route. A number of times it -swung upward, members of the company taking it according -to a schedule posted backstage.</p> - -<div class="ctr"> -CURTAIN—ACT I -<table summary="Roster of curtain calls"> -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="ditzi"><span class="txt">First Curtain<span class="ns"> . . . . . .</span></span></p></td><td>Tableau.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="ditz"><span class="txt">Second<span class="ns"> 〃</span></span></p></td><td>Miss Goring and company</td></tr> -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="ditz"><span class="txt">Third<span class="ns"> 〃</span></span></p></td><td>Miss Goring and principals</td></tr> -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="ditz"><span class="txt">Fourth<span class="ns"> 〃</span></span></p></td><td>Miss Goring and principals</td></tr> -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="ditz"><span class="txt">Fifth<span class="ns"> 〃</span></span></p></td><td>Miss Goring and Mr. Burke</td></tr> -<tr><td class="dots"><p class="ditz"><span class="txt">Sixth<span class="ns"> 〃</span></span></p></td><td>Miss Goring</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<p>The manner and order of taking the curtains had -been carefully rehearsed the night before, but as it rose -the fifth time with the star and leading man alone on -the stage, an incident unanticipated occurred. Someone -in the gallery shouted “Cromwell!” And the applause -seemed to swell in answer.</p> - -<p>Goring at first paid no heed. The curtain fell—rose -again and again. The call was repeated insistently. -Goring went graciously to the wings and drew the girl -onto the stage. She came, trembling so that she could -<a name="png.111" id="png.111" href="#png.111"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>101<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>scarcely walk, eyes wide and terrified but shining somehow -behind it all. She made an awkward bow, clinging -like a child to Goring’s hand.</p> - -<p>When several curtains had been taken alone and preparations -were finally under way for Act II, Jane Goring -picked her way past property men and scene shifters -toward the dressing-room with a five-pointed star -painted on the door—to an actress the gate of heaven. -Miss Cromwell was waiting there.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Miss Goring,” she breathed, “that was so—so -sweet of you!”</p> - -<p>Jane Goring looked down at her. “I take it you -have friends in the gallery?” she said.</p> - -<p>“No, I have no friends in New York.”</p> - -<p>Goring continued to gaze down and her look was not -altogether pleasant. But the girl did not see it. With -an impulsive gesture, half apologetic, half worshipful, -she lifted the star’s hand to her lips.</p> - -<p>“God bless you!” she murmured with that queer catch -in her voice.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter IV"><a name="png.112" id="png.112" href="#png.112"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>102<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER IV</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcapA">At</span> 5.00 <span class="allsc">A. M.</span> ’Dolph Cleeburg was seated in the -living-room-library den of his apartment completely -surrounded by early editions and the butts of cigars. -One of the latter circled joyously in his mouth as he -and the author read over the various expressions of approval.</p> - -<p>“Here’s a fellow says Jane’s hair was too Fifth Avenue -in the first act. By godfrey, ain’t that just like ’em? -Can’t find fault with anything else, so have to pick on -her hair.”</p> - -<p>“I told her to let it go,” the playwright remarked.</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s Jane. She’s got to look right or she -can’t act. And, by gad, I’ve seen lots of Third Avenue -girls got up like Fifth. Ain’t any law against it, is -there?” He let the sheet rustle to the floor and picked -up another. His collar and tie were open, his coat -was off, his eyes held a blaze of excitement. A -whiskey and soda stood on the tabouret beside him, -untouched.</p> - -<p>“Listen to this, Ted!” He plunged into a eulogy that -made his eyes snap and the cigar roll with a velocity -impossible to estimate. “By godfrey,” came at the finish, -“ain’t one of ’em don’t give some notice to that Cromwell -kid”—and went on reading—“‘Managers—keep your -eye on Miss Gloria Cromwell.’” Then he gave a long -chuckle. “And to think I engaged her because she looked -starved!”</p> - -<p><a name="png.113" id="png.113" href="#png.113"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>103<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“She has something that gets you.” The author -paused meditatively. “Wonder if it’s her voice?”</p> - -<p>“Nope,” came crisply from Cleeburg. “It’s her heart. -Probably suffered like hell and that’s what puts her -over.”</p> - -<p>In Jane Goring’s boudoir some five hours later, the -actress sat propped up, also like an isle in a sea of newspapers. -She had read them in the small hours as had -her manager. Only differently. One of the society -satellites who circle round a popular star even as the -moon circles round the earth and just as inconstantly, -now silvering her sky, now leaving it black, had at the -play’s finish carried her off to a supper party and dance. -In the midst of gayeties a flunky had been dispatched for -the morning papers and, in a flurry of excitement -like the froth of champagne, the notices had been consumed, -gushed over, forgotten.</p> - -<p>Not so by Goring, of course. Alone in the white light -of a new day, she reread them slowly, digesting each -word. One watching her would have found in her eyes -no glow of satisfaction, no thrill that once more she had -scored. Rather was there the ghost of a frown on her -brow. A frown somewhat difficult to interpret.</p> - -<p>At eleven Cleeburg had her on the phone. He had -been ringing the apartment at regular intervals since -eight but her maid had refused to disturb her. His -voice ran the gamut of explosive enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>“Great, Jane, great! We’ve got ’em again! We’ve -got ’em! Didn’t I tell you this one had it all over ‘Peacock’?”</p> - -<p>He wanted to come up and lunch with her but she -<a name="png.114" id="png.114" href="#png.114"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>104<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>told him she was tired, would see him later at the theater.</p> - -<p>The greater part of the day she spent resting, going -over her notices and dictating letters to her secretary. -Toward five she dressed and sent for her car. It was -a crisp, clear blue October day. A run in the park or -up Riverside—there were a number of things she had -to think about—would fill in time until dinner.</p> - -<p>A restlessness unusual and unexplained made her pace -the floor while she waited. So unusual was it, in fact, -that it caused a vague wonder. By all previous portents -she should have been exalted, lifted to the zenith -of content through the knowledge that the star of her -success still sailed high in the heavens. She was not. -She felt nervous, distressed, with a weight on her chest -that even the buoyant breezes from the river could not -dissipate.</p> - -<p>Rolling up Riverside Drive with the ease of floating -in ether, she had the sense of a great hand clutching -her. The sensation was the same as that which she had -experienced the first day of rehearsal—only intensified. -It made breathing difficult, annoyed her to the point of -exasperation.</p> - -<p>She ate no dinner, just swallowed a mouthful of tea -and drove downtown. Little ’Dolph came to her dressing-room -a few minutes later. He was jubilant. They -were sold out weeks ahead. The play had hit the jaded -metropolis in the eye—to quote him, with variations. It -was good for another three seasons’ run. He rambled on -at random, eyes popping, infectious smile lighting his -round face like the smile of the sun at high noon. Presently -he stopped, shifted his cigar and stared at her.</p> - -<p><a name="png.115" id="png.115" href="#png.115"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>105<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“What’s the matter with you, Jane?”</p> - -<p>She looked down questioningly.</p> - -<p>“Ain’t said a word,” he continued. “What’s got you?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing. I’m tired, I dare say.”</p> - -<p>“Sure! Morning-after stuff! Don’t let down, though. -We don’t want ’em saying second night’s off—the way -it always is.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t have to tell me that.” Indignation was in -her voice.</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” he apologized quickly. -“And, Jane—”</p> - -<p>“Yes?”</p> - -<p>“Might let your hair go a bit in that first act—what?”</p> - -<p>Her eyes were like two rapier thrusts. He made for -the door. “They’ll accept my hair just as it is,” was her -verdict.</p> - -<p>Their little chat did not tend to lift in any degree the -mood that held her. She gave up trying to shake it off.</p> - -<p>Fortunately it had no perceptible effect on her work. -She was too clever for that. Many years on the stage -had trained her to the difficult task of obliterating personal -worries the instant the glow of the footlights would -have revealed them to public gaze. In fact, she had almost -succeeded in stamping them from consciousness -when Gloria Cromwell made her entrance. At that moment -there came a sudden burst of applause. Miss -Cromwell tried to go on with her lines. They could not -be heard. It was unprecedented, staggering. A girl, unknown, -unheralded, was holding up the play! Of course, -action had been suspended an instant when Goring came -on, but this,—<em>this</em> was unheard of.</p> - -<p><a name="png.116" id="png.116" href="#png.116"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>106<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Faintness seized the star, blinded her,—then fury. She -knew now the nature of the weight that had stifled her -all day. In a way, she had known it from the beginning. -It was this girl! The lengthening of the part on tour, -last night’s acclaim, her notices this morning, all had -formed a cumulative irritant that now expressed itself -in a surge of throttling hatred.</p> - -<p>She jumped in on the girl’s lines, killing almost every -speech. She changed her own so that cues would be -missed. No move, no turn that would make the little -sister’s performance fall flat was allowed to pass. Even -the final speech, ending with the beautiful tableau -that last night had brought down the house, was cut -short. Like a red tongue of flame her rage swept -over its object consuming every opportunity the part -gave.</p> - -<p>Still she did not kill the applause that greeted the -curtain.</p> - -<p>Storming to her dressing-room came Cleeburg.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter? You cut the act a minute and -a half!”</p> - -<p>“I was ill,” she told him. And barred the door, stripping -off her dress while the maid prepared a dose of aromatics -and bathed her head with eau de cologne.</p> - -<p>Since Gloria Cromwell appeared only in the first act, -dying for exigencies of plot off-stage—the remainder of -the performance went as usual.</p> - -<p>But that night, as once before, Goring tossed between -sheets of finest linen and did not close her eyes.</p> - -<p>In the morning she sent for Cleeburg.</p> - -<p>He came, solicitous for her health, relieved by the fact -<a name="png.117" id="png.117" href="#png.117"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>107<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>that her aberration of the night before had not in any -way affected the play’s reception.</p> - -<p>She met him, cool and smiling and looking very beautiful -in a purple mandarin suit, the skirt of which was -weighted with wicked Chinese embroidery. Her tapering -white hands were ringless and low-heeled Chinese -slippers made her look less tall. Greeting him, her hand -clung to his.</p> - -<p>She led the way into the drawing-room.</p> - -<p>“’Dolph,” she began, and for the first time a rather -plaintive note crept into her voice. “’Dolph, I’m unhappy.”</p> - -<p>In the act of lighting the omnipresent cigar, he looked -up, astonished. “Why—what’s wrong?”</p> - -<p>“I’m unhappy—and for a reason you may not quite -understand. But you can help make things right. You -can make them <em>all</em> right, if you will.”</p> - -<p>“Sure, Jane, you know me! Anything I can do—”</p> - -<p>“It has to do with the play.”</p> - -<p>“Fire ahead!” He resumed the operation of lighting.</p> - -<p>“’Dolph, that Cromwell girl, I simply can’t work with -her.”</p> - -<p>Again the process of lighting was arrested. “Can’t -work with her? Good God!”</p> - -<p>She went to him, struck a match and, bending over, -held it to the weed. He laughed comfortably, settled -back—patted her hand.</p> - -<p>“Sort of took the wind out of my sails, that did. Guess -I didn’t get you straight, eh?”</p> - -<p>She sat down in a chair close to his, her back to the -light.</p> - -<p><a name="png.118" id="png.118" href="#png.118"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>108<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Please <em>do</em> get me right. I’ve nothing against her -work, if <em>you</em> like it. It’s her personality that irritates -me. There’s something—something snaky about her. -She makes me nervous, makes me go off in my lines. -You know, I told you in the beginning I didn’t like her.”</p> - -<p>“You said she was too homely.”</p> - -<p>“Well, she is.”</p> - -<p>“Not any more. Why, she’s got a face like—like -Fiske. One of those faces you don’t get at first, but with -so much behind it that you come to like it better than the -kind that’s just easy to look at.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve never been able to like her, ’Dolph. I’ve tried -to because you seemed to, and you know how absolutely -I depend on your judgment. But I can’t, that’s all.” -She looked away and the suggestion of a sob sounded in -the words.</p> - -<p>Cleeburg’s cigar revolved silently for a few moments, -then he leaned forward. “What are we going to do -about it?”</p> - -<p>She turned to him, rested her white tapering hand -pleadingly on his arm. “Get rid of her, ’Dolph.”</p> - -<p>“Get rid of her? Chuck her—just like that?” He -snapped his fingers.</p> - -<p>“You can find some way that won’t hurt her feelings.”</p> - -<p>“Any way would be treating her rough.”</p> - -<p>“She’ll have no difficulty getting another engagement.”</p> - -<p>Cleeburg had been watching her over his cigar, round -eyes studying her as they were in the habit of doing at -rehearsal. Now he snapped the weed into the other -corner of his mouth and smiled benignly. “That’s exactly -why I ain’t letting her go.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.119" id="png.119" href="#png.119"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>109<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Jane Goring’s eyes met his with a delicate film of tears -veiling them. “Don’t you want to please me?”</p> - -<p>“I want to please the public,” said Cleeburg curtly, -“and they like her. Say—what’s got into you, Jane, anyhow?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know! I don’t know!” A few tears, well -chosen, rolled over onto her white cheeks. She brushed -them away. “I’m just miserable, that’s all. Last night -made me so nervous that I gave a perfectly rotten performance. -Just playing opposite her gives me goose-flesh. -Something about her chokes me and she seems to -feel it—to revel in it. She’s a snake, ’Dolph, and I -simply can’t stand her.”</p> - -<p>“Seems to me a pretty nice kid.”</p> - -<p>The hand resting on his arm traveled its length. -“’Dolph,—isn’t it important that I should be happy in -my work?”</p> - -<p>“Sure!”</p> - -<p>“And if <em>she</em> makes me unhappy?”</p> - -<p>He gave her hand an understanding squeeze and a -slow twinkle appeared in his round eyes. “Ah, come on, -Jane! Talk straight to yourself! She’s made too big -a hit to suit you. That’s what’s eating you.”</p> - -<p>For an instant Jane Goring said nothing. A hard line -tightened her mouth, but quickly she dissipated it, replacing -it with a deprecatory smile.</p> - -<p>“How absurd, ’Dolph!”</p> - -<p>“’Course it’s absurd. Don’t try to hog it, Jane! Give -the kid a chance!” He dropped back, regarding his cigar -contemplatively.</p> - -<p>“But I tell you that’s not the reason. I simply can’t -<a name="png.120" id="png.120" href="#png.120"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>110<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>do anything if she’s in the company. She makes me -bristle!”</p> - -<p>“Because she gets a big hand,” he put in. “Because -she holds up the show!” He leaned forward once more. -“And you honestly think I’d let a find like that get away -from me?”</p> - -<p>Jane Goring got to her feet. She had attempted a -new rôle. She had pleaded. Now she would play in -character. She would demand.</p> - -<p>“Either she goes—or I do,” came succinctly.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, Jane!” He, too, was on his feet.</p> - -<p>“I mean it. You can take your choice.”</p> - -<p>“Why, listen to me, old girl! You’ve got the public in -the palm of your hand! You can afford to give the kid -a square deal.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve told you—”</p> - -<p>Cleeburg’s round eyes narrowed. “What’re you trying -to do—bully me?”</p> - -<p>“No. I want you to be fair.”</p> - -<p>“I am fair—to all concerned—”</p> - -<p>“Except to me who should be your first consideration.”</p> - -<p>“Look here, Jane, you’ve had things pretty much your -own way for a good many years. To me there wasn’t -anybody—not one of ’em—in your class, either as actress -or woman. Darned if I wasn’t even afraid of you! -You’ve laid down the law more than once and I let you -get away with it. But I can’t let you grab a find out of -my hand, just like that!” Again the fingers snapped. -“And I won’t!”</p> - -<p>The peacock’s shriek is the one unbeautiful thing about -<a name="png.121" id="png.121" href="#png.121"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>111<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>him. It is blatant, raucous. It is crude as the rasp of -iron on stone.</p> - -<p>Jane Goring’s voice rose belligerently to the housetops. -“And I tell you, I won’t have her putting over that -sob stuff on me! I won’t have it! I won’t have it!!” -Stripped of iridescence, shorn of plumage, she stood facing -him, nails grinding into palms, head thrust forward -and upward, body rocking with the same fury that had -seized her the night before.</p> - -<p>Cleeburg came to her, his round eyes softened and -troubled, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Come, come, -Jane! Don’t let’s do anything hasty. You and I’ve -pulled along pretty comfortably for a long time. This -thing is a tempest in a teapot. Let’s both think it over -and have a nice calm talk later in the week.”</p> - -<p>When he had left, she settled down to weigh things -and balance accounts.</p> - -<p>First and foremost, one discomforting thought was -uppermost—she was losing her drag with her manager. -It had been a revelation, amazing, most difficult to face, -most delicate to handle. A few years ago ’Dolph Cleeburg -would have been, as he had frankly stated, afraid -to cross her. Hers would have been the last word, the -decisive one. Such incidents as the cutting of scenes, the -dismissing of actors to whom she objected, were occurrences -not uncommon. Gloria Cromwell would simply -have received her two weeks’ notice accompanied by a -pleasing smile from Cleeburg and, since he liked her, a -contract and promise to put her in his next production. -To-day Jane Goring had met open defiance, backed with -<a name="png.122" id="png.122" href="#png.122"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>112<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>a twinge of ridicule even harder to endure. Not subtly -but poignantly she felt it. That smile that had lurked -in his eye when he called the green-eyed monster by its -right name—there was no mistaking it.</p> - -<p>Just one course remained. Her brain sprang instantly -to that—to tighten her hold on him in some other way so -that her will would still be the lever directing their business -association. At any cost it must be accomplished. -Times innumerable he had begged her to procure a divorce -from the husband with whom she did not live, and -marry him. That answer was the obvious one to her -present situation. It gave to Jane Goring the one safe -solution.</p> - -<p>She did not hesitate, did not stop to weigh Bob’s wishes -in the matter. Circumstances had pushed her to take -the step. Without delay she must act and efficiently. -Immediately and as quietly as possible the whole affair -must be put through, consummated. It must not be the -usual theatrical divorce, with blaring of trumpets and -long columns in the newspapers. If it could be managed, -she wanted no publicity at all. Just as her present marriage -was unknown generally, so would she conduct her -second venture.</p> - -<p>Having arrived at a solution she called up her lawyer, -made an appointment and drove downtown.</p> - -<p>Two hours later she left his office, a shadow across -her eyes, her face drawn and a bit haggard. The thing -was not so easy as she had anticipated—impossible, in -fact, in New York as matters now stood. They had -thrashed it out—viewed it from every conceivable angle—to -reach a conclusion that placed the final decision -<a name="png.123" id="png.123" href="#png.123"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>113<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>entirely in Bob McNaughton’s hands. Unless Goring were -willing to leave the state long enough to establish a residence, -Bob was the one who must sue. He must be -located, which would involve no great difficulty, and then, -granted his consent could be gained, it would take the -red tape of the law an indefinite time to unwind.</p> - -<p>What worried her was the fear that Bob might take -this occasion to be nasty. The long silence since he had -gone West made it difficult to gauge his attitude toward -her. More than likely he would refuse and cause her no -end of trouble.</p> - -<p>When she received word from her attorney that, -through his former paper, Bob had been located with the -Graystone Photoplay Company in Los Angeles, she decided -to write instead of trusting to the cold terms of a -legal request.</p> - -<p>Very carefully she worded the letter, making it most -friendly but with the impersonal friendliness of those -whose lives have never intimately touched. Since she -had not heard from him in over two years, she wrote, she -was quite sure he had by this time come to regard her as -a sort of mythical being. Their separation had become -so complete that a request she was about to make would, -she knew, be nothing short of welcome to him. She -wanted him to have his freedom. Herself—she no longer -wanted to feel bound. She would always think of him -as the best friend she ever had, but so many years had -elapsed since their relationship had been that of husband -and wife that it was rather a farce to keep up the pose -any longer. She was sure he would agree in this. Knowing -the New York laws he must realize that the move -<a name="png.124" id="png.124" href="#png.124"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>114<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>would have to come from him. California, she understood, -was more lenient, and since he was now a resident, -it would be practically easy. She assumed that by -this time his health had been entirely restored and wished -him every good wish in the world.</p> - -<p>Before sending off the letter she gave it to her attorney. -Stamped with his approval but with no slight misgivings -on her part, it was registered and posted; then tossed -carelessly into a bag with thousands of others—tear-stained, -anxious, pleading, desperate, breathless, threatening, -thumb-marked, hopeless—all jumbled as human -emotions are jumbled together in this puzzling world. -With these it was flung into a mass of other bags similarly -laden and started on its way across the country.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile instead of resuming their discussion, ’Dolph -Cleeburg had diplomatically avoided seeing his star. For -several days he stayed away from the theater and Goring -was forced at every performance to endure the girl’s -entrance—the applause that apparently had become a -habit.</p> - -<p>The climax came when one of the Sunday papers featured -the young actress’s picture on the same page as the -star’s. That was the proverbial straw.</p> - -<p>Jane Goring scorned any further attempt to bring Cleeburg -round to her way of thinking. If he was afraid to -see her, was determined to keep Cromwell in the cast—very -well, she would read him a lesson. She would prove -to him who was the motive power that kept his play going. -She would show him in whose hands lay his success -or failure. Incidentally she would resort to the very -feminine ruse of playing on his sympathy.</p> - -<p><a name="png.125" id="png.125" href="#png.125"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>115<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -At seven-thirty Monday evening she sent word to the -theater that she was ill and could not appear.</p> - -<p>As she had anticipated, the stage manager phoned -wildly, begging for a word with her. The situation was -terrible! Terrible! She must come! They were sold -out!</p> - -<p>Goring smiled. It was just what she had looked for. -No understudy for her had been engaged so far. It was -a matter with which they never concerned themselves, -for no one could have replaced Goring with the public. -The theater would have to remain dark—Cleeburg would -have his lesson. Madame was very ill, her maid replied, -too ill even to answer the telephone. The stage manager -urged. He pleaded. In vain! A few minutes later -Cleeburg himself was on the wire. Couldn’t she drag -herself downtown? She must! To him she spoke, her -voice so weak that it could scarcely be heard. She had -tried—impossible. Her heart— And then the maid -once more took the wire. Cleeburg was frantic. It -meant a refund—the loss of thousands. He almost wept -into the phone. At the psychological moment the maid -told him madame had fainted.</p> - -<p>Jane Goring slept that night with a smile on her lips.</p> - -<p>She woke up in the morning to read that at half an -hour’s notice Gloria Cromwell had gone on in her place—and -hit Broadway straight between the eyes.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter V"><a name="png.126" id="png.126" href="#png.126"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>116<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER V</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">Some</span> months later word came from the West that -Bob McNaughton had secured a divorce. There had -been no personal reply to her letter. Calmly and quietly -he had complied with her request, his lawyer merely notifying -hers that Mrs. McNaughton’s wishes would be -carried out to the letter. No possible way had she of -gauging how he had taken it, no possible manner of knowing -how, after all the years, such a request had affected -him.</p> - -<p>Her relief was like a gale of wind sweeping over the -city after a stifling day. For months she had been trembling -on the brink of terrifying uncertainty. The day -following Gloria Cromwell’s amazing success had found -her really ill, so ill that had she remained away from the -theater that night there would have been justification. -She was stunned, utterly bewildered, sickened to the -soul by the trick she told herself Fate had played her.</p> - -<p>Over and over she read the papers, as one gazes fascinated -over the edge of a dizzying precipice. It was incredible! -And worse still, it might easily have been -avoided. She might have accepted the girl, made her a -protégée, gracefully posed as having discovered a young -genius and pushed her to the fore. She saw all that -now. And—further irony—it would probably have redounded -to her credit, a neat bit of self-advertisement. -As things stood she had made herself a laughing-stock. -She could not bear the thought of it.</p> - -<p><a name="png.127" id="png.127" href="#png.127"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>117<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -On the verge of hysteria, she dragged herself out of -bed and dressed for the street. When her maid dared -to protest, she turned on the girl ready to strangle her.</p> - -<p>Walking rapidly westward she veered north when she -reached the Drive. It was a dull day, no clarity of air -to fill the lungs, no shimmer of sunlight through the -heavy clouds. Skeleton trees reached gaunt arms to the -sky. Thick mud covered the ground which a month before -had shown green and living. There was no cheer -anywhere. Across the river the Palisades rose misty and -unreal, as if they had never been more than mirages. -Miles she made, on and on, seeking some way to still -the terror voice in her breast.</p> - -<p>That night she drove down to the theater with a sense -of dread. But whatever the flurry of gossip backstage, -it ceased with her arrival. Members of the company inquired -concerning her health—that was all. While she -was dressing a knock came. The maid opened and the -Cromwell girl stood in the doorway. She took a rather -timid step forward.</p> - -<p>“I’m so glad you’re back, Miss Goring.” She spoke -with a note of sincerity unmistakable, and in her wide -eyes was a look of pleading as of unspoken apology for -what she had done. “I just had to come and tell you.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” Goring replied and for her life could -not say more. Her hatred was a living, searing thing.</p> - -<p>The coup she had made in absenting herself accomplished -its end. Gloria Cromwell was withdrawn from -the cast—to be featured by Cleeburg in a new production!</p> - -<p>Anxiously Goring waited for some reference to the -<a name="png.128" id="png.128" href="#png.128"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>118<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>turn events had taken. None came, not even when the -girl left the company. Little ’Dolph seemed to be full -of the joy of living these days—cigar more active than -ever, smile more genial, himself more generous to the -down-and-outers and brimful of plans. In the weeks -that followed he never spoke of their misunderstanding. -Evidently his admiration had not in any way decreased. -She had chosen, she concluded, the psychological moment -to gain her freedom.</p> - -<p>When news came that it was consummated the weight -of uncertainty lifted. She felt buoyant, with a clear -course to steer ahead. Not that she was at all eager to -marry her manager. But since it was the one sure way -to secure her future, it must be gone through.</p> - -<p>She will always have reason to remember the bright -spring day when she dropped into his office to break the -news. For some time he had known Bob was suing.</p> - -<p>“Glad to hear it,” he remarked when she told him -everything was settled. Then he swung round in his chair -and gazed out of the window at a pair of fleecy, fluttering -clouds in the very blue heavens.</p> - -<p>“Well, I took your advice, Jane,” he added casually.</p> - -<p>“What advice?”</p> - -<p>“Remember telling me once to make that Cromwell -girl change her name? I went ahead and did it.”</p> - -<p>“You did?”</p> - -<p>“Sure! Changed it for her. She’s Mrs. ’Dolph now.” -And he grinned happily.</p> - -<p>She understood then why he had been grinning in just -that way for a number of weeks. Had she not been so -absorbed in self, she would have noticed that his smile -<a name="png.129" id="png.129" href="#png.129"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>119<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>was gayer—different from any he had ever worn. It -made his face quite boyish.</p> - -<p>The decline of Goring after that was gradual. As a -matter of fact, it could have been dated actually from -the night of her non-appearance. Upon the heels of that -night followed a change, scarcely noticeable at first, in -the sea of eyes and lips and hands to which she looked -for signs of approval. Slowly—oh very slowly—there -crept into the audience’s response to her a quality mechanical, -automatic almost, as if largely force of habit, -a quality that presaged the beginning of the end. -Whether in herself or the public she could not tell. It -was nothing tangible, nothing definite. But something -had happened. The fine thread by which an actress -chains herself to popular favor had snapped. In vain -she told herself it was just nervous imagination. It made -her choke with fear.</p> - -<p>One thing Jane Goring had failed to take into consideration: -Than the highest rung of the ladder there is -nothing higher; and unless one dies having reached the -top, there must be a descent. Youth pushes its way upward -relentlessly, and those who have been must make -way for those who will be. A ladder with top rung overcrowded -would of necessity break.</p> - -<p>Had she possessed the art of Bernhardt or the intellect -of Fiske—that magnetic quality of soul that charms -with the mellowing years—she could have laughed at -time. But her ability consisted chiefly in a technique, -the accumulated result of stage tricks that only up to a -certain point can present itself as youth.</p> - -<p>With an eagerness that approached hysteria she reached -<a name="png.130" id="png.130" href="#png.130"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>120<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>out for the adulation that for years she had accepted without -question as her due. The thirst for it was the thirst -of fever. Even the tame robins she had always regarded -as more or less of a joke, she began to seek them as they -in the past had sought her. The desire to be seen about -pursued by youth; to lunch and tea at fashionable restaurants -in their company; to hold the center of the -public eye at any cost, became a mania. It was as grim -an effort as that of a doomed man to cling to the last moments -of life.</p> - -<p>And when a year or so later came the inevitable day -when Cleeburg said to her—trying to speak gently—</p> - -<p>“Come, Jane, let’s talk horse sense. No use your trying -to play a chicken! God knows you ain’t one!”—</p> - -<p>Jane Goring went home, flung open her bedroom windows -letting in an uncompromising flood of sunlight, sat -down at her dressing-table and looked herself squarely in -the face. The whiteness—smooth, glowing—which had -made her skin like gardenia petals in the old days had -gone long since. She had grown accustomed to simulating -it with modern triumphs of the beauty parlor. But -sitting there with God’s spotlight turned full on her, it was -not the realization of muscles sagging as if pulled down -by the hand of Time that made her shudder. It was not -the gooselike shriveling of her throat when she turned -her head that made her eyes shut with pain. It was the -knowledge of ebbing self-confidence, the face to face admission -that her day was done. From now on it would -be—“Let’s go to see Jane Goring. She used to be—” -or “Don’t let’s go to see Jane Goring. She used to be—”</p> - -<p>But always “She used to be—” Always that.</p> - -<p><a name="png.131" id="png.131" href="#png.131"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>121<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -There was no quibbling, no splitting of hairs. She -knew! And with the acknowledgment she rose to her -feet, a great overwhelming defiance seizing her. She -would not let age get her. She would not go downhill. -She would not become a has-been! Rather would she -quit the stage now and let them say she had retired in -her prime. Money she had—an income larger than she -needed. She would cut herself off from the theater entirely; -for looking in at the window of a house of cheer -whose door is barred—that would be unbearable. She -would have to travel, to seek diversion elsewhere. Then -suddenly like the lifting of a rosy veil on barren waste, -she saw her career a thing of the past and herself wandering -down the declining years of life—alone. The desert -youth takes no count of—aloneness—stretched bleak and -endless, a reach of sand with no oasis to slake the thirst, -no shade to cool the soul.</p> - -<p>And there swamped her with a sickening sense of need -the longing for that bulwark of days gone, the one thing -that endures, the one thing that counts not success nor -failure, that survives when the ladder itself lies crumbled -in ruins. Giving it no conscious name, she knew -only that had Bob been there he would have shouldered -the burden of this cold hour of facing truth. He would -somehow have contrived to make it easier for her to hold -her head high and continue to look down, even though -that look must be directed toward the sunset.</p> - -<p>Bob, whose adoration had helped her always over the -difficult places, Bob would to-day and through all the -days to come have stood by to help her bridge this most -difficult place of all.</p> - -<p><a name="png.132" id="png.132" href="#png.132"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>122<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Bob!! Well, why not?</p> - -<p>Many hours she paced the floor, brows drawn together, -hands clenched as if grappling with a flesh and blood -thing.</p> - -<p>The peacock’s strut is slow and calculating. He lowers -his head only to gaze upon his own reflection in the pool. -To shed the trait that has made him world famous is to -lay his gorgeous plumage in the dust.</p> - - - -<p class="tb">The train steamed into the Santa Fé Station at Los -Angeles. A woman descended, the sort to whom one -gives a second glance in spite of tired lines round the eyes -and little crinkles at their corners. Gowned in the latest -cut of blue serge, with a tan traveling cloak swung across -her arm, she cried New York the instant one laid eyes -on her.</p> - -<p>She put her maid and bags into a cab, and sent them -to the Ambassador Hotel. Stepping into another, she -told the driver to take her to the Graystone Studio.</p> - -<p>It was an afternoon of late June. The languorous -breath of California summer had kissed the foliage into -mammoth bloom. They drove through lazy, sunny -streets, somnolent under warm skies, into that vortex -of activity modern commerce has planted in the midst of -beauty, the frame of artifice sprung up mushroom-like in -the very heart of Nature.</p> - -<p>Jane Goring descended at a row of small buildings that -barricaded huge ones roofed with glass. She made her -way past men and women with faces ghastly white and -lips preternaturally red, mounted the steps and asked -for Mr. McNaughton. The attendant wanted her name -<a name="png.133" id="png.133" href="#png.133"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>123<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>but she insisted upon being announced merely as a friend -from the East. She had given Bob no warning of her -visit and her eyes followed the man with a look half -curious, half eager as he opened a door and disappeared -along a corridor lined with offices.</p> - -<p>He came back presently and shut the door. Mr. McNaughton -had gone home. She asked his address quite -as a matter of course—in a way that brooked no refusal, -and once more was driven out of bedlam to the quiet of -drowsy green streets, past the beautiful Hollywood homes -of picture stars who yesterday were unknown.</p> - -<p>Toward the sunset she went, melting amethystine into -violet night. Shadows stretched across the road, cool -and mellow, and a soft sense of fragrant tranquillity.</p> - -<p>She lay back, closing her eyes. When she opened them -she had turned a corner and was pulling up before the -lawn of a rambling Queen Anne cottage set snugly in a -mass of shrubbery. She gave a little start, pleasure surmounting -surprise. It looked very much as though Bob -McNaughton had found time to make his own career.</p> - -<p>A gate with a lantern over it opened on a bricked -path that led to the house. She paused there and looked -in. Under a tree sat a man she scarcely knew. His -hair was quite gray—iron gray—but the face under it -was full and ruddy, the eyes keen, the mouth relaxed -and smiling. The hand that held a newspaper which he -no longer read was firm and capable. A hand accustomed -to direct, the hand of a man sure of himself! Bob, who -was almost fifty, looked less than forty!</p> - -<p>As she stood staring at him, the house door opened -and a slim figure was silhouetted against the light from -<a name="png.134" id="png.134" href="#png.134"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>124<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>within. The figure stepped to the lawn, light shining -through masses of soft brown hair like a halo, eyes glowing, -red lips parted in eager welcome, and with a cry full -of sweetness held out something to Bob McNaughton. -He gave a laugh, sprang to his feet, bent down to the -eager lips, then caught the something swiftly in his arms—with -infinite tenderness hugged it close against his -heart. And it gave a gurgle of delight.</p> - -<p>Jane Goring turned and went back to the waiting taxi.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="sect"> -<h2 title="Grease-paint"><a name="png.135" id="png.135" href="#png.135"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>125<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>GREASE-PAINT</h2> - -<h3 title="Realism"><i>REALISM</i></h3> - - -<p>There is no such thing—either in life or the theater. For -what is real to one is unreal to another. The tenement of -the stage is real to those who live in drawing-rooms—the -drawing-room, real to those who know only the squalor of -tenements. That which seizes our imaginations with grim -claws, shakes our emotions with sordid passions we have -never experienced—we call reality. That which is uncertain, -sad, elusive, delicate—we call unreality. Both are -life!</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h2 title=""><a name="png.137" id="png.137" href="#png.137"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>127<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>GREASE-PAINT</h2> - - - - -<h3 title="Chapter I">CHAPTER I</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">She</span> had weary eyes—eyes with the weight of centuries -of knowledge upon them—eyes that could no -longer open wide with astonishment at anything life -might hold. The lashes were so long, so dark and straight -that they were like a veil of night shadowing the grayness -beneath. Her gaze came through, inviting you to -penetrate, urging you by its very weariness to try to -read the story those eyes might tell.</p> - -<p>A slow smile lifted the corners of her mouth, then let -them droop before the smile was really born. Her walk -as she trailed from the first line of show girls in her wide-spread -bird of paradise costume was as measured as the -muse of tragedy.</p> - -<p>And yet she was only twenty-six.</p> - -<p>That was Naomi Stokes, who counted numberless acquaintances -but few friends; who knew many men better -than they cared to be known but few as well as she might -have cared to know them.</p> - -<p>Broadway was a playground to Naomi but she had -long since learned that in the game played there, none -are winners. Time is the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">croupier</i> who rakes in the -spoils and at Time Naomi had ceased to smile even wearily. -He stood with his long arm suspended, ready, it -seemed to her, to pounce upon each hour she might hold -dear, jealous of all she had crowded into one short life. -Man she knew too well to fear but the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">croupier</span> with -whom she had gambled so long, she dared not look in -<a name="png.138" id="png.138" href="#png.138"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>128<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>the face. And as one sings in the dark to silence fear, -so she had developed a philosophy of life which she held -close in those moments when she might be tempted to -take measure of things. She could not afford to pause -long nor to think much.</p> - -<p>Of that glittering section which stretches like some bejeweled -recumbent queen of the night from Forty-second -to Fiftieth Streets, Naomi was such an integral part that -if a night passed without her appearance at one or another -of the tightly wedged restaurants, their habitués -wondered. When she moved between rows of tables with -her long-lashed smile sweeping with lazy insolence the -whole room, those who did not know asked who she was. -Her name—in the theater merely that of another show -girl—had for so long swung from lip to lip in the after-theater -life of the White Way that soon it would of necessity -be relegated to that past which hangs so cruelly over -the present.</p> - -<p>Naomi knew this. And more than once, alone in her -tiny two-room apartment and in spite of her philosophy, -she wondered what would come after. A shrug avails -little in the midday glare of reality.</p> - -<p>It was on a night following such a day—when the -dregs of life had tasted particularly bitter—that Naomi -and four others went to supper with Marshall Kent.</p> - -<p>Kent having more money than he could spend enjoyed -spending it on Broadway. Having nothing better to do, -he had never looked for anything better. He and -Naomi were good pals in their way. He liked to stare -through her lashes at the puzzle beneath. Most women -were so revealing.</p> - -<p><a name="png.139" id="png.139" href="#png.139"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>129<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -But to-night she resented his set gaze, the ironic twitch -of his thin lip. After her nasty, self-disclosing day she -wanted a friend. Some one to whom she could be something -more than heavy eyes and auburn-tinted hair, -some one with whom she could share thoughts—and -fears. But Marshy Kent had never given her friendship. -No man had.</p> - -<p>All through supper she was silent, with a hard, shell-like -silence her companions could not break. Finally -she pushed her plate to one side and her glance sifted -the smoke-thickened air.</p> - -<p>Beyond the table, in a space so small that they might -have been squirrels chasing their tails, the crowd jostled -and elbowed and glared at one another in an effort to -keep time to a stamping, hilarious jazz. In the doorway -beyond, another crowd jostled and elbowed and glared -at one another and fought for the privilege of slipping -crisp greenbacks to supercilious head-waiters. Through -the befogged atmosphere the lights with their shades of -brilliant yellow and black glimmered faintly. At the -tables and on the dance floor jaded New Yorkers and -curious out-of-towners pretended to enjoy themselves.</p> - -<p>Naomi swept it with a noxious sense of disgust. Suddenly -it seemed a ton weight, as if the ceiling like some -infernal machine were descending upon her. She lifted -her shoulders and her head went back. Oh, for a breath -of real fresh air!</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, my dear?” put in Kent. “Off -your feed?”</p> - -<p>“No.” She brought her eyes toward him, then they -drifted back to the crowd at the door. “I was just -<a name="png.140" id="png.140" href="#png.140"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>130<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>thinking what a joke they are on themselves, fighting -like that to get into a stuffy old hole where they’re going -to be held up and fleeced.”</p> - -<p>Kent laughed.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you worth the price of admission? You’re -one of the exhibits, you know.”</p> - -<p>She shrugged.</p> - -<p>He looked down at the easy movement of the white -shoulders under the narrow beaded straps that were -the sole support of her black gown.</p> - -<p>“Any one with the eyes and arms of Naomi will always -count,” he consoled.</p> - -<p>She pulled from his gaze.</p> - -<p>“Oh, what’s the use! You know I don’t matter to -them any more than to you. You play around with me -here because you haven’t any better way to pass your -time. And they, poor idiots—”</p> - -<p>“By Jove, you <em>are</em> off your feed!”</p> - -<p>She turned her back on his low, impudent chuckle.</p> - -<p>His tolerant eye traveled over the shoulder turned -from him to the hot, wild mass clamoring at the doorway. -Suddenly he became alert and a second later was on his -feet, without apology pushing his way round the dance -floor. Naomi saw him make for a man with a big frame -and graying mustache who lingered impotently at the -rear of the crowd. Kent reached out, grabbed his hand -and with absolute disregard of intervening humanity, -wrung it as if he never wanted to let it go. She wondered -vaguely what it would be like to have some one -as glad to see her. He passed a word to the head-waiter. -The red velvet rope dropped as if by magic -<a name="png.141" id="png.141" href="#png.141"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>131<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>and, escorted by Kent, the party was led to a table a -few paces from where she sat.</p> - -<p>The man glanced about with the curiosity, half -amused, half critical of the sight-seeing stranger. Back -of him came a girl of twenty-one or so with eager gray -eyes a thousand years younger than Naomi’s, white -teeth showing through parted lips and hair the dense, -dusky black of an Indian’s. At her side walked a young -man. As he passed Naomi, their glances met. They -locked with that odd, unintentional arresting which -means that two out of a vast throng have momentarily -become individuals. Naomi’s slow gaze followed as he -went on and it seemed to her that in the allotting of -places, he deliberately chose the one facing her.</p> - -<p>Kent hovered over his friend with beaming enthusiasm. -The ironic twitch of his thin lips was gone. -The somewhat sagging shoulders of the man who keeps -flesh down by massage rather than exercise had straightened. -He scribbled his address. He took theirs. He -admonished the waiter to treat them well, received that -gentleman’s reassuring nod, and apologized finally for -having to return to his own table.</p> - -<p>Naomi watched the younger man’s face as Marshall -Kent sat down beside her. No—she had not been mistaken. -She who knew so well how to read men’s eyes -saw in his dark ones a look of intense, concentrated interest. -The girl next to him saw it, too—and following -it, thought she had never seen a face more fascinating -than the one so smoothly white with its heavy-fringed -lids and wave of glinting hair across the forehead. It -was artificial, of course, but then you got used to that -<a name="png.142" id="png.142" href="#png.142"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>132<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>in New York. Her clear gray eyes went swiftly back -to the dark ones that were fastened on Naomi’s.</p> - -<p>Kent pulled in his chair and settled back.</p> - -<p>“Well, little Marshy’s all het up!” one of the girls -prompted. “Who’s your friend?”</p> - -<p>He was still beaming.</p> - -<p>“Fellow I haven’t seen since college—Alec McConnell. -I was chucked. He went through to the finish. -Mining engineer—big man in Idaho to-day.”</p> - -<p>“And the other two?” queried Naomi casually.</p> - -<p>“The one staring at you, my dear, is the son of Bill -Dixon of Dixonville, Oregon, big ranch owner, king of -the apple country.”</p> - -<p>“And the girl?”</p> - -<p>“Little friend of his being chaperoned by McConnell -and his wife. First visit to the big town. Is that all?”</p> - -<p>Once more Naomi’s lazy gaze met the one which had -not moved from her and a faint flush surged under her -thick pallor. As the lids fell, they covered something -of the look of the gamester. It was a calculating look -that weighed possibilities, one she was quick to hide.</p> - -<p>Kent detected it rather by instinct than otherwise.</p> - -<p>“Oh, have a heart, Naomi!” he teased. “He’s so -young and tender.”</p> - -<p>Naomi turned slowly in his direction. She said nothing -for the moment but waited until the others got up -to dance.</p> - -<p>“Well?” He was intrigued by her silence. “Well, -Eve, do we tempt young Adam to eat the apple or do -we let him go home in peace and grow them?”</p> - -<p>“I think we marry him,” she said quietly.</p> - -<p><a name="png.143" id="png.143" href="#png.143"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>133<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Kent gave a start that brought him upright. Then -he grinned, that drawling grin tinged with cynicism. -The idea of any one marrying Naomi was amusing. She -read his thought as plainly as if it had been put into -words and her head went up suddenly. Though the -lashes did not lift, a flash came through them. It was -challenge.</p> - -<p>“You think I couldn’t?”</p> - -<p>“My dear Naomi—if you’ll pardon my brutality, I -should say—not a chance in the world!”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“In the first place I have a hunch that little girl, Nan -Crawford, has a pretty firm hold on young Bill. It’s -plain to see they’re crazy about each other. Darn -sweet kid, too. I suspect she’s here trousseauing. In -the second, Bill is probably more sophisticated than you -or I imagine. This isn’t his first visit to New York.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to marry him just the same.”</p> - -<p>“And go out and live on an Oregon ranch, old dear?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>He laughed aloud this time.</p> - -<p>“You’d look sweet in a sunbonnet and gingham dress.”</p> - -<p>“Just what do you mean by that?” she asked, not -quite sure what emphasis to put on “sweet.”</p> - -<p>“Just this! You belong here as surely as grease-paint -belongs in the theater.”</p> - -<p>“No woman belongs here,” she flung at him. “There -isn’t a woman made who hasn’t the right to a home.”</p> - -<p>“Then why does she start here?”</p> - -<p>“Because she’s young and a fool—in nine cases out -of ten. Because she thinks this is living.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.144" id="png.144" href="#png.144"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>134<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Her face went hard as nails; with contempt, with -futility, with derisive defiance of herself. And then -furtively she pulled a bit of lace from her bag and -dabbed at her eyes.</p> - -<p>Kent’s mouth opened. It was the first time he had -seen Naomi cry, had witnessed a woman’s tears without -suspicion. Usually they meant that she wanted something.</p> - -<p>“Don’t mind me!” She met his astonishment with -a swift effort to pull herself together. “I’ve had a rotten -day.”</p> - -<p>“How, my dear?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, just the realization that to-night it’s this, and -in two years it’ll be ham and eggs and a lunch counter—if -I’m lucky.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes! I’ll just drop out and you’ll forget me—like -the rest. What’s become of Emy Steward—and -Cora Greene—and Ray Granville? You don’t even -know and you used to give parties for them like this -one.”</p> - -<p>He was silent, knowing she spoke the truth. Like -comets across a glittering sky those beautiful girls had -gleamed and gone. Gone when their beauty had gone, -vanished into the night that engulfed them, too proud -or too forgotten to accept the humiliation of charity.</p> - -<p>“We don’t last long, boy,” she added grimly. “And -I’m one of those who can’t keep on fooling herself. I’ve -had a beast of a day.”</p> - -<p>“Hence the ranch idea in Oregon.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.” A queer twist lifted her lips—then dropped -<a name="png.145" id="png.145" href="#png.145"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>135<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>them. “Inspiration, I call it. The Limited that will -carry me away from the poorhouse!”</p> - -<p>“You’ll never put it over.”</p> - -<p>“Sporting enough to lay odds on it, Marshy old dear?”</p> - -<p>In all justice to Marshall Kent, it must be admitted -that under normal conditions he would not have taken -her up. But the restaurant happened to be one of the -many which prided itself that prohibition meant nothing -in its life and the silver flask reposing on Marshy’s -hip had been refilled on frequent visits to a side chamber -just off the main room. He looked out of the corner -of an eye at Naomi stepping in where angels might fear -to tread and the flushed, grudging admiration of gamester -for gamester darted in the glance.</p> - -<p>“You’re on!” he said.<!-- TN: period invisible --></p> - -<p>“And you’ll keep off!” she urged, a bit breathless.</p> - -<p>“Yes—I’ll give you ground. What stakes?”</p> - -<p>“If I lose—”</p> - -<p>“Yes?”</p> - -<p>“We’ll make it a hundred perfectos, best brand.”</p> - -<p>“Nice and impersonal!” observed Marshy, head to -one side, now well into the game. “And if you win?”</p> - -<p>“The handsomest wedding present in town!”</p> - -<p>“I call that odds in your favor.”</p> - -<p>With a faint smile she leaned nearer, hand outstretched -to clinch it.</p> - -<p>“Hold on! What’s the time limit?”</p> - -<p>“When he starts west I start with him.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a go. Only don’t expect any help from me.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t—except an introduction when he stops here -on the way out.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.146" id="png.146" href="#png.146"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>136<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“What makes you think he’ll stop?”</p> - -<p>“I know he will. He’ll find some excuse to.”</p> - -<p>And he did, of course. Waveringly, as he drew nearer -the magnet of her eyes, he paused and tapped Marshy’s -shoulder. The latter sprang up.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Kent, we’re such a bunch of rubes—I thought -you might recommend the best show in town for to-morrow -night.”</p> - -<p>Naomi waited as Marshy considered.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you send your friend to ours?” she suggested -in a low voice apparently to him alone.</p> - -<p>“What one is that?” asked the friend, flashing eagerly -into the breach.</p> - -<p>Kent introduced him then to the upraised eyes round -the table. But he saw only Naomi’s veiled ones. She -gave him the name of the musical comedy and the -theater—nothing more. And as he bowed and rejoined -the older man and the girl with the dusky hair standing -in the doorway, Marshall Kent dropped into his chair -again.</p> - -<p>“Quick work, Naomi,” he murmured, “and Machiavellian -method! One more move from you and the apple -wouldn’t have looked nearly so inviting.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter II"><a name="png.147" id="png.147" href="#png.147"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>137<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER II</h3> - - -<blockquote> -<p class="noindent">My dear Miss Stokes,</p> - -<p>This will be the fourth time I’ve seen the show and the -third time I’ve asked you to go to supper. If you tell me -you can’t again, I’ll think you don’t want to—and quit. No, -on the whole, I won’t quit. I’ve never done that in my -life. I’ll just hang round and bother you till you come, so -better come to-night. I’ll be waiting for you.</p> - -<p class="sig"><span class="yours2">Sincerely,</span><br - /><span class="smc">William Dixon</span>.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Naomi lifted the head-dress of paradise that swayed -round her face and handed it absently to the dresser, -still concentrating on the note which had been delivered -at the theater by special messenger.</p> - -<p>“Sincerely, William Dixon.” Numberless notes she -had received during her show girl career, but never one -signed just like that. “Sincerely.” Probably it was -a card index of the man.</p> - -<p>She laid it down speculatively, the look of Eve through -her lashes. Three nights she had put him off. Yes, -the apple might safely be held a bit closer to-night—but -not too close.</p> - -<p>He was waiting just within the stage door, his face -eager with anticipation, his hands in the pockets of his -overcoat. As she came up the stairs that led from the -chorus dressing-rooms under the stage, he stepped forward -and both hands came out of the pockets.</p> - -<p>She clasped the right one, smiling up at him, and -<a name="png.148" id="png.148" href="#png.148"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>138<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>his frank eyes shone. He piloted her to a car at the -curb. As the door slammed with the sudden intimacy -of shutting out the rest of the world, he leaned forward, -the glow of his eyes reflected in his voice.</p> - -<p>“Gee, this is great! I was afraid you’d turn me -down again.” He did not wait for an answer but -crowded into the next few moments all the hours of -thought which her refusal of his invitations had lengthened -into days. “You must have thought me an awful -rube, staring at you the way I did. I’ve been afraid it -made you sore at me. Did it?”</p> - -<p>“No woman thinks a man’s a rube for staring at her.”</p> - -<p>“I couldn’t help it. I just couldn’t take my eyes off -you.”</p> - -<p>In the shadows of the car she smiled softly.</p> - -<p>“Funny, how I walked into that place, cussing the -smoke and noise and then saw you. Lord, suppose I -hadn’t gone!”</p> - -<p>She smiled again.</p> - -<p>He went on.</p> - -<p>“You’ve seen me every night in the first row at the -theater, haven’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’ve seen you.”</p> - -<p>“And I think it’s a punk show,” his teeth flashed in -a quick grin. “So now you know why I came.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him from under weighty lids. As if he -had to tell her!</p> - -<p>“One lone show girl can’t be worth a speculator’s -ticket four times,” she prompted.</p> - -<p>“She’s worth lots more than that. Thank you for -coming to-night.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.149" id="png.149" href="#png.149"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>139<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -His voice turned serious. He tucked the robe into -her corner of the seat for no other reason than the -magnet of bending over her, of breathing the faint fragrance -that wafted from her like an aura. It was the -ghost of grease-paint and flowers, of powder and perfume—that -strange, exotic pot-pourri of the theater that -clings to its women like essence of old Egypt.</p> - -<p>She gazed down at the bent head, at the hands that -brushed hers with a boyish lingering as they drew the -robe closer. How young he seemed! She felt for the -moment much as a man of the world feels when within -the scope of his worldliness there appears a radiant -young girl. There was the same thrill of interest, the -same desire to be the one privileged to open up avenues -of possibilities. A man on Broadway who had something -to learn! It was like finding a canary in a cage -of monkeys!</p> - -<p>The strange exuberance was with her as they made -their way among crowded tables to the one he had reserved. -Amber satin clung to her supple body and long -jet earrings almost touched her shoulders. She was -conscious that in the attention she drew, she was giving -him the sense of pride every man feels when the -clatter of forks stops momentarily in tribute to the -woman with him. But more than that, she had a sudden -personal satisfaction in his pride and a curve softer -than any her lips had known for years lifted their corners.</p> - -<p>His tanned skin and eyes that glowed seemed lifted -straight to the sun rising above the mountains. She -took a deep breath, as if from him she could get the -<a name="png.150" id="png.150" href="#png.150"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>140<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>stimulus of all outdoors. He looked at the slope of her -white shoulders, at the droop of her shadowed eyes, as -if in her were epitomized the lure of the city.</p> - -<p>She leaned across the table just as he did. Their -hands almost met. Naomi had long, languid fingers -that invited the touch.</p> - -<p>“You’re so—different,” he began. “So awfully different. -I guess that’s no news to you, though.”</p> - -<p>“So are you—different.”</p> - -<p>“Me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—from any man I’ve ever known. You’re like -fresh air. The others are—stuffy—like a room that’s -been shut tight.”</p> - -<p>He gave an embarrassed<!-- TN: original reads "embarassed" -->, pleased laugh.</p> - -<p>“Tell me about yourself,” she suggested, lifting the -lever best calculated to open up the dam of formality -where the male of the species is concerned.</p> - -<p>“Oh, nothing much to tell about me.”</p> - -<p>And he proceeded to tell it while they went through -two courses. She got a vivid picture of Bill Dixon, a -colt straining always against harness of any kind; a -lad loathing routine to such an extent that he had quit -college rather than submit to it; a young man, impulsive -as the wind, more tied to the picturesqueness of -ranch life than to the business of it; an only son worshipped -by the man who had paved the way, who was -both father and mother to him.</p> - -<p>He bent nearer to the white hands. “Now tell me -about you.”</p> - -<p>“That would take too long. And if you find out all -<a name="png.151" id="png.151" href="#png.151"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>141<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>there is to know to-night, you won’t want to see me -again.”</p> - -<p>“Won’t I, though! Besides—I could never find out -all there is to know about you.”</p> - -<p>They danced. He was not a good dancer but as his -arm went round her and his dark head bent to her -glinting one, she felt herself completely encompassed. -His bigness, his nearness, gave her a swift sense of -helplessness that frankly frightened her. The reins of -the future must be held in her cool hands, not in his.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to guess your age,” she announced when -they were once more at opposite sides of the table, “if -you’ll promise not to guess mine.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t give a darn how old you are.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m not as old as all that. But you—you’re -twenty-five.”</p> - -<p>“Next month. Bet, at that, I’m older than you.”</p> - -<p>“You are,” she lied, without a quiver.</p> - -<p>“But you’re the sort of woman who’ll always be young—even -when you’re wrinkled and gray. It’s your coloring,” -he went on, promptly contradicting himself. -“That wonderful white skin—I’ve never seen skin so -white—and the sheen of your hair and those eyes that -make a fellow sort of—sort of want to jump in.”</p> - -<p>The eyes smiled at him with infinite promise.</p> - -<p>“I think we’re going to like each other,” she said.</p> - -<p>“I know one of us does already,” he grinned.</p> - -<p>“You’re a dear,” she vouchsafed.</p> - -<p>They saw each other every day after that. He managed -to bring it about, either for luncheon or early -<a name="png.152" id="png.152" href="#png.152"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>142<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>dinner or after the theater. At least he thought he was -the one who brought it about. And as Naomi opened -his impetuous notes, or the boxes that held great clusters -of flowers ordered with awkward disregard of everything -but quantity, the Eve-smile lifted the corners of -her mouth and her eyes looked a trifle less tired.</p> - -<p>Occasionally they drove out to the country for the -day. But the countryside near New York rather -amused him.</p> - -<p>“It all seems sort of puny,” he would say as she sat -with face carefully veiled from a too-revealing sun. “I’m -used to snow peaks that touch the sky and trees so high -that when you’re on the mountain trails above them, -you look down and can’t see where they begin.” He -turned from the inadequate hills to the more absorbing -scenery of a woman’s face misted by a fluttering veil. -“No, sir! When I come east, I don’t want this. I want -New York—the excitement, the thrill of it. I want—you.”</p> - -<p>It was said softly. His voice held the word like a -caress and, looking up, she read in his eyes what she had -read in many men’s—except that added to it was the -new element of awe.</p> - -<p>That new element became infinitely dear to her. She -let him keep it. Except when their hands brushed accidentally—or -so it seemed to him—they did not touch -save for the clasp that helped her into a cab or expressed -“good-night.” The warmth of his arms closed round -her only in the dance. She met the light of his eyes -with her own only across restaurant tables. No debutante -could have held herself more aloof—perhaps not -<a name="png.153" id="png.153" href="#png.153"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>143<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>quite so much so. But Naomi did not play the ingénue<!-- TN: original reads "ingenue" -->. -It was her world knowledge—world old—that fascinated -him, that made her—as he had said—different.</p> - -<p>She amused him with cryptic remarks about the men -and women who came and went, with stories of familiar -characters on Broadway, with a touch of cynicism, a -touch of pessimism, that lack of faith in human nature -which comes with disillusionment in self. But this, -young Bill Dixon did not know nor count. He merely -tossed up his shaggy head with the deep, long laugh that -makes the whole body tingle and begged for more.</p> - -<p>She managed to fill his days with joy of her when -she was with him, with longing for her when she cleverly -denied him her companionship. She was the hundred -women to one man which her training had taught her -to be, knowing that to him she would thus become the -one women. She caught hold of his imagination and -twisted and played with it as a cat with a ball of twine, -tossing it this way and that but always with paw poised -to pounce.</p> - -<p>And simultaneously there flared into her own soul an -eagerness of which Naomi Stokes had long since counted -herself incapable. It was as if that brown-eyed, ardent -gaze held her with the same absorbing quality of his -arms when they danced. She began to look for it—jealously -as if it might escape her.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile in a hotel room that was just four walls, -another pair of gray eyes, not veiled, not mysterious, -watched for him more and more anxiously, saw him less -and less frequently. The girl from the West whose first -visit to New York was to have opened up a fairyland -<a name="png.154" id="png.154" href="#png.154"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>144<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>of adventure for her and the boy she loved—the visit -they had planned together—found its streets empty -caverns at the foot of towering cliffs, saw in hotels and -theaters and restaurants to which McConnell and his -wife took her night after night in the hope of diverting -her, only the possibility, eager yet dreaded, of singling -from the crowd the faces of Bill Dixon and the woman -who had taken him from her.</p> - -<p>She tried to hide her misery from the anxious eyes -of her chaperones. But because she was young—a -thousand years younger than Naomi—she could not hide -it from the one she loved. And her quivering chin, her -reproachful reminders of engagements he had overlooked, -sent his mind and feet hurrying back to the -woman whose red lips and drooping lids thrilled him -like the dizzying lights of Broadway, like a draught of -wine he had never before tasted.</p> - -<p>“Why does a girl think, because you’ve been together -all your lives,” he blurted out one night as he and Naomi -drove through the jerk and jam of traffic hold-up, “that -she has a right to know your comings and goings as if -you belonged to her? Good heavens, a fellow can -change his mind, can’t he?”</p> - -<p>Naomi turned and smiled out of the window at the -laughing sparkle of lights. The look, part sphinx, -touched her mouth. In the dark he did not see its tinge -of satire.</p> - -<p>He maintained for a second the silence that is usually -accompanied by a bitten cigar or cigarette half-smoked, -the silence of irritation. Then he swung about -impatiently.</p> - -<p><a name="png.155" id="png.155" href="#png.155"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>145<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“You’re not like that, Naomi! You’d never ask silly -questions.”</p> - -<p>She leaned over, touched the hand that clenched and -unclenched against his knee.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be angry, Billie-boy,” she whispered. “I like -to hear you laugh.”</p> - -<p>His other hand closed quickly over the white fingers.</p> - -<p>“What is it you’ve done to me? I always thought -caring about a woman meant wanting to be with her -because she liked the things I do, because we understood -each other. That’s the way I felt about—” he -broke off. “But you—I want to be with you because -you’re so different—because I don’t always understand -you. I can’t get enough of it—of looking at you, of -listening to you. Naomi, do you care—a little bit?”</p> - -<p>She lifted her eyes, lifted her lips, forgetting the game -she was playing, forgetting the stakes. Then before he -saw the move, she drew back. Not yet! She answered -him instead with a shadowy smile and the long silent -pressure of the hand held fast between his.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter III"><a name="png.156" id="png.156" href="#png.156"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>146<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER III</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">It</span> was an afternoon of late March, grim and forbidding, -as if winter had thrown a last shadow across -oncoming spring. The steam heat, turned off in the -chorus dressing-rooms during a week of balmy weather, -suddenly sputtered on and sang through the whole matinée -performance.</p> - -<p>Naomi came out of the stage entrance, fur coat hugged -about her, and shivering a bit, made for the curb to -hail a taxi. As she glanced up and down the street at -the ant-like army of cars, one of them slid toward her -and a man stepped down.</p> - -<p>“Why, hello, Marshy,”—she reached out a hand—“haven’t -seen you in weeks.”</p> - -<p>He took it.</p> - -<p>“Jump in.”</p> - -<p>“Good! Buy me some tea, won’t you? I’m frozen.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll have tea at your place. I want to talk to -you.”</p> - -<p>She turned and stared at him as he slammed the door.</p> - -<p>His voice didn’t sound like Marshy Kent’s at all.</p> - -<p>“I’ve called on you half a dozen times,” he supplemented. -“You’re never home.”</p> - -<p>“I’m busy.”</p> - -<p>“I know you are. That’s why I sidetracked you.”</p> - -<p>He did not speak again until they had mounted the -flight of stairs to her apartment in a reconstructed house -near the theater. But as she collected the seldom used -<a name="png.157" id="png.157" href="#png.157"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>147<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>tea things, he walked impatiently up and down the room.</p> - -<p>“Naomi, we’ve always been pretty good friends, -haven’t we?” he began.</p> - -<p>“Friends?”</p> - -<p>“Pals then,” he corrected, not knowing why.</p> - -<p>“Well, yes, I suppose so.”</p> - -<p>“That’s why I’m going to put something up to you. -I want you to listen quietly and then I want you to -stand by me. Naomi—I’ve done a lot of things in my -young life that I’m not exactly proud of. But the worst -that could have been said of me was that I’ve been a -waster. I’ve wasted one or two fortunes that the old -Kents slaved to pile up—on cards—on the wheel—on -the ponies—on women—I’ve never been anything but -a waster. But that goes in more senses than one. I’ve -never been a cad. Not until a month ago.”</p> - -<p>He waited for some response but Naomi merely struck -a match and touched it to the wick of the samovar. If -a quick question did flash to her lips, she held it back -and kept her eyes lowered.</p> - -<p>“You know when that was. I was <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">non compos mentis</i> -and I egged you into making a bet—”</p> - -<p>“In other words, dear Marshy,” she filled in his pause, -“you want me to let you off on the plea of—well, the -undue influence of liquor. Of course I will.”</p> - -<p>He pushed aside her easy acquiescence with a sweep -that almost knocked the cup from her hand. “But -that’s not all. The bet’s not the thing that’s bothering -me. It’s you. You and that boy, Dixon. Naomi, -you’ve got to quit. You’ve got to, do you hear me?”</p> - -<p>“Quit—what?”</p> - -<p><a name="png.158" id="png.158" href="#png.158"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>148<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Don’t play the innocent! You know what I’m driving -at. I’ve made myself your partner in the job of -smashing that boy’s life. And I’m telling you—”</p> - -<p>“Wait a minute!”</p> - -<p>Very slowly she set down her cup. Very slowly she -rose and went close to him. At the hard, driving note -in his voice, at the sharp arraignment of his eyes, resentment -brought her head up and her eyes defiant.</p> - -<p>“Marshy, men fall easily into the habit of talking to—to -some women pretty much as they please. But in -the years I’ve known you, you’ve never said a word to -me that—that hurt. Don’t do it now—please.”</p> - -<p>“Then let him alone. I’ve been through hell this past -week thinking of what I let those two young things in -for. McConnell tells me the girl’s on the verge of collapse,—can’t -eat, can’t sleep, just sits and waits for the -boy to come and he stays away. Why, they grew up -together, those kids. They were as good as engaged. -And now he’s chucked her—for you.”</p> - -<p>He reached out, caught her by both shoulders with -hands that shook.</p> - -<p>“I must have been crazy to take you up that night -and promise not to interfere. If you don’t cry quits, -here’s where I do! Young Dixon is a damn fine boy—McConnell<!-- TN: original reads "McConnel" --> -says one of the finest—and I’m not going to -stand to one side and see you smash his life and break -that little girl’s heart. Understand?”</p> - -<p>The eyes that traveled up to his were more weary -than he had ever seen them.</p> - -<p>“What about my life, Marshy? Doesn’t that count—at -all? Doesn’t it matter that I’d like a chance? -<a name="png.159" id="png.159" href="#png.159"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>149<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>That perhaps if I marry Bill Dixon, he’ll never -know—and I can forget? Doesn’t it matter that you’d -be helping me away from being a has-been—and all that -goes with it? Do you ever think of the hours I spend -here in the dark—alone, trying not to see what’s going -to happen to me when I count even less than I do now? -But no, of course not! Only—if it were the other way -round, Marshy, and I was a man and he a girl, you -wouldn’t see any harm in it—would you? If it were -you, Marshy, and a young girl—”</p> - -<p>“That’s different!”</p> - -<p>“Why is it different—why? It’s a man standing up -for a man where he wouldn’t for a woman—that’s the -only difference. It isn’t that you’re any better than I -am. It’s only that you think all men are.”</p> - -<p>“Look here, Naomi, I know it’s hard on you, my -putting it the way I have to. But conditions are conditions. -We’ve both faced them too long to try and buck -them. You keep away from that boy and you won’t -regret it. I’ll guarantee that—any way you like. -What’s it worth—?”</p> - -<p>“Marshy—you’re not trying to buy me off!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t put it so baldly—”</p> - -<p>He stopped. For her head had gone back and a -laugh startlingly high and sharp cut the sudden stillness.</p> - -<p>“So you’re afraid of me, that’s it! It’s gone that -far. He’s declared himself for me—and against her. -It’s come to a crux, then—and McConnell’s asked you -to help. Why, I didn’t dream it! I couldn’t have -hoped for so much in such a short time. I wouldn’t -have believed it.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.160" id="png.160" href="#png.160"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>150<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Even with that high laugh of mockery, her shadowy -eyes filled with the vision of the boy fighting—fighting -them all doggedly, with hot, flaming defiance—for her—and -it was sweeter than the thought of triumph.</p> - -<p>Kent’s voice broke in, uncompromising as judgment -itself.</p> - -<p>“I know a way to stop it—without you. I hesitated -to use it before. It didn’t seem cricket. But I’m going -to him now with the plain, unvarnished truth—the story -Broadway tells when it hears the name, Naomi Stokes,—the -story I can add a few chapters to.”</p> - -<p>“Marshy!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll show him what a blithering fool he is. I’ll prove -it the way I can. We’ll see then!”</p> - -<p>The vision vanished from Naomi’s eyes. She caught -his arm, clutched it with the clinging fingers of a child -who in sleep plunges from dreams into nightmare.</p> - -<p>“Marshy—you wouldn’t do that! You couldn’t! -Why, you called yourself my pal. Could pals stab one -another like that? Could I think of harming you that -way? Not for anybody! And that boy’s nothing to -you. Nothing! Won’t you give me this chance? Just -this one. If you knew what it means to me! Marshy, -don’t turn away. Listen—please—please!”</p> - -<p>But he kept his face turned determinedly from the -pleading one streaked with tears, from the eyes he had -so often smiled into when their mystery piqued and captivated -him in idle moments. And in the rigid line of -his jaw there was no yielding. He merely tried to tug -away from her clinging fingers and a short phrase answered -her.</p> - -<p><a name="png.161" id="png.161" href="#png.161"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>151<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Do you cry quits—or no?”</p> - -<p>She steadied her lips. Her arms fell listlessly. But -even as she met the question, it came less in the form he -put it than in the thought of what Bill Dixon had come -to mean to her. Not ease for herself, not insurance -against bleak years ahead, not the road that led away -from terror; but a boy’s hearty laugh and ardent eyes, -the warm clasp of his hand, the strength of his arms, -what it would mean to lose them. A light that lifted -the weight of centuries shone through her lashes. A -smile that trembled caught her lips.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t quits, Marshy. No! Either way you win, -so we might as well play to the finish.”</p> - -<p>When he had gone, she sank on the couch and tears -unlike the bitter ones of early dawn and hard noon -streamed silently down her cheeks. They were tears -of wonder and passionate regret, of gratitude that she, -Naomi Stokes, could know this engulfing tenderness. -The thing she had never dreamed might come was hers. -She loved him. Nothing could take that away. After -stumbling through the years, she had found in one brief -month the dearest thing in the world. And now Marshy -was going to snatch it from her. Was that his man’s -right? No! She would fight him—the whole world—to -keep that which had suddenly become her reason for -being.</p> - -<p>Yet she realized that she was not armed to fight, not -Marshy, nor the world, nor truth. She, who had never -lacked resources, to whom the game of life had been a -game of wits, stood helpless now.</p> - -<p>She could only wait.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter IV"><a name="png.162" id="png.162" href="#png.162"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>152<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER IV</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">Naomi</span> made no pretense of trying to sleep. She -did not even resort to the bromide she was in -the habit of taking when rest refused to come. She -merely lay, with blinds drawn to shut out the early -morning, trying to see light where she knew there was -none. At ten she sprang up, hand to the throat that -was full, lids covering the eyes that pained. Ever since -Marshy Kent’s visit, those eyes had been straining toward -the future, the result, inevitable almost, of his revelation -to Bill Dixon. In the endless, wakeful hours of the night -she had rehearsed, as women do, everything that had -probably transpired.</p> - -<p>Yet even in her misery she did not overlook the careful -mask of make-up, as mechanical a part of her daily -toilet as the brushing of her hair, or polishing of her -glistening nails. She had grown to avoid facing her -mirror without it.</p> - -<p>She flung on a negligée of orchid chiffon that clung -round her with the afterglow of sunset. But like the -orchid, she sought the damp darkness of her living-room -and sat with head resting against her locked hands for a -long time before she made a move to raise the blinds and -let in a shaft of sunlight.</p> - -<p>She had just lifted one of them when the sharp summons -of the bell came from downstairs. She pushed -the electric button and waited without curiosity for the -<a name="png.163" id="png.163" href="#png.163"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>153<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>apartment bell to ring. Then she opened the door and -peered into the shadowy hall.</p> - -<p>A girl stood there. The girl with her hair like a -black cloud and eyes young and gray and tense.</p> - -<p>They traveled hungrily over the other woman as if -to get in that moment the viewpoint of another pair of -eyes that no longer sought hers.</p> - -<p>“May I come in, Miss Stokes? You don’t know me -but my name is Nan Crawford,” she explained as Naomi -said nothing.</p> - -<p>Naomi nodded. “I know.”</p> - -<p>The girl looked up quickly.</p> - -<p>“Has he—has he talked to you—about me?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve seen you with him,” was the non-committal answer.</p> - -<p>“It—it’s about Bill I want to see you,” she brought -out the words with the same halting pause which had -marked her hesitation in the doorway.</p> - -<p>Naomi motioned her to a chair. The girl’s pale face -went a tinge whiter. Her lips quivered. She looked -down.</p> - -<p>“I’ve been wanting to come to see you and hadn’t -the courage. Yesterday I followed you here in a cab -from the theater. But you were with Mr. Kent. I -didn’t come up.” She fidgeted with the slightly frayed -silk of her chair.</p> - -<p>“Miss Stokes, I—I’ve known Bill Dixon all my life. -I’ve loved him all my life—and I thought he loved me. -He used to tell me so. We—we’ve always loved the -same things and done the same things—together—in the -same way. We’ve ridden hours on horseback up into -<a name="png.164" id="png.164" href="#png.164"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>154<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>the mountains and gone shooting in the woods—and -tramped to places other people didn’t know about. When -I went away to school and he to college, we used to -write each other about our woods and the longing to get -back to them—together. We never planned anything—separately. -We sort of always—belonged to each -other.”</p> - -<p>She halted once more. It was because she couldn’t -go on. The eyes lifted to meet Naomi’s were filmed. -It was only too clear that she was putting herself through -the ordeal of tearing open new wounds for some purpose. -Naomi looked away. To play on her own sympathy, -of course! She wouldn’t listen. It would do no good -anyway.</p> - -<p>“I’m trying to tell you, Miss Stokes, how I love Bill -Dixon—how much I want his happiness. And now he -loves you. Oh, I don’t blame him! You’re very beautiful—more -beautiful than I could ever dream of being. -You’re like some gorgeous flower in a conservatory. I’ve -never seen any one like you. At first I thought I could—perhaps—win -him back—but I couldn’t. Not from -you. I—I wouldn’t know how. I’ve thought about it -a lot. And I—at first I thought I couldn’t live through -it. But I’ve got to now. Bill can’t help loving you. -I don’t blame him for that.” She got up suddenly and -brushed a hand across her eyes. In the poise of her -body, head thrown back, lip caught between her teeth, -was life’s first big endurance test and her brave attempt -to meet it.</p> - -<p>“But you’ve got to love him, Miss Stokes! You’ve -got to make him happy. I’d give my life for him. -<a name="png.165" id="png.165" href="#png.165"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>155<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>That’s the way you’ve got to love him, too. If you -don’t—if you fail him—ever—I’ll kill you!”</p> - -<p>Waves of astonishment swept over Naomi. Those -eyes that burned behind the film of tears! Surely this -was not their message! To demand happiness for the -man of whom she was being robbed—surely that was -not what the girl had come for.</p> - -<p>“My dear child—” Naomi began, instinctively speaking -as if to one years younger.</p> - -<p>“I mean it! You think I wouldn’t but I’m not afraid. -I have nothing to lose any more.”</p> - -<p>She stumbled toward the door, one hand reached out -gropingly. There she turned and once more her eyes -traveled over the other woman. Naomi felt that from -their clear gray gaze she could not shield herself. A -girl so near her own age—the girl she might have been! -And in that moment she knew that Nan Crawford’s -words had not been bravado, not foolish threat. She -was battling in her own way for the thing she loved.</p> - -<p>She opened the door as if, now that her message was -given, she could not make her escape quickly enough.</p> - -<p>“Make him happy,” came strangled. “You must! -That’s what I came to tell you.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter V"><a name="png.166" id="png.166" href="#png.166"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>156<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER V</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">Through</span> the window Naomi had lifted that morning, -the shaft of sunlight receded slowly until it -slipped away. Naomi had been sitting in the same position -ever since her door had shut on a girl stumbling into -the dark hallway. She sat there without moving and -with a queer little twist of wonder at the problems we -bring upon ourselves. All her life she had drifted with -the least resistant current and without thinking much. -Now, of a sudden, thought had come smashing upon her -with the devastating violence of a hurricane.</p> - -<p>As daylight grayed she rose a bit stiffly and lighted -the few lamps that sent a glow through the room.</p> - -<p>She went into her bedroom and started to dress. -Bill was coming at five to take her to dinner. All afternoon -she had waited for his usual phone call, for the -big box of variegated flowers so different from those -other men sent her. Neither came. But a peculiar -lethargy held her, made her conscious only of the numbness -of futility.</p> - -<p>She dressed without haste in a plain dark cloth suit, -feeling with a curious finality that Bill was not coming. -He had never kept her waiting like this. Yet as the -thought swept over her, a loud, long ring came from -downstairs. She went to the door, stood with eyes -fastened on the dusk. A figure loomed out of it, head -bent, feet taking the steps two at a time.</p> - -<p><a name="png.167" id="png.167" href="#png.167"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>157<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -He did not look up until they were in the room. Then -his head went back and the look of desperation he wore -made her go to him swiftly and push him into a chair. -He sank down without resistance and covered his face -with hands he made no attempt to steady. She lifted -hers from his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“What is it, Bill? What’s happened?”</p> - -<p>“I—I’m late,” were his first shaky words. “Sorry.”</p> - -<p>“But what’s happened? Tell me!”</p> - -<p>“Naomi—I—” he broke off. “I don’t know how to -put it. I feel that just telling you is an insult—”</p> - -<p>Ah, she knew now! She knew what was coming.</p> - -<p>“That man, Kent!” he stumbled on. “They had me -all afternoon, he and Alec McConnell. I had to listen to -things he said about you. If I’d been a <em>man</em>, I wouldn’t -have given him the chance to say them.”</p> - -<p>Eyes clinging to hers, he waited for some question, -some denial. He was giving her the chance to strike -Marshy’s prosecution off the record without one word -of cross-examination. He was urging her with his eyes -to give Marshy the lie without even hearing what the -man had told him.</p> - -<p>All her anguish of the night before had been, like -so much feminine anguish, unnecessary. It was in her -hands now. She had only to concoct a story of jealousy -or an ancient grudge of Kent’s and this boy who -had come to mean everything to her would accept -it with the gladness of one who doesn’t want to question. -Yet she turned her face from him and said -nothing.</p> - -<p>“I listened until I couldn’t stand it. They made me! -<a name="png.168" id="png.168" href="#png.168"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>158<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>Then I knocked him down. Swine like that ought to be -killed!”</p> - -<p>“He’s not swine,” she found herself saying in a -voice that didn’t sound like her own. “He was probably -telling you the truth for what he thought was your -own good.”</p> - -<p>“Naomi!”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, it was probably all true. You don’t know -what I am, boy. You don’t know what I’ve been.”</p> - -<p>He was on his feet, grasping her arm, straining down -to read her veiled eyes.</p> - -<p>“Naomi, do you know what you’re saying? He accused -you of—” he halted.</p> - -<p>She took him up without waiting.</p> - -<p>“Of things he can prove to you, boy dear. I’ve known -Marshy Kent years and years and he wouldn’t tell you -anything about me he didn’t know he could back up.”</p> - -<p>In her submission to the inevitable, in her complete -lack of defense, she was so helpless, so almost child-like -that the boy’s fury against Kent flamed back to his -eyes, burning out the horror of her dumb confession. -His hands were knotted into the hard fists that had -sent his informer spinning to the floor. His chin was -fighting forward. His eyes fastened on the exotic beauty -that was Naomi’s intensified by the fact that she was -woman, helpless under the lash of another man. That -was all he saw—a beautiful woman who needed his protection! -And to every other vision his youth determined -to blind itself.</p> - -<p>“I don’t care what he’s told me! I don’t care what -you’ve been. I only know I love you. You’re the most -<a name="png.169" id="png.169" href="#png.169"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>159<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>glorious, fascinating woman in the world—and I want -you, do you hear! I want you more than anything—more -than anyone! I love you! Naomi—will you -marry me—now—to-night?”</p> - -<p>Her eyes closed. All she had planned—all she had -longed for! Marshy’s move had only succeeded in -thrusting it more swiftly into her grasp. And yet she -did not stop to think of that. All that registered were -those three words: “I love you.” Their sweetness ran -like some warm fluid through her veins.</p> - -<p>“We’ll get away from here!” he plunged on. “I’ll take -you west—home. No Kents there to tell ugly stories. -We’ll forget them ourselves. Nobody need ever know. -We’ll be happy—and I’ll have you all to myself. Those -lips and eyes—they’ll be all mine. Naomi—dearest—let -me kiss them now!”</p> - -<p>Her arms had gone up instinctively but they dropped -again without touching him. She held away, not looking -at him.</p> - -<p>“No, Bill,—it can’t be.”</p> - -<p>“Naomi!”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“You think that what he said makes any difference? -I tell you, it doesn’t. I don’t care! I’d marry you—”</p> - -<p>“It’s not that. It’s just—I couldn’t make you happy, -boy.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you could. You’re the only woman—”</p> - -<p>“No—I couldn’t. Why, you don’t love me. You love -the thing I represent—the thing that represents me—Broadway. -Take me away from it and what would I -be? A faded woman, Bill, a woman who would only -<a name="png.170" id="png.170" href="#png.170"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>160<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>make you hate her because she’s so different from what -you thought. And I’d rather never have you than to see -you in a short time—oh, it wouldn’t take long!—disgusted -with me.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t love me—that’s it!” he flamed.</p> - -<p>“If I didn’t love you I’d marry you. Sounds queer, -that, doesn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Then we both care! What else matters?”</p> - -<p>“Only that I want to give you happiness—and I can’t.”</p> - -<p>“You’re the only woman who can.”</p> - -<p>“No I’m not, dear. You think so now. But it’s the -grease-paint stuff you love! Out on the ranch—with my -hair its own color you’d wonder why you did it.”</p> - -<p>He paid no attention to her last whispered words.</p> - -<p>“I’m willing to risk it! I’ll risk anything for you.”</p> - -<p>“You’d find me out, Bill—you’d be bound to. Why, -I never go out in the sun without wearing a veil to keep -the secret of my complexion to myself. And there, where -you belong, I’d be in the sun all day.” She tried to -smile. “How would I look going round a ranch like the -queen of a harem? No, you’d have to see me as I am. -And in a week you’d hate me.”</p> - -<p>He went close, hearing only the sob in her voice.</p> - -<p>“Dearest—you think I’m young—that I don’t know my -own mind. You think I don’t know my woman when I -meet her!”</p> - -<p>She smiled now, with a little shake of the head.</p> - -<p>“You don’t. You only think you do. You love the -way people look at me in a restaurant. You love the way -I wear my clothes. You love my coloring. It’s put on, -boy. And so is the sheen of my hair you rave about and -<a name="png.171" id="png.171" href="#png.171"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>161<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>the blackness of my lashes. It’s all fake—like me.”</p> - -<p>“Why are you telling me all this?”</p> - -<p>“Because—because you mean more to me than anything -in the world. Because I’d rather have your happiness -than my own.”</p> - -<p>Even as the words came, they amazed her. All afternoon -they had been struggling deep down in her consciousness. -A girl with stark young eyes had opened wide -those veiled ones.</p> - -<p>“Then that’s the only thing that counts,” he retaliated, -eyes alight, and his arms went out. “If you love me, I -don’t care about anything else.”</p> - -<p>She pulled back. Once his lips touched hers, she knew -she could not go through with what she had to do. Recklessly—while -the mood held her—as if she were another -person playing a trick on Naomi Stokes, she moved round -the room, turning off the soft lamplight. A second later -the central chandelier flashed its glare and Naomi was at -his side again.</p> - -<p>“Wait, Bill—I want to show you something.”</p> - -<p>She disappeared into the bedroom. When she came -back, there was a white rag clenched in her hand.</p> - -<p>“I’m not really beautiful the way you see me.” And -even as she spoke the words her eyes were frightened. -“I’m a faker—but for once I’m going to be honest with -you—with myself. I’m going to let you see the woman -you don’t know, the woman you’d see—out there.”</p> - -<p>Without pausing to give herself breath she dragged the -cloth, weighted with some thick lotion, across her face. -It came away covered with color. She threw it aside. -The face it left lifted to his was like tragedy, unmasked.</p> - -<p><a name="png.172" id="png.172" href="#png.172"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>162<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Look—I can scrape it off—the beauty you love so! -This is the way I’ll be in broad daylight, Bill. These -lines—they’re the years I’ve stolen from you. They’re -the real me—the me you don’t know. Do you want me -now?”</p> - -<p>He looked down on the face that in ten seconds had -aged ten years. Dazedly he took in the circles under -the eyes, the pinched lines from nostrils to mouth, the -pallor of the lips. The luminous cream of her skin had -given way to a whiteness that looked dead. All the exotic -color of her—the color that fascinated him—was -gone. It was almost as if some magic had wafted -away the Naomi he knew, as if this were another -woman.</p> - -<p>He stood there gazing down on her, confused, silent -before the revelation he could not quite compass. Only -the eyes of his Naomi remained, infinitely sad, infinitely -lovely, even with the heavy black gone from their straight -lashes.</p> - -<p>“You don’t want me now. You don’t want the woman -I really am. Don’t stop to think! Don’t hesitate! -Just answer me,” she whispered.</p> - -<p>But he did stop to think. Without quite meeting the -eyes raised to his, holding his own away from the face -that seemed suddenly a strange one, he lifted her two -trembling hands, put them against his lips.</p> - -<p>“I’ve asked you to marry me, Naomi,” he said huskily. -“I’m asking you again.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you for that, boy dear. You—you’re just -everything I thought you were. But I’m not going to -take you up. Not now! If you want me six months -<a name="png.173" id="png.173" href="#png.173"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>163<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>from now, come back for me. I’ll know then—that you -need me. Only, dear—you won’t come.”</p> - -<p>He looked straight at her then, letting himself see only -the eyes which had not changed. And she knew before -he spoke that he was bowing, without argument, to her -verdict.</p> - -<p>“I’ll come back for you,” he told her. “I won’t wait -six months. You’ll see!”</p> - -<p>She simply shook her head and no smile of hope -touched her pale lips.</p> - -<p>A few minutes later she stood looking for a long time -at the door that had closed after him. Then she put on -hat and coat and went down the steps and over to the -theater.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter VI"><a name="png.174" id="png.174" href="#png.174"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>164<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER VI</h3> - - -<blockquote> -<p class="sig"><span class="yours2">Harvard Club,</span><br - />New York, July 30th.</p> - -<p class="noindent">Dear Naomi,—</p> - -<p>This letter is going to be harder to write than an income -tax report. When a man has never before been on his -knees to a woman, they’re apt to be creaky and resist bending. -But I’m on my knees to you, my dear,—in tribute, in -abject apology, in the tenderest feeling I’ve ever known in -my life.</p> - -<p>Last March Bill Dixon went home and I sat back with -the sensation of a good Samaritan. I was blithering ass -enough to think I was the one who had sent him away. -To-day, four months later, I’ve learned the truth. It came -with the announcement of his marriage to Nan Crawford. -He told me what happened. He told me what you had done, -Naomi.</p> - -<p>I’ve never had much belief in women. I’ve always -thought them rather a poor lot. That’s the penalty of -having begun early to know the wrong side of them—assuming -there was no other. But you’ve given an old -stager a faith he’s never known. For that I can’t repay you. -But whatever I have, whatever I can give you of devotion -and friendship is yours, dear girl. Knowing what you were -equal to doing for that boy has suddenly made life worth -living for me.</p> - -<p>I haven’t seen you in months. Will you make up for -lost time? Shall we go to supper to-morrow night?</p> - -<p class="sig"><span class="yours">Yours—I mean it—</span><br - /><span class="smc">Marshy</span>.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p><a name="png.175" id="png.175" href="#png.175"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>165<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Naomi’s eyes wandered from the letter to another that -lay open on the desk beside it. It was in a boy’s rugged -hand, incoherent, embarrassed<!-- TN: original reads "embarassed" -->. It told of his approaching -marriage and tried to thank her for making him see -that the old love was the true one. She had read it so -many times that she could have told what it told her—with -eyes shut.</p> - -<p>She reread Kent’s letter then. After a moment she -picked up her pen and wrote:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>Thank you, dear Marshy. I can use your friendship. I -need it. But I’ve quit going out to suppers—for good.</p> - -<p class="sig"><span class="smc">Naomi.</span></p> -</blockquote> - -</div> - -<div class="sect"> -<h2 title="The Back Drop"><a name="png.177" id="png.177" href="#png.177"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>167<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>THE BACK DROP</h2> - -<h3 title="Drama"><i>DRAMA</i></h3> - - -<p>Comedy met Tragedy at the crossroads of Life.</p> - -<p>“Know,” spake Tragedy, “from Wisdom have I learned -that thou and I emanate from the same source—born of the -folly of man and nourished by his deeds. The tie between -us is so strong that we must follow, each upon the other’s -heels, as long as the road of life has its turnings.”</p> - -<p>“Then come,” laughed Comedy, “a bargain let us conclude. -Let each forever carry some suggestion of the other!”</p> - -<p>So, with a tear in the eye of Comedy and a smile under -Tragedy’s frown, they linked arms and proceeded down the -road together.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h2 title=""><a name="png.179" id="png.179" href="#png.179"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>169<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>THE BACK DROP</h2> - - - - -<h3 title="Chapter I">CHAPTER I</h3> - -<p class="poster"><span class="longdash">———</span><br - />RUDOLPH CLEEBURG<br - />Presents<br - />GLORIA CROMWELL<br - />in<br - />“LADY FAIR”<br - />A Comedy-Drama<br - />by<br - /><i>Bronson Reed</i></p> - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">A car</span> pulled up sharp at the curb and a woman -leaned out to read the tall lettering. It loomed -startling and white against a black ground. Along a -street where theaters crowded each other like chorus girls -in a manager’s office, that inky splash with its tracing of -white paled to oblivion all the others.</p> - -<p>The man beside her watched her eagerly, studied -the delicate profile with a kind of hunger. When she -turned, his eyes went alight at the smile in hers.</p> - -<p>“It’s stunning, ’Dolph. But then you always do things -right.”</p> - -<p>“Y’mean that? Do I always manage to suit you, -kiddo?”</p> - -<p>“You know you do.” There was a low, tender note -in the voice that would always be wistful. It was an odd -voice—one that, breaking with the swift snap of a violin -string, brought tears from its audience as one chokes at -a broken chord.</p> - -<p><a name="png.180" id="png.180" href="#png.180"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>170<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“H’m, that’s all I want.” He grinned sheepishly. -“No fool like an old fool, eh?”</p> - -<p>He stepped out as the chauffeur swung open the door, -and reached up to help her. Gloria Cromwell—in private -life Mrs. Rudolph Cleeburg—was not tall and her -intense slenderness made her look frail, yet standing next -to her husband she measured a full inch above him. -Any passerby taking in the round face, eyes and figure of -the well-known manager, his bald pate and prominent -features, would have smiled at the information that he -was the most artistic producer in America. But then, no -passerby would have noticed the hands, key to character, -that tapered so incongruously. Even the man himself -failed to take count of them. He knew only that he felt -beauty like a tangible thing, that he expressed it through -the two mediums he loved—the stage and his wife.</p> - -<p>He took her arm and they went down the cool dark -alley to the stage door. It was a Sunday in September, -hazy and languid, the first shadows of twilight creeping -into the arms of night.</p> - -<p>In almost every building on the block rehearsals were -under way. Behind blank front entrances with high iron -gates locked fast, throbbed the pulsing life of the theater. -No effort too great, no work too intense, to give to the -world its most human tonic, amusement.</p> - -<p>The dress rehearsal of “Lady Fair” had been called -for 8:00 <span class="allsc">P. M.</span> They were early, having made good time -from their place at Great Neck. Gloria crossed the stage -set for Act I while Cleeburg paused to suggest to the -electrician some experiments with the lights.</p> - -<p>“Try a couple of reds, Bill, in the foots for Act II. -<a name="png.181" id="png.181" href="#png.181"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>171<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>And cut out four or five of the ambers on top. They -make her look too yellow, sick around the eyes. Get -me? Too much shadow. We want to bring out all the -flash in her hair. Light her up. It’s her big scene. And -here—have a smoke!”</p> - -<p>He followed Gloria. She had tossed her hat on a table -and stood taking in the new props he had provided while -the company made the customary short tour that precedes -a New York première.</p> - -<p>With the shadows of the unlighted stage about her and -the dusky quiet of the empty house stretching at her feet, -she seemed to the man who went toward her deplorably -young and tender, with a something yearning from her -that he had tried to reach and never even been able to -define. Not for the first time he asked himself: Was -it the almost childish form under the soft summer dress—or -the delicate line of her long throat—or the intense red -curve of lip—or her pallor topped by the tawny hair -whose lights and shades he was so intent on featuring? -No, none of these! It was the look of her eyes. Wide -and hungry, with fright in their depths, they had arrested -him six years before as he hurried through his outer -office; arrested him and found her a job. The fright had -gone long since. And the hunger which had been nothing -more than actual physical hunger. But the look that -was so much like the quality of her voice still lurked -there, eluding him.</p> - -<p>He came up behind her as she stood examining the -heavy black velvet drapes with crests of blue, purple and -gold embroidered in the corners.</p> - -<p>“Like ’em?” he asked once more anxiously.</p> - -<p><a name="png.182" id="png.182" href="#png.182"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>172<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -She veered about. “They must have cost a fortune, -’Dolph. Wouldn’t those blue ones we had on the road -have been good enough?”</p> - -<p>“Not for you. Only the best for my girl! And look -at you against ’em. Those newspaper guys are right—there -sure is something about you that’s got the rest of -the bunch lashed to the mast!”</p> - -<p>“It’s what you’ve made me, ’Dolph.” The words came -breathless, with that strange fascinating catch. “You’ve -put me over just the way you did the rest. Goring and -Wilbur and Chesterton. Without you I’d have been just -an actress. Now they call me an artist. And you’ve -done that—you’ve done every bit of it.”</p> - -<p>With a furtive glance to make sure the electrician was -still occupied he went closer, laid an arm across her slim -shoulders and gazed eagerly through the shadows into -her face.</p> - -<p>“Say that again. Of course it ain’t true. They were -all piking compared to you. But say it anyhow. It’s -music to me—the greatest symphony and greatest opera -rolled into one.”</p> - -<p>“It is true.”</p> - -<p>“Then if I never do anything else for you, that goes -on the right side of the ledger—what? Sometimes, little -girl, I feel like I was a dog, grabbing you the way I did -right after I featured you and you thought you couldn’t -turn me down.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!” She caught his hand and her clasp was -so tight it seemed to grip.</p> - -<p>“I’m a pretty old piece of scenery and not easy to look -at, at that.” He glanced through the drapes at the back -<a name="png.183" id="png.183" href="#png.183"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>173<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>drop. It represented a stretch of blue sky pierced with -holes through which presently stars would glimmer. -“Like that old thing,” he added. “Just a piece of shabby -canvas, good enough for background.” And as she -started to protest he laughed, a laugh that wasn’t much -more than a sound. “Why, even Doug Fairbanks won’t -be able to kid himself he’s young when he’s past half a -century.”</p> - -<p>He turned as several members of the company strolled -in and greeted each with a hearty handshake. With -a smile for every one and an ear ready to listen, the -Cleeburg of to-day had the same enthusiasm as the pudgy -newsboy who years before had run fat little legs off to -procure for a patron his favorite daily.</p> - -<p>“Hello there, glad to see you! Well, they tell me we’ve -got a knock-out. Let’s have a look.”</p> - -<p>He made for the rear of the house with his stage director -who had accompanied the play on tour.</p> - -<p>The curtain up, he leaned against the seat in front, a -long black cigar jerking from corner to corner of his -mouth like a propeller. Not a gesture, not an intonation -escaped him. His concentration ignored any world but -this. Had the building burned down, that stage before -him would still have been the pivotal point of interest.</p> - -<p>When Gloria appeared between the black drapes, eyes -luminous under the untamed hair, and the thrill of her -voice came over the footlights, he sighed and a smile of -anticipation spread across his face. It was the look of -one whose senses are about to be lulled by rare music.</p> - -<p>The play had all the quality of delicately written -French drama, its big scene at the end of the second act -<a name="png.184" id="png.184" href="#png.184"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>174<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>being calculated to bring even a New York audience -straight out of its seat. Gloria and John Brooks were -as finely teamed as a pair of high-stepping thoroughbreds. -He had been her leading man two seasons. Little ’Dolph, -with an eye to the future, had him tied up on a five-year -contract.</p> - -<p>You would never have taken John Brooks for an actor. -There was about his clothes no suggestion of the extreme -that Broadway is tempted to affect. They were -cut by a conservative tailor and he wore them with the -ease of not caring particularly what he had on. Critics -called him distinguished. When he walked into a stage -drawing-room one knew instinctively that more exclusive -drawing-rooms had opened to him. He never talked -shop outside and never brought his social activities into -the theater. But it was generally known that his friends -numbered scientists and men of big business.</p> - -<p>On the stage he suggested a clean-cut Britisher, tall -and well groomed, easy of manner, clipped of speech, yet -with a more intense vitality and that gleam of humor -under the straight black brows that is peculiarly, blessedly, -of, by, and for America.</p> - -<p>The manager sat back, eyes half closed, lapping up the -charm of it as a kitten laps cream. When the curtain -fell he licked his lips and purred as he turned to the director, -Lewis.</p> - -<p>“You’re right, Lewy! Never saw a pair to touch ’em. -Gad, that give and take, that playing into each other’s -hands—nothing like it in this old berg, I tell you!” He -sprang up, bounded down the aisle like a rubber -ball. “Immense!” he shouted. “That act runs on -<a name="png.185" id="png.185" href="#png.185"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>175<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>greased wheels. It’s sure fire! They’ll eat it alive.”</p> - -<p>He climbed into a box; with amazing ease jumped on to -the stage. Bulky as was his figure, almost pouter pigeon -in certain postures, there was nothing funny about Cleeburg -in action. It was the fire of his genius, the spark -that lighted his homely face with inspiration, that commanded -respect. Even with a handkerchief tied round -his neck as it always was in hot weather and the open -sleeves of his silk shirt flopping like awkward wings, no -one thought of smiling. One merely listened.</p> - -<p>He gave a few instructions to the property men and -slipped back to his wife’s dressing-room, poking his head -in at the door.</p> - -<p>She was changing to a tea-gown, a lovely shimmery -gold thing that brought out the reds in her hair like -touches of flame.</p> - -<p>“Well, how does it go?” she asked. “Any suggestions?”</p> - -<p>“Not half a one. Couldn’t be improved. And John—he -was made for you!”</p> - -<p>She dropped her eyes to examine a tiny rip in the -train.</p> - -<p>“Better mend this, Suzanne, before I go on. It might -catch on something.”</p> - -<p>“Glad we’ve got him sewed up tight. First thing you -know, one of the boys’d be offering to star him and then -biffo, we’d lose him!”</p> - -<p>“He is—wonderful.” She did not raise her eyes as -the maid’s needle flashed in and out of the soft fabric, -then looked up suddenly. “Lewis thinks we have a big -hit.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.186" id="png.186" href="#png.186"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>176<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Lewis knows his business. You never had a chance -that touched it—comedy and the big heart stuff combined. -Try a little more red, honey. You look pale. -Tired out, eh?”</p> - -<p>“No—just a bit nervous, that’s all.” She turned hastily -to the mirror, picked up a rabbit’s foot and dabbed -some color across her cheek bones. As she bent forward, -her teeth caught her lower lip and held it. And -Cleeburg, noting the reflection of her eyes, fancied fright -in them. Nerves, of course! Emotional tuning up of -the vibrant artist!</p> - -<p>He went out front as the curtain rose on the second -act. It revealed a boudoir. Not the sort bestowed upon -woman by the average scenic decorator with its brilliant -splashes of color and general air of a department store -exhibit, but a room that suggested four walls enclosing -feminine taste.</p> - -<p>Steadily Gloria and Brooks mounted to the big moment -when the man’s passion, like a torrent crashing -through ice, carried the woman with it. They stood facing -each other and the voice of John Brooks came quiet, -yet with the threat of doom.</p> - -<p>“We’ve played the game, you and I,—to the finish. -And we’ve lost. No, not lost, because this is the end we -wanted. We’ve been a pair of gamblers, banking on -defeat, waiting to have the game get us. Now we’re -going to lay down our cards, admit we’re beaten, and -take what is greater than victory. You know what that -is. I don’t have to tell you I love you—”</p> - -<p>The woman gave a terrified “No—no!” with arms -thrust out to ward off the thing she had desired. The -<a name="png.187" id="png.187" href="#png.187"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>177<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>man followed with a quick laugh as he caught them and -her to him.</p> - -<p>Cleeburg jumped up and speeding down the aisle made -a trumpet of his hands.</p> - -<p>“Hey, John—play that for all it’s worth. Give it to -’em strong. You fall down a peg or two at the end. -Got to keep up the tension. Get me? Don’t be afraid -of too much pep. Can’t be done in this town. Let go! -Give ’em the love stuff till they faint.”</p> - -<p>Again and again he put them through it. Up to the -crucial point it went superbly. Then something seemed -to snap. It was less in Brooks’ rendering of the speech -than the way he caught up Gloria and swept her to him. -Instead of an onrush like a force irresistible, his embrace -was almost measured. One felt that with very little -effort she could have escaped.</p> - -<p>Sitting in the front row now, a puzzled seam between -his eyes, Cleeburg noted that Gloria, too, appeared to -hold off. Gloria, who flung herself into a part as if it -were life! What had happened? He shook his head, -began to pace the length of the seats.</p> - -<p>“You’ll let down the whole act, children. You’ll lose -your curtain. Why, they’ve been wanting this to happen -from the beginning. If you don’t give it to ’em and give -it to ’em big, they’ll can you. Sure thing! Let’s have -another go.”</p> - -<p>John Brooks’ thin lips came together. There was -something tense about the way he went into the scene -this time—muscles tight, hands clenched, voice husky. -And when finally he swept her into his arms it was as if -he would never let her go. Their lips met as the -<a name="png.188" id="png.188" href="#png.188"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>178<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>curtain fell. Even in the empty house one could feel the -thrill of it.</p> - -<p>Cleeburg gave a chortle of relief. Just for a moment -he had been afraid they were going to muff it.</p> - -<p>But he apologized for his persistence later over a bite -of supper.</p> - -<p>“It’s the crux, old man. That’s why I kept you at it. -You see, the woman is yours by every law of God. Once -you know it, you don’t give a damn for the laws of man.”</p> - -<p>“I get you.”</p> - -<p>“Put over the feeling that it had to be. If you don’t -the whole show goes fluey. You and the little girl do -such bully team work, we don’t want one hitch to spoil -it. Hope I haven’t played you out.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s all right.” The other man smoothed his -hair with a gesture of both long hands and looked across -the table. “Afraid my thick head has tired Gloria, -though.”</p> - -<p>She was leaning back, limp, face white as the moon -that looked in between the pillars of the roof garden.</p> - -<p>“Not a bit.” Her lids lifted quickly and Cleeburg -was startled at the fever under them. She leaned elbows -on the table. “I was as stupid as John. We just -couldn’t seem to get it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, don’t worry. It’ll go like hot cakes to-morrow -night. You won’t worry, kiddo, will you?” He patted -her arm anxiously. “I don’t like to see you look like -this.”</p> - -<p>“Why, there isn’t a thing wrong with me—truly.” -She turned to watch the dancers as they swayed past, -two moving as one to the lure of darky music. In the -<a name="png.189" id="png.189" href="#png.189"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>179<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>center of the flagged floor a fountain sent up showering -spray colored emerald, ruby and gold by lights from -within. The place was filled with a soft languor. It -seemed set very close beneath the Indian Summer sky.</p> - -<p>When she turned back she found Brooks gazing at her.</p> - -<p>“Come to think of it,” observed Cleeburg, glance -traveling from one to the other, “you don’t look any too -chipper yourself, old man. Didn’t notice it when you -got in this morning but you’re both played out.”</p> - -<p>“Gloria had a little smash-up after the performance -last night. Been working at top speed. Nothing wrong -with me. We’re both tired, that’s all. There wasn’t a -breath of air in the train, either.” Brooks lifted his glass -of cider and a dry smile played round his lips. “I drink -to thee only with mine eyes,” he said to Gloria.</p> - -<p>Cleeburg grinned. “Say, why not come out to the -house with us now? Give you something stronger. Stop -off, shoot a few things into a bag and a night in the -country’ll do you good.”</p> - -<p>Brooks put down his glass. “Thanks, no. Think I’d -better stick to my own bunk.”</p> - -<p>“How about next week then? Run you out after the -show Saturday night. You can try a couple of holes of -golf with Gloria Sunday.”</p> - -<p>“Sorry, old man, I’m booked.”</p> - -<p>“Well, any time you like. Ain’t a place, ours, where -you have to wait for a bid.”</p> - -<p>“I know that.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with you anyhow? Last summer, -you used to run out every few weeks. This year, have -to beg you to come!”</p> - -<p><a name="png.190" id="png.190" href="#png.190"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>180<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Not a bit of it,” laughed Brooks. “Wait till we get -this opening off our chests and you won’t be able to get -rid of me.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t come it too strong to suit us, eh kiddo?”</p> - -<p>Gloria’s eyes had drifted out to the swaying throng -once more. “Of course not,” she said quickly, and -pushed back her chair. “If you don’t mind, ’Dolph, I -believe I am tired.”</p> - -<p>Cleeburg noticed as they went down to the car that -her step lagged. When they had dropped Brooks at -his flat and were speeding up Fifth Avenue, sleepy under -the quiet hour when life in New York closes one eye, she -turned swiftly. “’Dolph—you remember what you -called yourself in the theater to-night—before the others -came?”</p> - -<p>He thought a moment. Then his face went alight, all -but the eyes. “Your old back drop, y’mean?”</p> - -<p>She nodded. “Don’t ever do that again—don’t!”</p> - -<p>Her vehemence made him shift his position so that he -faced her.</p> - -<p>“Why, honey—”</p> - -<p>The break in her voice had been poignant. Her hand -clasping his arm was feverish. He felt the heat of it -through his thin coat. Even in the dark he could see -her eyes, brilliant, with something of the fright he had -read in them earlier in the evening. Only it was intensified.</p> - -<p>“Honey, what is it?”</p> - -<p>“I want you to know I love you,” she rushed on breathlessly. -“It wasn’t just gratitude that made me marry -you. I’ll always love you. You’re splendid and fine -<a name="png.191" id="png.191" href="#png.191"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>181<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>and generous. They don’t come any better. Never -doubt it, ’Dolph! Never—will you?” She shook his -arm, repeating the question over and over.</p> - -<p>“Why—kiddo—”</p> - -<p>“And I have made you happy?” she broke in on his -amazement. “I have given you something for all you’ve -given me?”</p> - -<p>He answered quickly enough then.</p> - -<p>“Everything, honey. Why, these past five years’ve -been more than most fellows get in a lifetime. I ask -myself often what an old tout like me ever did to deserve -’em. In the theater and out—hasn’t been a day that -wasn’t heaven. That’s what you’ve given me.”</p> - -<p>She sat an instant silent. Then before he could divine -her intention she had carried his hand to her lips. But -it was not their moisture he noticed as he drew it hastily -away and slipped an arm round her.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter II"><a name="png.192" id="png.192" href="#png.192"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>182<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER II</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">Over</span> Long Island, as Cleeburg drove in the following -day, hung a mist that made the low hills look -like a mirage melting into the sky. It was as if the -smoke of the city reached its long arm far over green -stretches and cool woodland, cloaking Nature with the -garment of industry.</p> - -<p>Little ’Dolph sat forward, hat tossed to the floor, cigar -ashes strewn over it like snow. He had smoked incessantly -from the moment the car shot past the hedge surrounding -the Cleeburg place. He had smoked with brow -furrowed and teeth chewing on the butt of his weed, concentrating -so intensely that for the first time in years it -failed to circle from corner to corner of the friendly -mouth. He was worried—and about Gloria. What had -got her last night? What had brought the fever to her -eyes and that desperate grip to her fingers? What had -made her cry, with long sobs like a child’s when his arm -went round her? Wasn’t like her. Not a bit. He’d -never seen her like that, didn’t know how to handle it.</p> - -<p>Overwork must be the answer. She’d been at it for -six years seeing results. And before that God knew how -many without seeing them! He recalled the poor little -starved thing she was when first those eyes with the -strange glow back of them had begged for a chance. -Since that chance had been hers she hadn’t stopped, not -for a minute. And how she had mounted! For a second -his look of distress vanished in a broad grin of pride. -<a name="png.193" id="png.193" href="#png.193"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>183<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>Gloria had the divine fire, whatever that might be. The -light of it had always been in her soul but his was the -satisfaction of having kindled it to flame. He had found -in her the instrument to express all the seething love of -beauty his unbeautiful body harbored. He could not -have put it into words but the consciousness was there, -a vital thing.</p> - -<p>He looked out anxiously at the hazy September landscape. -Yes, must be overwork! If it had been anything -else, she’d have told him. Dashed like hysteria, -that breakdown last night! Give her a long vacation -next summer, that’s what he’d do. He’d close her in the -spring and take her abroad when he went to clinch those -English contracts.</p> - -<p>Having reached the only decision possible in view of -present demands on her, he settled back, applied a light -to a final cigar and puffed peacefully until they pulled -up at his office in the same building as the theater.</p> - -<p>Toward four-thirty she telephoned that she was feeling -much better and laughed at the relief in his voice. -If he worried about her that way, she’d give a perfectly -rotten performance to-night!</p> - -<p>But in spite of her chaffing, Cleeburg, going to her -dressing-room at seven, caught her unawares with head -drooping into her hands and a look of utter dejection -about the slim shoulders. She lifted both quickly as he -entered and smiled up at him. He peered at the heavy -blue smudges under her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Won’t need much make-up, will I?” she laughed, in -quick response to the look. “You see, I’m trying to put -the grease-paint men out of business.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.194" id="png.194" href="#png.194"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>184<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“What is it?” He pulled a chair close to the dressing-table. -It was higher than hers and so brought their -faces on a level. “Something’s eating you. What? -Tell me—tell your old ’Dolph.”</p> - -<p>She leaned over, brushed his cheek with her lips, then -turned quickly to the mirror and dabbed the color on -her face with the same nervous haste he had noticed the -night before.</p> - -<p>“Nothing’s wrong, dear. Wait till we settle down for -a steady run and you’ll see.”</p> - -<p>“It’s sure fire! Only keep an eye on that second act. -Don’t be afraid to let go.”</p> - -<p>From the wings he watched the audience stream in—beautifully -gowned women, perfectly groomed men, keen-eyed -critics, his own colleagues with soft collars and -clothes not too well pressed, here a familiar round-the-towner, -there a merchant who took his first night subscription -seats as religiously as his pew in church. Truly -a motley such as only the Metropolis can produce. Little -’Dolph’s eyes shone and his broad mouth broadened. -Those women with their feathery fans and glittering jewels; -those men with their sleek heads and smart clothes; -the press; the world theatrical; they constituted his court, -this theater his kingdom.</p> - -<p>Only a few times since the throne had been his had he -failed to give them what they expected of him. That -was why to-night he saw in every pair of eyes an eager -anticipation that was to him like strong stimulant. He -slipped round to the front of the house as the curtain -rose.</p> - -<p>All through the first act he divided attention between -<a name="png.195" id="png.195" href="#png.195"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>185<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>the stage and the audience, watching the latter laugh and -chuckle and wink and furtively wipe its eye, and nodding -as each effect came at the right moment. When the -lights went up he dodged backstage, not to Gloria, but to -Brooks.</p> - -<p>“Great, old boy! You’ve got ’em. Just keep up that -tempo. Feeling fit?”</p> - -<p>“Fine!”</p> - -<p>“Look out for the end of this act, won’t you,” he added -half apologetically.</p> - -<p>“Thought you were coming to that,” laughed Brooks.</p> - -<p>“No offense, you understand.”</p> - -<p>But he went back to his seat wishing the big scene -finished. He couldn’t help a twitch of uncertainty. If -they handled it as they had at first last night it would -fall flat as a pancake.</p> - -<p>Eagerly he followed every line. It was scintillant as -sunlit ice and very thin ice at that. The throng round -him skated over it with the actors and when Gloria’s -scene with Brooks arrived they were, as he had prophesied, -keyed to an emotional pitch that only the limit -of acting could satisfy.</p> - -<p>Then he held tight to the arms of his chair and literally -his breath stopped.</p> - -<p>Brooks came to the climax. His vibrant voice fell -across the quiet of the house.</p> - -<p>“We’ve played the game, you and I,—to the finish. -And we’ve lost. No, not lost, because this is the end we -wanted. We’ve been a pair of gamblers, banking on -defeat, waiting to have the game get us. Now we’re -going to lay down our cards, admit we’re beaten, and -<a name="png.196" id="png.196" href="#png.196"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>186<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>take what is greater than victory. You know what that -is. I don’t have to tell you I love you—”</p> - -<p>Cleeburg felt the quick intake of breath, the surge -forward, that pulsing reach of an audience. If only -they’d play it now for all it was worth!</p> - -<p>Gloria pulled back and terror was in her voice.</p> - -<p>“No—no!”</p> - -<p>For a second Brooks seemed to hesitate. What in -Sam Hill was the matter with him? Why the deuce -didn’t he let go?</p> - -<p>Then suddenly his laugh went high. He strode to her. -His arms swept out.</p> - -<p>She stood poised as if in resistance, the light from -above playing over her, her eyes started up to his. One -could feel the catch in her throat, the swaying at the -edge of a precipice. And then the eyelids fell, the man’s -embrace closed round her like an enveloping flame. Her -lips went to his.</p> - -<p>With a deep sigh little ’Dolph subsided. The audience -did likewise. It had them! An excited buzz, the -crash of applause told him that. He dodged out of his -seat and to the lobby. Nothing further was to be desired. -“Lady Fair” had gone over with a bang.</p> - - - -<p class="tb">It was over a month later that the manager finally prevailed -upon their leading man to week-end with them. -He buttonholed Brooks after the performance one Saturday -night and refused to take “no” for an answer.</p> - -<p>“Say, John, getting upstage? Cut your swell friends -this week. You’re coming out with us, ain’t he -kiddo?”</p> - -<p><a name="png.197" id="png.197" href="#png.197"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>187<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -They were standing within the stage door. Cleeburg -linked a persuasive arm in the other man’s.</p> - -<p>Gloria smiled without looking directly at Brooks. She -drew her squirrel wrap close about her and stepped out -of the light.</p> - -<p>“John’s always welcome, of course. But if he has -other plans we mustn’t interfere.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t say!” laughed Cleeburg. “Well, he’s going -to chuck any other plans and give us the pleasure of -his society.”</p> - -<p>Brooks held a light to his cigarette. The flare of it -illumined his set mouth, the line of his jaw.</p> - -<p>“Another time, old man. There’s a game on at the -club to-morrow afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“Good! That being the case, we’ll save you money.” -He started down the narrow alley to the street.</p> - -<p>Brooks looked across at Gloria. She was looking -down, struggling with the clasp of her glove.</p> - -<p>“Come on,” urged Cleeburg.</p> - -<p>An instant more Brooks hesitated. Then his head -went back.</p> - -<p>“All right, I’m with you.” And he laughed as if with -relief.</p> - -<p>They stopped off for his bag. They were still using -the open car in spite of the winds of late October. Gloria -liked the slash of air against her face, liked to get the -first salty whiff of the Sound. She leaned back with lids -drooping and hands clasped loosely and was silent all -the way. The men talked of next year’s prospects.</p> - -<p>“‘Lady Fair’ is good for next year and a season in -London. Think I’ll let you and Gloria take it over. -<a name="png.198" id="png.198" href="#png.198"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>188<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>She’s never had a lick at the other side,” chuckled Cleeburg. -“Bound to knock ’em silly.”</p> - -<p>Gloria spoke for the first time.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t think about London—just yet.”</p> - -<p>Cleeburg started at the queer note in her voice. They -turned into the drive where willows drooped their -branches to the ground. Beyond shone the lights of the -rambling old house, modernized by the family who had -owned and loved it for generations, but untouched as to -line or grace. High ceilings, French windows, arched -doorways, tall fireplaces—these constituted the charm of -the estate little ’Dolph had presented to the woman who -had given him happiness.</p> - -<p>Supper for two was spread before the flaming logs at -one end of the entrance hall. In the center of the table -stood a bowl of autumn leaves, the wild red of Gloria’s -hair. Cleeburg pulled up another chair as the chauffeur -brought in their guest’s bag and helped him out of -his overcoat.</p> - -<p>The latter stood gazing round the place with a look -of real affection.</p> - -<p>“It’s good to be back,” he said with a deep breath.</p> - -<p>“Well, the house has been here. Your fault that you -haven’t!” Cleeburg cocked his ear to the comforting -pop of a champagne cork.</p> - -<p>“Gloria has enough of my company eight consecutive -times a week,” smiled Brooks.</p> - -<p>“We missed you anyhow. Didn’t we, kiddo?”</p> - -<p>“Of course. Seeing you in the theater isn’t a bit like -having you here under our own roof.” She took off -her hat, pushing back the weight of hair as she sat -<a name="png.199" id="png.199" href="#png.199"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>189<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>down beside him. “They’re distinct and separate lives.”</p> - -<p>“I wonder if that’s true,” Brooks put in quickly. -“Do you really think the life of the stage can be cut -off completely from a man’s everyday existence?”</p> - -<p>“Why not?” There was almost an urge in her question, -a plea in her eyes.</p> - -<p>“I’m inclined to believe,” he answered slowly, “that -once the theater is in a man’s blood, it colors everything -he thinks and feels and does. He’s got to put -so much of himself into it that it becomes an essential -part of him.”</p> - -<p>“But why is that more true of the stage than of any -other profession?”</p> - -<p>“Because success on the stage depends less on executive -ability than on sincerity. It’s swaying that -crowd out there that counts.” He made a sweeping gesture -of his long, thin hand. “And they know counterfeit -when it’s handed them.”</p> - -<p>“You said it,” agreed Cleeburg. “Make a business of -acting and you make a failure.”</p> - -<p>“Lord,” laughed Brooks, “here I am telling Gloria -something she knows instinctively. Never saw a -woman so charged with the power to make people feel.” -He stopped abruptly.</p> - -<p>Gloria had been gazing into her glass as if into a -crystal. She set it down and the next words came as -though she did not want to say them.</p> - -<p>“If that’s so—I guess you’re right. I do live every -thought and emotion of every part I play. I suppose -that’s why they call us temperamental.” Her full sensitive -lips curved in a half-smile. “You don’t need -<a name="png.200" id="png.200" href="#png.200"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>190<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>temperament to sell stocks and bonds or argue a case in -court.”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon,” corrected Brooks. “A lawyer -often has to be a darned fine actor. I know, because I -started out to be one.”</p> - -<p>“What’s that?” grinned his host.</p> - -<p>“Fact! I haven’t made it generally known. It’s too -funny even to make a good press story. But I was admitted -to the bar before the stage got me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll be—!” Little ’Dolph’s fork halted in its -hurried trip upward.</p> - -<p>Gloria pushed her plate aside and leaned farther over -the table, eager interest warming her eyes. Brooks -brought his round to meet them. Sitting there with the -flames flickering over tawny hair and smoky gray dress, -she seemed somehow part of them.</p> - -<p>“Tell us how it happened, John.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, there’s no story strung to it. I’d done stuff each -year in college theatricals and the last year we took our -show on tour. I got the bug and when an honest-to-God -manager offered me a real job I fell for it.”</p> - -<p>“Have you ever wanted to go back to law?”</p> - -<p>“If I did,” his thin lips twisted, “they’d think it too -much of a joke to take me seriously.”</p> - -<p>He said it with rather a grim smile and looking at -Gloria. She twisted round in her chair, away from him. -For a moment silence fell, broken only by little ’Dolph’s -apparent enjoyment of his supper.</p> - -<p>A gale banged against the windows trying to break -its way in. Gloria got up, went over and drew aside -the curtain. Brooks followed.</p> - -<p><a name="png.201" id="png.201" href="#png.201"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>191<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“I’d love to be out in it!” Her voice throbbed. -Night shadows, beckoning, fell across her face.</p> - -<p>“It would never let you come back.”</p> - -<p>“What a wonderful fight, though, trying to conquer -it!”</p> - -<p>“Do you think you could?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I think determination can conquer anything—even -oneself.”</p> - -<p>“If one could be sure of that.” He looked down at -the full lips that trembled a little, at the eyes with -flames back of them, and walked back to Cleeburg. -“Think I’ll turn in, old man.”</p> - -<p>Half an hour later Cleeburg stopped at the door of his -wife’s room on the way to his own. She was letting -down her hair. It fell like a loosened mane over neck -and shoulders. He took a deep breath, more of wonder -than any other emotion. She turned, saw him and got -suddenly to her feet.</p> - -<p>“Have you seen what a night it is, ’Dolph?”</p> - -<p>She opened the French windows. A gale of dead -leaves flung itself into the room. She lifted her face, -pulled her purple silk kimono closer and stepped -on the balcony. He tried to halt her with a warning -against catching cold. She laughed and beckoned to him.</p> - -<p>Black clouds raced across the moon. Trees dashed -against the house with all the impotence of human effort -against the walls of Destiny. There was no rain. The -wind leaped up and drove Nature before it, a mocking -god bent on destruction.</p> - -<p>“By godfrey, if you could only get that on the stage!” -whistled Cleeburg.</p> - -<p><a name="png.202" id="png.202" href="#png.202"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>192<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Gloria said nothing. Her face was still lifted, lips -apart. Her arms darted out so that the long kimono<!-- TN: original reads "kimona" --> -sleeves spread like wings. Her whole body was poised -as if for flight.</p> - -<p>Cleeburg stepped back and looked at her.</p> - -<p>She was part of the storm-torn night. Something -about the abandon of the scene frightened him.</p> - -<p>“Come in, honey, won’t you? Catch your death if -you stay out like this.”</p> - -<p>Her arms dropped. She turned and followed him indoors. -But opening his own window a while later he -saw her slim silhouette outlined against hers, upright -with the dusky light of a lamp behind her.</p> - -<p>The next day at their noon breakfast he asked what -time she had gone to bed.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. The night was so fascinating, I stayed -up with it until day came.” She looked as if she had -not slept.</p> - -<p>Cleeburg lit a prodigiously long cigar, twirled it between -his lips and settled back benignly in an armchair -by the fire.</p> - -<p>“Well, children, I’m here for the afternoon. Drive -over to the club or do whatever you like. Little ’Dolph’s -going to get busy doing nothing.”</p> - -<p>He reached over without altering his position of solid -comfort and picked at random one of the Sunday papers -piled on the table beside him. His broad face was suffused -with a look of utter peace and relaxation. Even -the ever-active cigar suspended activities.</p> - -<p>Gloria’s lips touched his forehead.</p> - -<p>“We’ll go for a walk—back at four-thirty for tea.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.203" id="png.203" href="#png.203"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>193<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -His eyes went after her the length of the foyer to a -side door opening on the gravel walk—Gloria in dull -green sport coat and tam, a fur piece swung carelessly -from one shoulder; and the tall well-knit man in knickerbockers -whose elastic step so easily fell in with hers. -Had they followed farther they would have seen two -people tramping in silence along a country road strewn -with leaves that faded from green to mottled dead brown -under a sullen sky. They would have marveled at the -set look of the man’s mouth, the quivering of the woman’s. -Those sympathetic prominent eyes of his, always -seeking the most beautiful way to simulate human emotion, -would have clouded with question had they read the -pain in both pairs that stared straight along the road -without meeting.</p> - -<p>Half a mile or so the two walked and then abruptly -the man turned.</p> - -<p>“I tried to avoid it, Gloria.”</p> - -<p>“I know.”</p> - -<p>“But he took the matter out of my hands. You -saw that.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“I could see he was hurt because I hadn’t been out -this year. And little ’Dolph isn’t the sort of man you -can hurt.”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“We both know that, don’t we?”</p> - -<p>She looked up at him without answer. Tears stood -in her eyes.</p> - -<p>He turned his from them and his lips went tighter.</p> - -<p>“He’s the finest that walks in shoe leather,” he added.</p> - -<p><a name="png.204" id="png.204" href="#png.204"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>194<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“I told him that the night we came in from the road. -But I was telling it more to myself than to him. John, -I felt just knowing that you—that you cared, was disloyal -to him.”</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t have let you know it, Gloria. I was -determined never to suggest it by so much as a word. -Then when you went smash at the theater the day before -we came in, I—somehow I didn’t have to tell you, -did I?”</p> - -<p>“No.” It was a whisper.</p> - -<p>“I want you to believe I couldn’t be anything but -square with little ’Dolph. You do, don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Why, even on the stage, I feel I haven’t the right -to take you in my arms. And I must have shown it in -some way or other. He noticed the difference at the -dress rehearsal.”</p> - -<p>She walked on silently at his side.</p> - -<p>“But I’m glad you know. Don’t blame me for that. -It’s the biggest, finest thing in my life, a thing I can’t -help. I wouldn’t be human—”</p> - -<p>“We must never mention it again, John,” she broke in -and her voice came throbbing as it had the night before. -“We can’t help it, just as you say. But we must keep -it locked up tight, so that it will harm no one—not even -ourselves. We owe that to him.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I’d made up my mind to that.”</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t see me away from the theater. You -mustn’t<!-- TN: original reads "musn’t" --> come out here any more.”</p> - -<p>“I dare say it’s better that way.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes traveled along the leaf-strewn road, then -<a name="png.205" id="png.205" href="#png.205"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>195<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>up to the sulky sky. And because they were not seeing -quite clearly she stumbled and almost fell across a fallen -trunk.</p> - -<p>The man’s arm went round her, holding the slim -body a moment. Then with a conscious tightening of -muscles he drew it away and plunged on without a glance -at her.</p> - -<p>Presently he turned and in the look he gave her was -a sort of desperate pleading.</p> - -<p>“Is there any harm in telling you just once, Gloria, -what you mean to me? I’ve been telling it to myself so -long.”</p> - -<p>“I—I don’t think you’d better. I—I don’t believe I -could listen.”</p> - -<p>He looked down. Her eyes, struck with terror, went -up to his.</p> - -<p>“Please—don’t.”</p> - -<p>“It’s all right. I won’t.”</p> - -<p>They came to a trail through the woods.</p> - -<p>“Shall we take this back?” She turned into it.</p> - -<p>He reached up and broke a last branch of red leaves -that trickled like blood from a dying tree, and handed it -to her.</p> - -<p>“Have you noticed how intensely bright this live stuff -looks when everything around it is dead or dying?”</p> - -<p>Little ’Dolph a mile or so distant, dozed by the fire -with cigar still sidling from the corner of his mouth. His -dreams were hazy and disjointed. But Gloria as he had -seen her on the balcony the night before drifted through -them. The howling night swept by, tearing at silken -robe and wild hair. She seemed to sway with it. The -<a name="png.206" id="png.206" href="#png.206"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>196<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>clouds descended. He had a vague sense of effort to -reach out, to hold her, that breathless catch at the heart -of nightmare. Then suddenly he lost sight of her. A -distant crash and he saw the clouds sweep her up and—while -he stood rooted—carry her away.</p> - -<p>He sat up with a gasp. The cigar fell from his lips. -His heart thumped madly.</p> - -<p>“What a shame! The banging of the screen door -wakened him!” It was Gloria’s voice and she was coming -toward him.</p> - -<p>He gave a great sigh of relief.</p> - -<p>“By godfrey, I’m glad to be awake! Come here, -kiddo. Want to make sure I’ve still got you!”</p> - -<p>She whisked the branch of scarlet leaves across his face.</p> - -<p>“Just had a dream that took you right out of my -young life and I couldn’t catch up!”</p> - -<p>She pulled off tam and coat, swung to the arm of his -chair.</p> - -<p>“Can’t lose me, Dolphy dear!”</p> - -<p>“By-the-way,” remarked Brooks, as Gloria served -tea, “please don’t mind if I beat it back to town to-night. -I’ve got to see my lawyer at ten <span class="allsc">A. M.</span>, and you won’t be -going in until to-morrow noon, will you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I do mind, by George!” came from ’Dolph. -“We get you out here once in a blue moon and you can’t -even stand it for one day. What do you want with a -lawyer anyhow? Hold on to your pocket and attend -to your own legal affairs.”</p> - -<p>“But if John has to go in, dear, we mustn’t keep him.”</p> - -<p>Brooks was looking down at the cap twirling between -his hands.</p> - -<p><a name="png.207" id="png.207" href="#png.207"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>197<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“See, old man! Your wife understands.”</p> - -<p>“All right!” Cleeburg got up, peeved, and went to the -bell. “What time do you want the car? I’ll drive you -to the station. But hanged if I don’t think you pay -us a mighty poor compliment!”</p> - -<p>He still showed annoyance when Brooks went up to -pack his bag.</p> - -<p>“What’s got him, anyhow?” he put to Gloria. -“Damned if I ask him again!”</p> - -<p>All the way to the station he chewed on his cigar, responding -laconically when his guest tried to make conversation. -The little manager had a peculiar racial -pride that John Brooks unwittingly had speared.</p> - -<p>“Good enough to hand out his weekly stipend; good -enough to give him his living!” kept spinning round the -active brain. “But not good enough any more to sit with -at the table! Prefers his Fifth Avenue cronies for that.”</p> - -<p>As the car stopped, Brooks swung down, reached out -a hand.</p> - -<p>“Thanks, old man. Had a great time!”</p> - -<p>“The hell you had!” said Cleeburg.</p> - -<p>He drove back still turning over his guest’s desertion -and madder every minute. When the car pulled -up he sprang out, intent upon talking the whole thing -over with Gloria. He crossed the veranda, opened the -front door.</p> - -<p>She was sitting in the chair he had occupied before the -fire. Her body was bent forward, head lowered. He -went nearer. She was stripping the branch she had -brought in of its blood-red leaves. One by one she broke -them off and dropped them into the fire. And her eyes -never left them as they curled up and shriveled to a crisp.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter III"><a name="png.208" id="png.208" href="#png.208"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>198<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER III</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">We</span> who sit in the orchestra of life are inclined to -smile, to lend willing ear to whispers of scandal -from behind the footlights. Perhaps the standards are -a bit less rigid on the surface. But so are emotions. -They cannot be hidden as the rest of the world has -learned to hide them but must be brought forth on the -stage nightly that we at play may know the joy of -laughter and tears for which our own lives do not exact -payment.</p> - -<p>Those twin giants, Opportunity and Propinquity, stand -guard at the stage door, ushering in with a flourish each -newcomer. Human frailty<!-- TN: original reads "fraility" --> is their stock in trade, the -theater their most satisfactory market. For a year they -had stalked the steps of Gloria Cromwell and John -Brooks. For a year they had appeared at unexpected -moments, working in absolute harmony, waiting with -tongue in cheek for the unguarded second when the set -line of the man’s mouth would relax; when his lips would -tell her what his arms had not yet made known; when -the woman’s voice with its strange thrilling note would -meet his and confess.</p> - -<p>And they had been cheated. The unguarded second -had come on the dingy stage of a small town theater -during the tour of “Lady Fair”—with Gloria crumpling -at his feet and his arms going round her in a sudden -desperate clasp. Alone in her dressing-room, her opening -eyes had met the look in his like a shaft of light struck -<a name="png.209" id="png.209" href="#png.209"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>199<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>through blindness. His whispered “Gloria,” the straining -of her close as if to hold her always; the swift -loosening of that hold; the step backward; the breaking -of their locked gaze.</p> - -<p>If love could be classified—and of course it cannot—I -wonder how we would label love that goes quietly -on its way without hysteria, without big scenes, with -no effort to grasp that to which it has no right; knowing -that it must endure, even while it can never find fulfillment.</p> - -<p>’Dolph Cleeburg, with round eyes constantly in search -of new angles on old conflicts, did not dream that daily -in his own home, in his own theater, those eyes were looking -upon drama more vibrant than any he could see in a -mimic world—the quiet tragedy of passion which in daily -contact with its object, yet soldierwise faces its own death -knell.</p> - -<p>He took note of nothing but the crowds that jammed -the theater. He planned gaily for next season’s tour, -to be topped by triumphal entry into London.</p> - -<p>“You and John will be a knock-out over there,” he told -Gloria, eyes popping. “Even if I am sore at him, I’ve -got to admit he knows his job.”</p> - -<p>Gloria looked out at the hills, shorn of all but bare-limbed -trees and covered with a fine frost, the gray beard -of coming winter. It was their final week-end in the -country, later than they usually remained. But she had -wanted it so.</p> - -<p>“Have you spoken to John about going?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Not since he was here. Haven’t spoken to him at -all.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.210" id="png.210" href="#png.210"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>200<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Big baby!” she laughed.</p> - -<p>“Well, he hurt my feelings. I can’t forget the way -he gave us the go-by.”</p> - -<p>“Then—then why send him abroad?” It came -with a sharp intensity. “We can look the ground -over when we cross this summer and engage an Englishman.”</p> - -<p>“Not on your life! You and John pull too well together. -The pair of you will give ’em a taste of real -American pep.”</p> - -<p>She hesitated, eyes riveted to the vista of cold hills. -Suddenly she wheeled round, one hand grasping the drape -that bordered the French window. The next words -came like a catapult.</p> - -<p>“’Dolph, don’t book me for London! I’m not going! -I don’t want to play there.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t—” Cleeburg’s jaw dropped in sheer -amazement.</p> - -<p>“No,<!-- TN: comma invisible -->” she raced on. “I’ve been thinking about it—a lot. -I don’t want to go.”</p> - -<p>“But why?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve never been over. I don’t know any one—”</p> - -<p>“That won’t take long. Why, they’ll be giving you -a rush the day after you land. And there’s John for -company if you get homesick.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know. But”—she turned once more to the -stripped hills, then back with something like terror in -her eyes—“but it’s you I need, ’Dolph. I don’t want -to be so far away from you.”</p> - -<p>He got out of the chair that hugged his merry fire, -went to her, laid a hand that trembled over hers.</p> - -<p><a name="png.211" id="png.211" href="#png.211"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>201<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Y’mean that, kiddo? After six years of me, do I -honest-to-God matter as much as that?”</p> - -<p>Her hand curled up and over his, holding it tight.</p> - -<p>“Oh, ’Dolph, if you knew how much I need you! -More now than ever before! Don’t send me away—don’t!”</p> - -<p>Cleeburg’s eyes went up to hers. Hers went down -before them.</p> - -<p>“By godfrey!” he said finally, brushing a hand across -his eyes. “Think I’m crying. Ain’t ashamed of it, -either.”</p> - -<p>She did not answer.</p> - -<p>“You, too!” He peered under her lowered lids. -“Fine pair of slushes, eh? Well, I want to tell you right -now, honey—ain’t a knock-out I ever had that made a -hit with me like this does.”</p> - -<p>She brought a smile to her silent lips.</p> - -<p>“All I’m looking for is the best thing for you,” he -went on. “You’re the main guy in this combination. -I’m just the old back drop like I told you. If you ain’t -going to be happy in London, you don’t go—that’s all. -But think it over! I’d like to see my little girl make the -Britishers sit up. We’ll give them the once-over this -summer. Then you can decide.”</p> - - - -<p class="tb">The memory of that afternoon with Gloria against the -sunless winter twilight begging not to be sent away from -him, was to little ’Dolph like some treasure one keeps in -a vault—to be taken out, gazed upon and locked away -again. Sometimes in the rear office that was his sanctum, -when things had gone wrong or a lull came in the -<a name="png.212" id="png.212" href="#png.212"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>202<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>day’s activities, he would sink back in his chair, a smile -slowly radiating his plain features, and before him would -come a woman with arms outstretched toward him as if -for protection against all the world. The wonder of it -made him glow, sent the worries of business scurrying -into the background.</p> - -<p>He was seated so one Saturday afternoon between the -matinée and evening performances, after having rounded -up the tour for next season. The immortal cigar circled -contentedly and he lolled back, contemplating a sweep -of intense blue sky—but seeing rather the Long Island -hills against a somber one—when his secretary brought -word that John Brooks was outside and wanted to see him.</p> - -<p>Cleeburg nodded.</p> - -<p>“Lo, stranger,” he said a bit sheepishly as the latter -came in. “Time you showed up.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve been trying to see you for the past month,” -Brooks informed him, throwing hat and coat on a chair -and pulling another close to Cleeburg’s desk, “but you -passed me up every time we met. Never mind, old man,” -he added with a short smile as the other started to lay -down his cigar, “I know why. You were sore at me—and -with reason. We’ll let it go at that. I’m sorry.”</p> - -<p>“So’m I,” grinned little ’Dolph and sat back again. -“When I like a fellow, I like him. Enemies can’t hurt -my feelings. Now what’s on your mind?”</p> - -<p>Brooks got up as suddenly as he had sat down, took -a turn the length of the room, and came back.</p> - -<p>“’Dolph”—he began somewhat awkwardly and -stopped. “’Dolph,—when this season closes I’m going -<a name="png.213" id="png.213" href="#png.213"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>203<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>to ask you to get some one else for the road. I can’t go -out next year.”</p> - -<p>For the space of a breath the manager said nothing. -He sat blinking uncertainly as if not sure of his ears. -Then he jerked forward.</p> - -<p>“What’s that?”</p> - -<p>“I know it seems a rotten trick to pull. But I want -you to take my word, ’Dolph, that I wouldn’t do it if -I hadn’t justifiable reasons.”</p> - -<p>“Am I to understand that you’re handing me your -notice?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, old man.”</p> - -<p>“You’re notifying me that you quit?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“When?”</p> - -<p>“When we close. If you can let me off before then—”</p> - -<p>Cleeburg’s laugh cut the sentence like an ax. It -held—sharp, contemptuous. Then his teeth shut on his -cigar until the end broke off in his mouth.</p> - -<p>“Who’s offering to star you?” came tersely.</p> - -<p>A flash from the other’s eye answered the arraignment. -But his reply was low and quiet.</p> - -<p>“Nobody.”</p> - -<p>“Since when did you take me for an easy mark?”</p> - -<p>“’Dolph,” Brooks began, “you and I have been on the -level with each other always. I’ve played fair and I’m -going to keep on playing fair. I’m quitting for reasons -I can’t make clear to you now. You’ll have to take my -word for it.”</p> - -<p>“The hell I will!” Cleeburg shot out. “This has -been coming a long time. I saw it when you were in the -<a name="png.214" id="png.214" href="#png.214"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>204<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>country. Swelled head—that’s the answer! Didn’t -think they could do it to you. But those society snobs -have got you thinking you’re Edwin Booth.”</p> - -<p>The other man’s thin lips opened. His eyes narrowed -with a look almost of menace. Then in silence he picked -up a flexible paper cutter and bent it slowly in two. -There was a snap. He chucked the pieces on the desk.</p> - -<p>“That’s a damned injustice, Cleeburg. Wish you -hadn’t said it. But it won’t change matters any. I’m -quitting.”</p> - -<p>“Look here, sorry if I was hasty. You hit me hard—that’s -all! Sit down. Let’s talk it over—cards on -the table. What’s the big idea?”</p> - -<p>“I told you.”</p> - -<p>“No, you didn’t. Somebody’s after you. Somebody’s -going long on the golden promise stuff. I ain’t a fool. -That’s plain as the nose on your face. Now who is it? -Kane? Coghlan? Surprised they didn’t try to get you -long ago.”</p> - -<p>“They did. I turned them down.”</p> - -<p>Beads of perspiration had gathered on Cleeburg’s head. -He pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and -mopped mechanically.</p> - -<p>“Anything wrong downstairs?”</p> - -<p>“N-no.”</p> - -<p>The manager looked up sharply. “If there’s trouble, -just spill it and I’ll settle things to your satisfaction.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing wrong, old man.”</p> - -<p>“Then look here, let’s get down to cases. If it’s business, -we’ll talk business. You’ve got to stay. Gloria -can’t get along without you.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.215" id="png.215" href="#png.215"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>205<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Brooks’ eyes shifted to the window.</p> - -<p>“I don’t want any trouble for her,” little ’Dolph pursued. -“I’ve got you billed together next season. Her -public looks for you both. I’ll meet any offer you got. -Yes—and top it.”</p> - -<p>Brooks turned back slowly, shook his head.</p> - -<p>Cleeburg sprang up.</p> - -<p>“Well, get me straight—will you? You’re tied up -tight. And I won’t let you off. Now I’ll just about -show you where you stand.” His thumb went down on -the press-button in his desk as if it were going through -the top. “Bring me Mr. Brooks’ contract,” he told his -secretary.</p> - -<p>Brooks walked over to the window. His hands were -shaking. His face was dead white. He stood staring -out with jaws set and the look of a man going into battle.</p> - -<p>But Cleeburg saw nothing of that. His own hands -opened and shut spasmodically. He tramped steadily -back and forth the space of his desk, muttering to himself -like the rumble of storm. Under the puzzled question -that brought brows together was a frown of fury.</p> - -<p>When the contract was handed him, he rustled -quickly through the pages, scanning the closely typed -sheets, studying it clause for clause.</p> - -<p>“No, sir! I’ve got you!” he ended triumphantly.</p> - -<p>“’Dolph, I’ve never asked favors—not from you nor -any other man. But I ask you now to let me off without -any kick. You know me well enough to realize I -wouldn’t, without some good reason.”</p> - -<p>“Then I’ve got to know what that reason is.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t tell you.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.216" id="png.216" href="#png.216"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>206<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Not the ghost of an excuse, yet you want me to let -you quit without a murmur! What d’you think I am?”</p> - -<p>“I think you’re man enough not to try to hold me, -contract or no contract.”</p> - -<p>“That won’t work! Here it is, black on white.” -He banged down the contract. “No loophole for three -years! It’s ironclad.”</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll have to break it,” the man at the window -said quietly.</p> - -<p>Cleeburg went close to him. For some unaccountable -reason this man calmly breaking all rules of the -game, made him feel apologetic. An outraged sense of -justice added to his fury.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you will—will you? Well, we’ll just look after -that. Whatever you’ve got up your sleeve, Brooks, it’s -a skunk trick. And I won’t stand for it, d’you hear? -I’ll stop you from tying up with anybody else. S’help -me, I will!”</p> - -<p>“I’m not tying up with anybody else. I’m quitting—for -good.”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“That’s why I want you to release me.”</p> - -<p>Cleeburg gave the same hard contemptuous laugh as -before.</p> - -<p>“What’re you trying to put over?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p>“You mean to tell me you’re chucking a profession -when you’re right on top?”</p> - -<p>“I’m going back to the law—if the world hasn’t too -keen a sense of humor to accept a one-time actor as a -lawyer.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.217" id="png.217" href="#png.217"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>207<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -The manager gave him one long uncomprehending -look, then flung back his head and roared. It was -laughter not pleasant to listen to. Brooks stood it silently -for a stretch while his hands twitched. Then his -eyes flared as if fire were behind them. Still he did not -turn from the window.</p> - -<p>“Let’s end this, will you? We’re not getting anywhere. -And I’ve given you my ultimatum.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll give you mine.” Cleeburg had lost all -count of words. The bruise of bucking against a stone -wall had made him see red. “You stick to Gloria or I’ll -make it so hot for you that they’ll hoot you out of this -town! That’s the only way to handle—swine!” He -broke off, turned on his heel, went back to the desk. -Suddenly he leaned across it. “What the hell do you -want, anyhow?”</p> - -<p>Brooks came round like a pivot. The other man’s -breath held at the look on his face. “I want your wife! -Now for God’s sake throw me out, will you!”</p> - -<p>It was quite still in the room. Even the words were -spoken in something less than a whisper. When they -had come there was no outward intimation that a man -had pulled down a mountain crashing about his head.</p> - -<p>Cleeburg’s hands clenched where they lay on the desk. -He stared across it without changing position. The blood -mounted to his wet forehead, then receded, leaving it -gray white. His face was that of a man ready to kill. -Then he shook his head a little vaguely, felt for the chair -behind him, pulled it up to the desk. But he did not -sink into it. He caught hold of the arm and stood so, -steadying himself.</p> - -<p><a name="png.218" id="png.218" href="#png.218"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>208<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Nothing on God’s earth would have made me tell -you, ’Dolph,” Brooks went on hoarsely. “I thought I -could make you let me off without a word. But you -can see for yourself—” He paused—then abruptly: -“Do you know what it means to take her in my arms, -loving her? Do you know what it means to want another -man’s wife and feel her lips on yours every night?”</p> - -<p>Cleeburg moistened his own. They opened and closed. -His nails dug into the varnish of the chair. His eyes, -so long unseeing, visualized in a flash the scene they had -gazed upon so often—Gloria in the arms of the man facing -him, himself urging them to more intense expression, -more abandon of love. Like a raging animal the fighting -male leaped up in him—then subsided, knowing it -had to fight only itself. He met the straight look. In -turn it met his. And he knew that set mouth had spoken -truth, clean, uncompromising; could not have spoken at -all if it had been otherwise. He groped uncertainly,—spoke -at last half in fear, the first thought that had -seized him.</p> - -<p>“Does—does she—know?”</p> - -<p>John Brooks looked into the tortured face and lied -without hesitation.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“You mean—she hasn’t even guessed?”</p> - -<p>“No. And I don’t want her to.”</p> - -<p>“That’s why you kept away from us?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“That’s why you went back to town last time you were -with us.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.219" id="png.219" href="#png.219"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>209<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“And I thought you were a damned snob!” A hand -that trembled came across the desk top. “Sorry I said -what I did. Pardon!”</p> - -<p>The other made an attempt to treat it lightly. Two -shaking hands clasped.</p> - -<p>“No trouble about getting off now, eh?”</p> - -<p>“I—I’d like to eat dirt for the way I talked to you,” -said Cleeburg.</p> - -<p>“Forget it! Your assumption was the only logical -one. Another man would be after me with a gun for -what I’ve told you.”</p> - -<p>“Look here,” little ’Dolph stumbled on, “I—I’ll star -you myself.”</p> - -<p>“No,” Brooks smiled a bit grimly. “I’m quitting—for -good.”</p> - -<p>’Dolph Cleeburg’s eyes, comprehending now, took in -the drawn face and tired look of the man who had fought -a losing battle—and won. And some strange click of -memory brought simultaneously the same look of desperation -in another face. Where had he seen it? When? -Why did it haunt him? He sat down, picked up the -halves of the paper cutter and tried to piece them together. -Suddenly they rattled to the desk. Gloria! -Gloria’s white face that night after he had put them -through their paces, the night she had clung to him, the -night of her strange outburst of hysteria. Gloria’s face -when he suggested sending them abroad! Gloria’s face -a dozen times since!</p> - -<p>His gaze moved slowly toward the door, straining as a -man stares through the dark. His thumb pressed the -button on his desk, not as before, but mechanically. He -<a name="png.220" id="png.220" href="#png.220"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>210<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>waited without moving. Yet his secretary stood in the -doorway fully half a minute before he spoke.</p> - -<p>“Find out if Miss Cromwell is in her dressing-room. -Say I’d like to see her here.”</p> - -<p>Brooks took a quick step toward him.</p> - -<p>“What do you want her for.”</p> - -<p>“To tell her you’re quitting.”</p> - -<p>“That’s not necessary. See here, ’Dolph, let’s drop -it. You and I understand each other.”</p> - -<p>“No harm telling her, is there?”</p> - -<p>The other man stepped back and sat down with a gesture -that told the futility of argument. He, too, sat -with eyes on the door.</p> - -<p>Neither spoke. Little ’Dolph’s face seemed to sag. -The skin fell heavily round the jaws. The eyes had a -vague, helpless look. He took out his handkerchief, -folded it carefully and put it back in his pocket. He -got up, changed the position of a chair, came back to -the desk.</p> - -<p>“’Dolph, what are you going to do?” Brooks brought -out at last.</p> - -<p>“Just tell her,” he repeated.</p> - -<p>The door opened and Gloria came in, dressed for the -street.</p> - -<p>“I’ve been waiting for you to take me to dinner,” she -told Cleeburg. “What’s kept you, dear?”</p> - -<p>He got up, pushed his chair in her direction.</p> - -<p>“News,” came uncertainly after a second’s pause. -“Rotten news. John’s leaving us.”</p> - -<p>The bomb was flung. He stood peering into her face, -waiting for its answer rather than that of her lips.</p> - -<p><a name="png.221" id="png.221" href="#png.221"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>211<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -There would be surprise—there must be that! And -after the first start of amazement, a protest. And indignation! -The outburst of the actress about to lose -the support on which she depends. His hands clenched. -That she might not see, he clasped them behind him. -God, let her know the anxiety natural under the circumstances! -Let her rise up determined to hold this man to -his business contract! Let her threaten with all the impersonal -fury he himself had shown! Let her prove -that to her John Brooks was merely part of her professional -life! That as such she would not let him -go!</p> - -<p>He waited while his silent lips moved in prayer.</p> - -<p>Gloria’s first swift glance was to Brooks. His linked -with hers. Her fingers locked and unlocked. Twice -she opened her lips without speech, then turned back to -Cleeburg.</p> - -<p>“Has anything happened? There—there’s been no -trouble between you, has there?” was all she said.</p> - -<p>“Of course not,” Brooks put in quickly. “I’ve told -’Dolph I’m quitting for good. That’s all there is to it.”</p> - -<p>Little ’Dolph did not take his eyes from her. Now it -would come—surely. She had been too amazed, too -taken back before. He waited for the throbbing voice -to answer.</p> - -<p>“You—you’re leaving the stage?” it asked too quietly.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Cleeburg plunged in. “He’s quitting us—cold. -Get that? He’s leaving us in the lurch. What do you -make of it?”</p> - -<p>With a look of sudden fear, Brooks sprang up. -“See here, ’Dolph—”</p> - -<p><a name="png.222" id="png.222" href="#png.222"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>212<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“John must have some good reason—”</p> - -<p>“Do you know what it is?”</p> - -<p>She glanced quickly from one to the other. Something -in both faces brought her, too, to her feet. “Why -should I?”</p> - -<p>“You didn’t seem surprised when I told you.”</p> - -<p>“I am surprised, of course.”</p> - -<p>“Then why in God’s name don’t you make him give -you some explanation?”</p> - -<p>“Hasn’t he given you one?” she asked very low.</p> - -<p>“Yes! Do you want to hear it?”</p> - -<p>“’Dolph!” the other man fairly leaped at him.</p> - -<p>“Wait a minute!” Cleeburg stretched out a hand. -His throat was so parched, he could scarcely bring out -the words. “Wait a minute! I’ve got to go through -with this. I’ve got to know.” He turned to Gloria. -“You asked if anything happened. The biggest thing -has happened since you came into the room. I sent for -you to tell you John was going. That means you lose -the best support you ever had or will have. It knocked -me out completely. And you take it without a murmur. -You’ve got him under contract, yet you don’t make the -ghost of an effort to hold him.”</p> - -<p>Gloria’s voice shook as she answered.</p> - -<p>“Why should I try to hold him against his will?”</p> - -<p>“Why wouldn’t you put up the fight of your life to -hold him—unless you’re afraid to?”</p> - -<p>“Afraid to?”</p> - -<p>“Let’s drop this!” came swift and sharp from Brooks.</p> - -<p>“I can’t—I’ve got to know,” Cleeburg broke in pitifully. -Then to Gloria like a man pleading for life: -<a name="png.223" id="png.223" href="#png.223"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>213<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>“You didn’t want me to book you and John for London. -You preferred not to go. That’s a fact, ain’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Was it—was it because you didn’t want to be over -there with him—alone?”</p> - -<p>She stared as he put the question—stared into the eyes -that were like a bleeding animal’s.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t want to go without you. You know that.”</p> - -<p>He saw her mouth quiver at the corners and her teeth -hold the lower lip. And all her nervousness that -night of the dress rehearsal swept before him in torturing -detail. He shook his head helplessly. He -grasped the arm of a chair as he had once before and -steadied himself. Haltingly the words he had known he -must speak came at last.</p> - -<p>“Why wouldn’t you go without me? Was that—was -it because you knew what I know now—that he loves -you?”</p> - -<p>She gave a start. He saw her eyes fly to the other -man’s. There was nothing of indignation in that look, -nothing of anger. Terror—yes—and question! But -back of both a glow—the instinctive look of the one -woman to the one man that will live as long as the -world. Because unconscious, it was all the revelation the -man who watched her needed. A sort of groping wonder -at his blindness seized him. Then little ’Dolph sank -into the chair and, like a candle snuffed, hope went out -of his eyes.</p> - -<p>What she said as she turned back to him was merely -a veil drawn across thought to hide its nakedness.</p> - -<p>She went over, laid a hand on his shoulder and looked -<a name="png.224" id="png.224" href="#png.224"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>214<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>into the poor haggard face that had not learned, as have -women, to conceal its suffering. Her own was as white.</p> - -<p>“’Dolph, dear—whatever John has told you, I want -you to believe that he’s never, by so much as a word, -been disloyal to you.”</p> - -<p>He patted her hand and tried to smile.</p> - -<p>“I know that, kiddo. It’s all right. Honest it is.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t blame him. We’ve been together so much. -The theater is so different from any other kind of life. -It’s so—so intimate.”</p> - -<p>“’Dolph has been one hundred per cent there.” -Brooks squared his shoulders as he spoke and went -toward the door. “Another man would have put a bullet -through my head.”</p> - -<p>“You—you’ll go on being his friend, ’Dolph?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry, kiddo.”</p> - -<p>“You and I will have each other.” Her voice broke.</p> - -<p>His empty eyes came round to her.</p> - -<p>“You’re going to stay on with me?”</p> - -<p>“Of course I am.”</p> - -<p>“Y’mean it?”</p> - -<p>“Of course I do.” She looked to Brooks and held out -her hand. “Good-by, John.”</p> - -<p>He came over and took it and held it for a moment—tight.</p> - -<p>“Good-by, Gloria. I’ll be leaving town next week, if -’Dolph’s willing to have an understudy take my place -from to-night on. I’m not likely to see you again.”</p> - -<p>Their eyes met and managed to smile. Then Gloria -looked away. Something in her throat was fluttering -like a wild thing.</p> - -<p><a name="png.225" id="png.225" href="#png.225"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>215<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -When she looked back the door had closed.</p> - -<p>“You’re all right, honey,” Cleeburg murmured huskily.</p> - -<p>Three hours later he let himself into the quiet office, -switched on the light and went to the desk. A broken -paper knife lay near the inkstand. He picked up the -pieces, held them together with half a smile, then let -them drop from his hand into the waste basket.</p> - -<p>The chair he had pushed forward for Gloria stood as -she had left it. He drew it over, sat down, and with -broad mouth firm but hands that shook a little, pulled -a sheet of foolscap toward him and took up a pen.</p> - -<p>The pen moved across the sheet, sometimes hesitating, -sometimes swift as a comet. But the determined -line of little ’Dolph’s mouth never relaxed.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p class="noindent"><i>My dearest little girl</i>:</p> - -<p>I’ve been thinking a lot since dinner, and when a fellow -has sort of lost the habit of thinking about anything but his -next show it comes hard. But don’t you jump at the conclusion -that what I’m going to say is hasty or that it ain’t -final. For years there was a funny old feeling inside of me -that I had something to tell the world and no way to tell -it. I wanted to put over something on the stage that would -sound like music or look like a beautiful painting. Scenery -wouldn’t do it. The women I had trained couldn’t do it. -I didn’t even know, myself, just what it was. I used to tell -myself often I was a poor nut. Then you came along with -that voice of yours and those eyes and the fire that hasn’t -any name, and did it all for me. If there hadn’t ever been -anything more for me than seeing those hopes come true, -it would have been enough. But I’ve had you for almost -six years. You made me happier than you know, kiddo. -And what has a poor old dub like me ever done to expect -more than the happiness life has already handed me through -<a name="png.226" id="png.226" href="#png.226"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>216<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>you? Why, that’s a fortune that makes the Rockefeller millions -look like thirty cents. If I try to hog more, if I keep -you from the thing you’ve got a right to, the thing you gave -me for six years, shooting’s too good for me.</p> - -<p>You don’t think I could let you stay on with me, knowing -that you and John belong together, do you? And you -do belong together. You know I always said you made a -fine team. Why, kiddo, it would finish me. I want you to -be happy, that’s all. And I saw to-day where that happiness -is for you.</p> - -<p>I fixed it so that John couldn’t get off to-night. And I’m -going to fix it now so that you’ll play together the rest of -your lives. I’m sailing Monday to fix up those English contracts. -When I come back in the fall you’re going to be -free. No, not free, I’m wrong. I want to take you and -John by the hands and say—Bless you, my children!</p> - -<p>You remember, I called myself once your old back drop. -Well, being that is about the best thing that’s ever happened -to me. And I’ll keep on being that if you’ll let me, until -you quit the game. Let me go on putting you over just -like always and I’ll be O. K. Don’t you worry.</p> - -<p>God bless you, kiddo.</p> - -<p class="sig"><span class="smc">’Dolph.</span></p> -</blockquote> - -<p>He folded the sheets without reading them, put them -into an envelope, sealed it carefully, went downstairs -and looked up the head usher.</p> - -<p>“Take this to Miss Cromwell and give it into her hands -yourself,” he said. “And here, kid.” And he slipped -the boy a dollar.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="sect"> -<h2 title="Two Masters"><a name="png.227" id="png.227" href="#png.227"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>217<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>TWO MASTERS</h2> - -<h3 title="Romance"><i>ROMANCE</i></h3> - - -<p>Love is a fantasy, a dream that only sacrifice can make -come true. The tragedy of it is not in dying, but in living -without it.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h2 title=""><a name="png.229" id="png.229" href="#png.229"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>219<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>TWO MASTERS</h2> - - - - -<h3 title="Chapter I">CHAPTER I</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcapA">Across</span> Bryant Park, chilled and damp under a -gray sky emptied of stars, a man hurried. His -overcoat collar was turned up. His soft hat was pulled -down. His eyes between the two were dark-circled and -deep-sunk. His feet covered the wet paths with the -stumbling haste of one pursued.</p> - -<p>To the east the faint gold streaks of an autumn dawn -cut the clouds. They reached up above the irregular -skyline that is New York, heralding the day some minutes -after it was born.</p> - -<p>The man sped across Fortieth Street and mounted the -steps of one of the few brownstone houses, relic of an -old aristocracy, that refused to be crowded out by the -bourgeoisie of business. He fumbled in his coat pocket, -brought out a key, dropped it in his anxiety, finally got -the inner door open and made his way, still stumbling, -up the stairs.</p> - -<p>At an apartment on the second floor—for the house -maintained its aloof air of aristocracy only on the outside—he -paused and squared his shoulders. His whole -body seemed to steel itself and then, very softly, he inserted -the key and entered.</p> - -<p>A gentle rustle came from the room beyond and a -trained nurse with finger against her lips met him on -the threshold.</p> - -<p><a name="png.230" id="png.230" href="#png.230"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>220<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“She—she’s all right?” he whispered, lips twitching.</p> - -<p>“Sleeping.”</p> - -<p>“I tried to get back earlier. We rehearsed until a -few minutes ago.” He threw hat and overcoat on a -chair and sank into another. His head went down into -his hands. “God, those hours, when every minute I -thought—Miss Anderson,” he broke off, looking up to -catch her expression, “she hasn’t taken a turn for the -worse! She’ll pull through, won’t she?”</p> - -<p>She smiled, a little sadly, at the desperate, so familiar -query.</p> - -<p>“She’s holding her own,” she answered with the formula -equally familiar.</p> - -<p>“Can’t you tell me she’ll get well? Can’t you give -me the assurance?”</p> - -<p>“No one can do that, Mr. Moore. We can only wait -and hope.”</p> - -<p>She took a hesitant step toward him, hand outstretched -to comfort. Then evidently realizing how futile such effort -would be, she turned and went back to her place at -the foot of the bed that was a misty blur in the darkened -room beyond.</p> - -<p>He followed, precipitately yet with scarcely the sound -of a footfall. The room was full of shadows. A thread -of sunlight, forcing its way between blind and window, -crept across the floor and gradually toward the bed. But -Frank Moore did not need its delicate finger-touch to -illumine the face that lay so still upon the pillow. He -knew every precious line of it, every contour, all the -shades of modeling that made it exquisite even though -disease had in a few short weeks pressed into a gaunt -<a name="png.231" id="png.231" href="#png.231"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>221<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>mask the curves of beauty. He stood looking down at -its stillness until a sudden broken cry came from him -and he went quickly into the other room.</p> - -<p>With no shame for his man’s tears, he flung himself -full length on the couch and gave way to the misery he -must hide when the wistful gaze of the eyes he loved was -on him. Long days of rehearsal, long nights of anxiety, -had weakened his resistance. He lay shaking with all -the pitiable helplessness of the strong man gone -under.</p> - -<p>On side streets and flashing under the reflectors on -the big twenty-four sheets along Sixth Avenue was his -name in prominent black letters.</p> - -<p class="poster"><span class="smc">Kane Theatre</span><br - />45th Street<br - />beginning<br - /><i>November</i> 5th<br - /><span class="longdash">———</span><br - />OSWALD KANE<br - />Presents<br - />the New Drama<br - />“THE LAUREL WREATH”<br - />by<br - /><i>Gaston Grisac</i><br - />Featuring<br - />FRANKLYN MOORE</p> - -<p>How often they had dreamed of the day when he and -she could look up and see that name as it stood out now, -heralded, the featured one of the season’s big production! -<a name="png.232" id="png.232" href="#png.232"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>222<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>How often had she pictured herself stopping to read it -each time it loomed before them, scanning it over and -over on her theater program, leaning beyond the rail of -the stage box to spur him to the success that must be -his!</p> - -<p>And to-night—the night that was to have been the -greatest in their life, she would be lying there, while he— -He sprang up, with quick stride covered the floor, back -and forth, back and forth, like a prisoner in a cell.</p> - -<p>The day nurse arriving at seven, found him dazed -and blank-eyed from sheer weakness. As one feeds a -child, she made him swallow some steaming coffee, then -led him without difficulty back to the couch.</p> - -<p>“You must rest, Mr. Moore, or you won’t be equal -to the performance to-night.”</p> - -<p>“I—can’t.”</p> - -<p>“But if I promise to call you when Mrs. Moore -wakes up, won’t you try to sleep a bit?”</p> - -<p>“I can’t, I tell you!”</p> - -<p>“Please—”</p> - -<p>She plumped up the pillows and he fell back among -them, exhausted. He did not sleep but a sort of numbness -gripped him as if the blood had been drained from -his veins. And while his body lay still, his mind moved -with wonder. Ambition—hope—of what use? To-day -for him, this day that was to make all the days to come, -there was just one reality. That face in there with its -lines of suffering, that frail body, that soul that must -live on for him. Nothing else was worth a thought—nothing! -All night long as he had rehearsed, perfecting -under the subtle guidance of Oswald Kane, the minutest -<a name="png.233" id="png.233" href="#png.233"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>223<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>detail of characterization, the most delicate shading of -the difficult rôle he had mastered, he had been standing -in reality at her bedside. Like a well-ordered mechanism -he had gone through the part. But the indeterminate -something that was Franklyn Moore had been -in that shadowy room—with her. Kane had noticed the -lack. An anxious frown had drawn his expressive brows -momentarily together. But he had said nothing until -the dress rehearsal was over and the company had gone -home to sleep in preparation for the night’s performance. -Then he had linked his arm through Moore’s and drawn -him into the darkness of the wings.</p> - -<p>“Frank, I know this is an ordeal for you. If there -were any way of postponing the opening, I would do it. -You know that. But it can’t be managed. We’re all -set. They could only conclude that something was wrong -with the play.”</p> - -<p>“Of course—I know. That’s all right.”</p> - -<p>“And, my boy, we can’t afford to let it fail because of -this—this misfortune that has come to you. It’s on your -shoulders. We must come through, Frank. We can’t -stand a failure.” His anxiety was all too evident.</p> - -<p>“I was rotten—I know. But don’t worry—”</p> - -<p>“I won’t. I depend upon you, my boy, that’s all. -And so does to-night’s success. Let me run you -home.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks—no. I’d rather walk it. Want to be alone—you -understand—pardon!”</p> - -<p>And he had stumbled out of the stage door into the -new gray day.</p> - -<p>Now as he paced up and down, he wondered whether -<a name="png.234" id="png.234" href="#png.234"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>224<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>it would be humanly possible to keep faith with the man -who was giving him the opportunity to blazon his name -to the world. Could he go through with it? Could he -be depended upon?</p> - -<p>The nurse appeared in the doorway and beckoned to -him. From the pillow a pair of eyes, so large and dark -that there seemed no other feature in the small face, -fastened on the door as he entered. He dropped on his -knees, laid his head beside hers. One hand strayed -up and stroked his thick brown hair.</p> - -<p>“How did it go, darling?”</p> - -<p>He answered with another question of greater moment.</p> - -<p>“Are you feeling better?”</p> - -<p>“Much. They gave me something to make me sleep. -I must have slept a long time. Is it morning?”</p> - -<p>“Ten o’clock.”</p> - -<p>“Really? What time did you get in?”</p> - -<p>“About half-past five.”</p> - -<p>“How did the rehearsal go?” she repeated.</p> - -<p>“Fine. Kane thinks it will be a knock-out.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure it will.”</p> - -<p>He turned his face from hers for an instant of silence.</p> - -<p>The nurse moved about the room, lifting the blinds -to the sunlight, preparing it for the day. Then she came -over to the bed.</p> - -<p>“As soon as I have Mrs. Moore fixed up, I’ll let you -come back,” she said.</p> - -<p>“You’ll let him tell me all about it, won’t you?” pleaded -the voice from the pillow. “I couldn’t bear it if you -didn’t.”</p> - -<p>“Yes—he can stay in here until—”</p> - -<p><a name="png.235" id="png.235" href="#png.235"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>225<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Until he’s ready to go to the theater. Please—please!”</p> - -<p>“If you don’t wear yourself out.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t—I promise.”</p> - -<p>The big dark eyes followed him out of the room.</p> - -<p>He stripped off his clothes, took a cold shower and -in clean linens tried to persuade himself that he felt relaxed. -He telephoned the doctor for a report on last -night’s visit and was told Mrs. Moore was about the -same. If she had gained some sleep that was decidedly -in her favor. The doctor would be over at five and as -Mr. Moore had requested, would make arrangements to -stay until his return from the theater.</p> - -<p>The small face on the pillow was lifted eagerly as -he reappeared. Two long braids of pale gold fell over -the shoulders and onto the white spread. He had always -adored that pale gold hair. It intensified the dark of -her eyes, making them almost black. It made her mediæval, -an Elaine of poetry. He called her “Elaine” -which after all was not so very far from her own name, -“Helen.”</p> - -<p>“No, I want you here.” She pointed to the foot of the -bed. “Where I won’t miss a word or an expression. -Now tell me—about everything.”</p> - -<p>In a low voice, without stress or excitement, he related -the incidents that always occur at a dress rehearsal. -Props that had to be replaced at the last minute. The -leading woman’s gowns gone wrong. The house cat -sauntering across the stage during the big scene and its -portent, good luck! Kane’s decision to light him with -white instead of amber in the final act. All the little -<a name="png.236" id="png.236" href="#png.236"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>226<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>shadings, the quaint superstitions, the unimportant incidents -that make the stage the fascinating realm it is, -even to the initiated.</p> - -<p>She listened with lips parted and an occasional faint -nod of the head. It was her world, too, though the world -in which she had failed.</p> - -<p>“I hope you weren’t too good, dear.”</p> - -<p>“I was rotten.”</p> - -<p>Her smile said she knew he couldn’t be that, but the -lips told him:—</p> - -<p>“That’s good. A bad dress rehearsal is sure to mean -a great opening.” A sudden longing, uncontrolled, held -her eyes. “How I’d love to see it!”</p> - -<p>He bent down, lifted one of the white hands on the -coverlet, pressing it against his lips.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know how I can go through without you,” came -in spite of him.</p> - -<p>Her eyes clouded.</p> - -<p>“You must, dear! You mustn’t even think of me.”</p> - -<p>“It’s too much to ask,” the broken voice plunged on. -“To go out and face that crowd with you—here! I -can’t do it—I can’t!”</p> - -<p>“You must do it, my love.” The spirit so much -stronger than the body shone from her eyes. “I’ll be -thinking of you and praying for you. I’ll be with you -all through the performance. I’ll follow each line—every -tiny bit of business. But you must put me out of -your mind. Only your part must count—only your success.”</p> - -<p>He was silent, pressing the little hand between his -warm palms as if to send the vitality from his veins into -<a name="png.237" id="png.237" href="#png.237"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>227<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>hers. But the only vitalized part of her was the feverishly -bright look of eyes that drew his.</p> - -<p>“Frank—”</p> - -<p>“Yes, darling—”</p> - -<p>“You know how I always loved the stage—how I -always wanted to be a great actress.”</p> - -<p>“I know, my Elaine.”</p> - -<p>The big burning eyes traveled into the past. Haltingly, -with breath uneven and the words only faintly -spoken, she drifted on the tide of memory back -toward that horizon of hope so many see but never -reach.</p> - -<p>“Frank—do you remember in the old stock days when -we first met—how jealous I was of you?”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense! You were just ambitious.”</p> - -<p>“No—jealous! Don’t you remember the time I -wouldn’t speak to you for a week—because you walked -off with the big scene?”</p> - -<p>“Mine was the better part.”</p> - -<p>Two tears she pretended not to be conscious of gathered -in the dark eyes.</p> - -<p>“No, dear—it wasn’t in me. You tried to give it back -to me—that scene—at every performance.” Her voice -trailed away a little wearily and it was a full minute before -the slow words came to her lips again. “But I -couldn’t take it away from you, no matter how hard I -tried.”</p> - -<p>She had carried him with her back to the days of struggle -and hope, when success was a star at the top of the -world and effort the ladder from which so many rungs -fell away as climbing feet sought a firmer hold. The -<a name="png.238" id="png.238" href="#png.238"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>228<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>days when disappointments were shared with after-theater -sandwiches and the monument of ambition took the form -of a dingy stock theater on the Main Street of a small -town.</p> - -<p>“And I felt like such a dog,” he reminisced. “That -was when I began loving you—when I was trying to heal -the hurt of your disappointment. That night when you -walked out of the stage door in the pouring rain and your -umbrella turned inside out and I tried to make you take -my raincoat but you poked up that little head of yours -and looked neither to right nor left like a real Mrs. Siddons. -And then an old cab came jogging along and I -scooped you up bodily and carried you into it, broken -umbrella and all. Do you recall how I held you in my -arms all the way to your boarding-house and kept telling -you you had to marry me?”</p> - -<p>“Take me in your arms now, dear. Let’s live those -days over again.”</p> - -<p>He looked, anxiously yet with an eager plea in his -eyes, toward the nurse. She hesitated.</p> - -<p>“Frank,” came the voice from the pillow, “won’t you -put your arms around me?”</p> - -<p>The nurse nodded, coming quickly to the bed. She -slipped her own arm under the wasted body, lifted it. -Then the man’s went in its place and silently he cradled -the precious burden against him, bending down so that -her position might not be changed. She gave a little sigh -as his lips touched the silk of her hair.</p> - -<p>“I feel better now,” she said.</p> - -<p>They were quiet a few moments while the man’s eyes -fastened blindly on a cornice of the ceiling.</p> - -<p><a name="png.239" id="png.239" href="#png.239"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>229<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Her slim fingers curled round his.</p> - -<p>“We both love the theater so, don’t we?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—” But he was not thinking of her words.</p> - -<p>“Only I never had it, dear,—the spark. It is a -spark—”</p> - -<p>“You have the greatest spark in the world, darling,—the -love that you give and inspire—that will live on when -the theater has forgotten me.”</p> - -<p>“It must never forget you.” She stopped, then softly -went on, “I—I wanted so much for myself—at first. I -could learn lines and be letter perfect in a few days—and -look pretty.”</p> - -<p>“You were always beautiful. You always will be.”</p> - -<p>She gave a little tired movement of dissent.</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t matter much—because—because—anyway—”</p> - -<p>“I love you so,” he said in a shaking voice.</p> - -<p>“I used to tell myself the other thing—the spark—would -come. It took New York to teach me that if you -have the other thing—looking pretty and being letter -perfect in a few days aren’t important. But Frank—”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sweetheart—”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t marry you because I was a failure. I married -you because I loved you.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t have to tell me that.”</p> - -<p>“But I want to. Do you want me to tell you just when -I knew I loved you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>She had told it to him dozens of times but he waited -with the eager attention of one who had never before -heard it.</p> - -<p><a name="png.240" id="png.240" href="#png.240"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>230<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Well, it was the time we both opened in ‘The Jungle-Beast.’ -I had just come to New York. You’d been here -six months. But I was too proud to let you know because -I couldn’t get a job and was half starved. And -then we met one day—in Cleeburg’s office—and you made -him give me a part.”</p> - -<p>“He’d have given it to you without me.”</p> - -<p>“He would not. It was you who managed me. The -best manager in the world,” she murmured.</p> - -<p>He had an insane impulse to clutch her tighter, hold -her so that no power on earth or in heaven could drag -her from him. But the muscles of his arms merely -tightened without movement. She lay within them, a -weight too pitifully light.</p> - -<p>“When we opened,” came at last, whispered so that the -words were a breath, “I tried so hard—I put every bit -of me into the part.”</p> - -<p>“And you were great in it, too.”</p> - -<p>“No, the papers told the truth. I just—wasn’t. They -didn’t even mention my name—I was just an also-ran. -But Frank—I was so happy—so proud. My own failure -didn’t count. That was when I knew I loved you, dear,—belonged -to you—for always.”</p> - -<p>“For always,” he repeated like an amen.</p> - -<p>“No matter what happens?”</p> - -<p>“No matter—” he could not go on.</p> - -<p>She lay there with eyes closed and a smile on her lips. -A faint pink like the touch of sunset spread its delicate -color on her cheeks. But only for the moment that had -carried her into the past. When the eyes opened and -looked up to his, they were troubled.</p> - -<p><a name="png.241" id="png.241" href="#png.241"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>231<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“What is it, my Elaine?”</p> - -<p>“Frank—since then I’ve poured all my ambition into -you. All these seven years—each step of yours up the -ladder has been mine. And we have been happy—every -minute of them, haven’t we?”</p> - -<p>He put his inarticulate lips against her forehead.</p> - -<p>“Nothing can take that away. It’s ours—forever. -It’s more than life gives most people. And I’m not a -real failure, because my longing has been satisfied—in -you.” The clouded eyes struggled to his. “Come -closer, dear. That’s why you mustn’t fail to-night. Tell -me you won’t.”</p> - -<p>“But the thought of leaving you—it—it’s too much. I -can’t stand it!”</p> - -<p>“You must, Frank! Everything depends on it.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think anything that matters there—will -count?”</p> - -<p>“But if I want you there instead of here—if it means -everything to me?”</p> - -<p>Her fingers twined feverishly through his. Her -eyes were frightened. Her voice gathered sudden -strength.</p> - -<p>“I want to spur you to triumph, darling, not defeat. I -want you to ring the bell, so that—always—I can know -I was a help not a hindrance.”</p> - -<p>“Elaine—you mustn’t talk any more. You’re tired.”</p> - -<p>“No—I’m not. Let me tell you the thing I want to -say. You can’t serve two masters, dear, the theater and -me. You love us both—but to-night the theater must -come first. It is your master—mine, too. You must let -it take you away from me when you want to stay. You -<a name="png.242" id="png.242" href="#png.242"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>232<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>must let it absorb you—mind and body. You must -forget that I’m ill—forget me while I’m remembering -you. No matter what happens! Frank—promise -me—”</p> - -<p>“I can only—try.”</p> - -<p>Her two hands clung to his.</p> - -<p>“That’s not enough! Frank—I’d die now if I thought -I was going to cause you to fail. You must appear—you -must make good. You must do the best work of -your career. After all, that will be serving me too, darling. -You’ll be giving me the thing I want—your name -the greatest on the American stage. No matter what -happens, Frank—no matter what—”</p> - -<p>The nurse moved quickly to the bedside.</p> - -<p>“I can’t let Mr. Moore stay if you excite yourself. -Take this—and please lie quiet for awhile.”</p> - -<p>“You won’t make him go?”</p> - -<p>“Not if you do as I say.”</p> - -<p>She took the powder and, closing her hands round his -to reassure herself, settled back on the pillow. He remained -in his cramped position, half kneeling, half lying -beside her, filling his eyes with her, listening for every -faint even breath that told him sleep had once more laid -relaxing fingers upon her. Like a miser counting gold, -he counted the minutes that gave them to each other, -the minutes before the master she said he must obey -claimed him. He heard those minutes being ticked away -by the clock in the adjoining room with a terror that laid -cold hands on his heart. The day must not go! It must -not escape them so quickly!</p> - -<p>Once more he put his head down beside the pale gold -one. For a long time neither moved. Then the faint -<a name="png.243" id="png.243" href="#png.243"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>233<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>grip of her fingers loosened, dropped away. But his arms -stayed about her, numbed and tense.</p> - -<p>She awoke and lay smiling into his eyes, but neither -made attempt to speak. Sometimes he whispered her -name. Sometimes she murmured his. All the words -that could have been spoken—all that he wanted to pour -out—all that he felt—choked him. But the futility of -trying to express it and the fear of weakening her held -him silent. Theirs was a communion deeper than speech.</p> - -<p>It was late afternoon when she lifted her head, a sudden -light illumining her spent eyes.</p> - -<p>“Frank—have they got your name on that billboard -we can see from the front window?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, beloved.”</p> - -<p>“Big?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Almost as big as Kane’s?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, little lady of mine.”</p> - -<p>“Frank—I want to see it.”</p> - -<p>He started up with protest on his lips, but—</p> - -<p>“Impossible!” formed on the nurse’s before he could -speak.</p> - -<p>“Please, Frank!”</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid it wouldn’t do, dear.”</p> - -<p>“If you’d wrap me in a blanket and carry me in. Just -for a second—just to see it—once.”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Moore,” the nurse put it, “it doesn’t seem much -and I’d like to say ‘yes.’ But it would weaken you too -much.”</p> - -<p>“No—no! It wouldn’t—it couldn’t! Why—it’s the -thing I’ve been waiting for! It would give me new life. -<a name="png.244" id="png.244" href="#png.244"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>234<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>I want to see his name all lighted up. Please—please! -Don’t deny me just this little thing.”</p> - -<p>Frank Moore’s gaze went desperately to the nurse’s. -She stood locking and unlocking her hands, nervous uncertainty -battling with professional caution.</p> - -<p>“We’ll wait until Dr. Griffith gets here. If he permits -it—”</p> - -<p>With gaze fastened on her, Frank Moore knew that -she was certain the doctor would not permit it. Yet when -he came at five and the dark eyes went quickly to his -with their anxious plea, he stood looking down at them -for a moment, prolonged by silence—then bowed his head -in quiet assent.</p> - -<p>The man who had been watching did not stop to question -or consider why. He saw only the light that like -white fire came again to the eyes he loved. Gathering -her close, with head bent to hers, he carried her to the -window that faced the park.</p> - -<p>Dusk with its faint blue haze of beauty had settled -and through it glimmered the first sparkle of the evening -star. A building off toward Broadway, mysteriously -illuminated from below, glowed moonwhite and dreamlike. -The city itself, at this weird hour between day and -night, seemed scarcely real. But it was not on the unreality -of material things that the dark eyes centered. -Over the park they wandered and above the long black -trellis of the elevated.</p> - -<p>There it was, shining beyond its reflectors, the big -twenty-four sheet:—</p> - -<p class="poster"><a name="png.245" id="png.245" href="#png.245"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>235<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a><span class="smc">Kane Theatre</span><br - />45th Street<br - />beginning<br - /><i>November</i> 5th<br - /><span class="longdash">———</span><br - />OSWALD KANE<br - />Presents<br - />the New Drama<br - />“THE LAUREL WREATH”<br - />by<br - /><i>Gaston Grisac</i><br - />Featuring<br - />FRANKLYN MOORE</p> - -<p>She gave a little joyful sigh.</p> - -<p>“Frank dear—it’s real—it’s real!”</p> - -<p>Her arms held closer round his neck.</p> - -<p>“I’ve asked Kane to keep your place vacant in the -stage box,” came from him finally. “I couldn’t bear to -have anyone else in it.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be with you—rooting for you—don’t forget! I’ll -be with you—always.”</p> - -<p>He put his face against hers. He could not speak. -Through the dusk he saw only those great dark eyes with -their strange glowing light. He stood with her so, while -she read and re-read the name that spelled to her love, -ambition, life. Suddenly—</p> - -<p>“I can’t leave you—I can’t!” he broke down.</p> - -<p>“’Sh! You must go on and on, darling. Remember,—don’t -<a name="png.246" id="png.246" href="#png.246"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>236<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>try to serve two masters. You will remember—won’t -you? For me?”</p> - -<p>Their eyes held.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” came from him.</p> - -<p>“And Frank—”</p> - -<p>“Yes, my Elaine—”</p> - -<p>“Kiss me.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter II"><a name="png.247" id="png.247" href="#png.247"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>237<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER II</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">A Kane</span> opening is not an ordinary first night. It -happens, at the outside, twice a season at the two -most artistic theaters in New York. It is an event as -important socially as theatrically. Weeks before, the -hum of it is in the air. The public palpitates with anticipation. -When Oswald Kane imports a play from -Paris, it is the most chic, effervescent and gay the winking -eye of Paris has gazed upon. When he produces a -period play, he trusts neither to his own imagination nor -the costumer’s but enlists the advice of experts and -dresses his product with the care of a modiste turning -out a woman of fashion. Every member of his casts, -down to the most minute part, is selected with an eye to -ensemble effect. Sometimes the effect is overdone, a -surface glazed too smooth to be startling. But it is never -underdone, and the New York first night audience is -often hypnotized under the hand of the magician into -believing a mediocre piece of work an outstanding masterpiece.</p> - -<p>Through the audience that flowed into the Kane Theater -on the night of November 5th, like an undulating -stream of scented sparkling color, drifted that murmur -of eagerness which was breath of life to the famous producer. -In it he found all the satisfaction of a woman in -her beauty or a painter in the eyes lifted to his canvas. -Glitter, the incandescence of anticipation, they were the -arclights along the path of his greatness. He stood in -<a name="png.248" id="png.248" href="#png.248"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>238<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>the wings, a gentle, artistic hand straying through the -wavy black hair that fell across his forehead, giving his -attention to the final details of to-night’s opening. As -the actors assembled he gave each an encouraging word, -the last moment stimulus of a faith not always felt.</p> - -<p>The mirror in a dressing-room just a few yards beyond -Kane’s point of vantage reflected a face mask-like -in its immobility. The man before it sat staring at the -reflection as if it belonged to another. A shirt open at -the neck showed muscles hard and tense. Even make-up -could not widen the tight red line of the mouth. The -eyes were dulled as if viewed through a curtain. Frank -Moore went through his final preparations like a machine -correctly set in motion. When the last touch had been -given, he walked to the door and listened to the surge -of the incoming throng like the song of the sea on a -smooth beach.</p> - -<p>Suddenly rebellion shook him. What right had they? -Pleasure! That was all they cared about. To make of -him a puppet, a thing for their amusement! God, what -a joke! Those lights, the chatter, the laughter—himself -about to stalk on the stage!</p> - -<p>A few minutes later, as he made his entrance to an -anticipatory round of applause, he had an insane desire -to step down to the footlights and shout his thoughts to -the upturned faces that came vague and white out of the -dark. Those gay seekers who were using him for an -hour’s diversion, why should they not know what that -hour meant of anguish to him? Why should the curtain -that lifted to them lift only on illusion? Why should -their pleasure be permitted to surmount his pain?</p> - -<p><a name="png.249" id="png.249" href="#png.249"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>239<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -But those in front saw only a man going through his -part with leaden apathy. Frank Moore, the spontaneous, -the man who with the lift of an eyebrow or the flick of -a little finger against a cigarette ash could carry an audience -into his mood, what had happened to him? A stir, -that faint but agonizing presage of dissatisfaction, sent -its warning up and over the footlights. Moore felt it -with the rest but it quickened neither fear nor blood in -his veins. Only grim resentment and dull indifference. -He could not shake them off. He didn’t care.</p> - -<p>Backstage the sensitive fingers of Oswald Kane on the -pulse of his public trembled for the sum, always enormous, -that would sink with the swaying ship of the production. -As the act drew to its close his restless feet -paced the boards, his black brows drew together. Yet -when the curtain fell and Moore came off, the manager -showed no anxiety. He approached the actor, gently -taking his arm. Moore looked up a trifle dazedly as if -not quite sure where he was.</p> - -<p>“Wish I could do something for you, old man!” was -all the other man said.</p> - -<p>“Rotten, wasn’t I?” Moore answered with a tight -smile.</p> - -<p>Kane said nothing.</p> - -<p>“Do my best this act,” Moore supplemented.</p> - -<p>“Shall I telephone and find out how things are? You -might like to know.”</p> - -<p>“No—don’t—don’t! I couldn’t—stand it!” His -strained eyes closed. He went quickly into his dressing-room -and banged the door.</p> - -<p>Kane stood for a second, hesitant, then hurried out -<a name="png.250" id="png.250" href="#png.250"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>240<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>to the elevator that mounted to his studio at the top of -the building.</p> - -<p>In the lobby critics exchanged a few cryptic remarks, -conservatively trying to withhold snap judgment. But -frankly puzzled, they asked each other what was the matter -with Kane. He was permitting an actor like Franklyn -Moore to walk through his part like an automaton.</p> - -<p>The auditorium darkened. The curtain lifted on Act II. Moore made his entrance. He played a statesman, -ruthlessly trampling under iron hoof friends, family, wife, -to reach the pinnacle of his ambition. But up to that -moment he had not been iron. He had been wooden. -Not ruthless force but numbed suffering marked his gestures, -the intonation of his deep voice. More than once -his hand strayed with desperate weariness to his thick -brown hair. He managed to catch the gesture in time. -But even halted midway, it marked itself as strangely -out of character.</p> - -<p>As he came off at his first exit Kane was in his path, -pacing up and down. Once more he took the actor’s arm, -but this time his voice shook.</p> - -<p>“Do you want to go home, old man? Shall I step out -now and explain? We can ring down the curtain.”</p> - -<p>“You mean I’ve flivved the whole thing, anyway. You -mean there’s no use going on.”</p> - -<p>“No!” Kane pulled down the hands that tremblingly -covered the staring, empty eyes. “No—don’t say that. -But it was too much to ask of you. I had no right.”</p> - -<p>“You—you weren’t the only one who asked it of me. -I’m going through with it, I tell you! I—I’ll get them -yet.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.251" id="png.251" href="#png.251"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>241<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -A shout of laughter came from the auditorium. Kane -could not control a sigh. It was relief after the murmuring -quiet that had marked the play’s reception from the -first. Moore looked up with a quick, comprehending -glance. He <em>had</em> flivved the production. Failure was -upon his shoulders—his alone! He squared them determinedly. -He waited attentively for his cue.</p> - -<p>When he walked on the stage again, he looked out -upon the vague faces in that crowded cavern at his feet -and then his gaze traveled to an empty chair in the stage -box. It rested there an instant and gradually something -was woven into the mauve velvet. Filmy and gauze-like -as a cloud across the sun, it took at first no form. Only -white and gentle and indefinite. But even before it -floated into the folds of a woman’s gown, he knew that -above it two dark eyes were sending the flame of inspiration -into his, a silky blond head was bent forward with -the light of love gleaming from it. The lips were slightly -parted as if to call to him. Against the rail of the box -rested transparent hands, ready to lift in applause. She -was so eager, so intent, so full of faith and urge and hope -that he did not realize his imagination had put her there. -Those other men and women must see her, too. They -must know now that the one he needed to help him -onward had come because of that need.</p> - -<p>His head went up. A light lifted the curtain of his -eyes. A live look loosened the tension of his mouth. He -turned toward the leading woman and again his glance -swept the audience. Something electric passed over -them. Franklyn Moore had come to life. He was acting -now. No, not acting! For as his deep voice -<a name="png.252" id="png.252" href="#png.252"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>242<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>responded to the unvoiced call which had come to him, it -swept that waiting throng across the footlights. Not -illusion but reality made them move forward with the -drama. To them he was no longer an actor playing a -part. He was a man living in anguish because in tearing -the laurel wreath from another’s brow, he had torn -down his own happiness. The wife he loved had turned -to the man from whom he had snatched it.</p> - -<p>“Of what use is the applause of the multitude,” he -pleaded, “if I must lose you?”</p> - -<p>And as he spoke the words only a few in that vast -audience saw his eyes fasten on an empty chair in the -stage box.</p> - -<p>The dark eyes that met his shone. The shadowy -hands came together in applause. The white throat -pulsed. She was so alive in all her vagueness. She was -sending out to him what he had always known she would -give him when the moment came, the spark she had said -she lacked, the power of love to leap the chasm of uncertainty, -to know the heights of achievement.</p> - -<p>His lips formed “Elaine!” He waited for the applause -to die down. Then with the man’s eyes still on that -box, the actor crossed the stage to the woman he had -lost.</p> - -<p>“I ask you only not to leave me! Not now! Give -me the chance to share with you the success that has -robbed me of—everything. One chance! Just one!”</p> - -<p>And as she told him it was too late to ask anything of -her and the door shut behind her, he lifted his two arms -and his voice broke with the tragedy of the immortal -tenor’s in “Il Pagliacci” as he cried out:—</p> - -<p><a name="png.253" id="png.253" href="#png.253"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>243<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“I am at the top—and I am alone.”</p> - -<p>Even before the curtain fell the bravos rang out. The -force of them was deafening. That drawing aside of the -curtain of his soul, that sudden springing to life of the -fire of genius had an effect more dynamic than would -have been an easy success from the very beginning.</p> - -<p>It was like a clarion blast across a silent world. It -galvanized the sullen crowd to action. It carried them -out of their seats. Through the din and the repeated rise -and fall of the curtain Moore did not move. They -clamored for a speech. He shook his head. But like -insistent children they shouted his name, and as the curtain -remained lifted, he stepped downstage.</p> - -<p>“There’s nothing I can say—the credit for this is not -mine— It belongs to one—” his voice halted. It broke. -He stepped back.</p> - -<p>Construing his few words as a tribute to his illustrious -manager, they called for Kane—called and waited. He -did not come.</p> - -<p>From the wings members of the cast scurried in search -of him. It was not like Oswald Kane on a first night to -be far from the footlights at the curtain of the big act. -He was always close at hand, after eight or ten calls, for -a gracious speech of thanks.</p> - -<p>But to-night he could not be found. They sent a callboy -to his studio. He was not there. He had evidently -left the theater. Discouraged by Moore’s early failure, -he had apparently given up all possible hope of the ultimate -overwhelming triumph that was his.</p> - -<p>The curtain descended finally after announcement had -been made that the manager could not be located.</p> - -<p><a name="png.254" id="png.254" href="#png.254"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>244<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Keyed to his topmost effort, Moore changed for the -last act. He had come through! He had scored—nothing -could alter that. And <em>she</em> had made him do it. It -was her success! His Elaine’s! He had not failed her. -Two masters! She had said he must serve only one. -Had he? And if so was it not she, his beloved, whom he -had served?</p> - -<p>He was on the stage, with that swift glance toward -her place, that prayer to a filmy figure of his imagination. -And yet not quite. More than his imagination—his -spirit! They two were one, would be one for all -time. He knew that now.</p> - -<p>With the same fire of inspiration he went through the -final scenes. For her he played his part—to her he spoke -his lines. “You’ve come back to me!” he cried as the -door opened and the wife of the play entered. “You’ve -come back. I haven’t lost you, dear.” And a vast -throng of seasoned New Yorkers responded, unashamed -of their emotion.</p> - -<p>The play was done. As the last clatter of hot hands -died away Frank Moore covered with quick, precipitate -steps the short space to his dressing-room. His eyes -were still lifted and alight. He caught hold of the door -knob and as he did so, another hand covered his.</p> - -<p>“Frank—”</p> - -<p>Oswald Kane was standing beside him.</p> - -<p>“I put it over!” came swiftly from the actor and with -a breath of triumphant relief.</p> - -<p>“I know!”</p> - -<p>“But I wasn’t the one who did it. She did!”</p> - -<p>“I know that, too!”</p> - -<p><a name="png.255" id="png.255" href="#png.255"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>245<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“You—?”</p> - -<p>“I was there with her.”</p> - -<p>“You—?” Frank Moore repeated.</p> - -<p>“When I saw you were winning out, I felt she ought to -know. I went over to tell her.”</p> - -<p>“You saw her? You talked to her?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. She knew all about it. Frank—if you could -have seen her joy! It was like a light from heaven.”</p> - -<p>Moore pushed past him.</p> - -<p>“I’ll go to her—I’ll see it now!”</p> - -<p>“Frank—wait!”</p> - -<p>The actor paused under the shaky, detaining hand.</p> - -<p>“Frank—not yet!”</p> - -<p>Frank Moore looked up dumbly.</p> - -<p>“You will see a smile on her lips,” Kane went on. -“It will be there—always.”</p> - -<p>The man who heard him stood silent. One would -have said no change had occurred. Then very low, he -brought out:—</p> - -<p>“Are you telling me—?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, my boy.”</p> - -<p>Quietly the hand dropped away from the door. He -stood looking up into the sympathetic face of the great -manager. Then with slow, shuffling steps, he went back -to the dismantled boards that faced the dark auditorium. -With shoulders sagging and head bent he stood -for a moment. And then a stagehand, moving the last -piece of scenery, saw him lift his arms and stretch them -out to an empty chair in the stage box.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="sect"> -<h2 title="Upstage"><a name="png.257" id="png.257" href="#png.257"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>247<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>UPSTAGE</h2> - -<h3 title="Comedy"><i>COMEDY</i></h3> - - -<p>Like beauty, color is in the eye of the beholder. To one -who looks through shadows, white is—well, gray. To the -uninitiated, a chorus is like a game of roulette—rouge et -noir. Yet even to play that game, some of the chips must be -white.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h2 title=""><a name="png.259" id="png.259" href="#png.259"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>249<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>UPSTAGE</h2> - - - - -<h3 title="Chapter I">CHAPTER I</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcapA">“And</span> I said to him: ‘My deah boy, don’t talk to -me as if I were your wife! And don’t imagine -you’re the only twin six in town.’ And we settled it -right then and there.” The full pouting lips broadened -into a reminiscent smile. The pink and white cheeks -dimpled. Miss Mariette Mallard, accent on the last -syllable, laid her trump card on the table for the benefit -of her listener whose black eyes sparkled with gratifying -interest. “And then he went out and bought me a -big—”</p> - -<p>Just what the “big” was remained a question, for -Miss Mariette halted as a girl slid into the chair next -to hers and stretched out a hand to dust a film of powder -from the face of her mirror. They formed a queer -assortment, those mirrors, all shapes and sizes, propped -against both sides of the rack that ran down the center -of the long make-up table.</p> - -<p>Above them, on a wire stretching from one dusty white -washed wall to the other, was suspended a row of electric -lights in a tin reflector. Before them, dumped -hodge-podge, were boxes of rouge and mascaro, rabbits’ -feet, puffs and eyebrow brushes. Into them gazed as -many types as there are flowers of the field, with just -two traits in common,—all were slender as birch trees, -all young as Eve before the serpent appeared. Except -that to most the apple was no longer forbidden fruit.</p> - -<p>At the moment there were some sixteen in various -<a name="png.260" id="png.260" href="#png.260"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>250<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>stages of preparing for the costume, largely imagination, -which the prettiest chorus on Broadway wore in Scene I of “Good Night Cap.” It was one of those musical -mélanges commonly known as girlie shows, and advertised -in red splashes of poster as “A Bevy of Beauties -All under Twenty.” Its prescription is filled each season -with merely a change of lights and trappings to distinguish -it from its predecessor.</p> - -<p>The bloods of New York patronize the Summer Garden -with a loyalty that brings them back at least once a week. -The one theater in town it is in which the chorus fraternizes -with the audience, tripping down a runway into -the aisles to trill their syncopated love ditties into the -ears of selected members, or swinging overhead on ropes -of roses, bare knees perilously near bald heads. -Buyers, politicians, traveling salesmen, miners and perfectly -proper tired business men with their smiling better -halves all enter the place with a twinkle of anticipation -and come out humming a medley of haunting -tunes.</p> - -<p>On the night in question, one of early March, Miss -Mariette Mallard’s voluminous moleskin wrap was draped -over the back of her chair and she pulled it round her -with a pretty baby shiver as she scanned the girl who -had just come in. Then she winked at the black-eyed -one.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she observed, forgetting to go on with her -story, “how is mamma’s sparkler to-night?”</p> - -<p>The girl bit her lip, then turned with a grin that was -not in her eyes and flashed under Miss Mariette’s little -nose the hand that had dusted the mirror. On its third -<a name="png.261" id="png.261" href="#png.261"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>251<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>finger blinked a diamond, the size and brilliance of -which was breath taking.</p> - -<p>Miss Mallard promptly turned her attention to the -black-eyed one. “Gracie deah, suppose you had a block -of ice like that—wouldn’t you try to make your clothes -live up to it?”</p> - -<p>The black-eyed one giggled: “And I wouldn’t be so -upstage about it until I did.”</p> - -<p>The object of their amusement set her teeth and turned -back to the mirror, addressing the reflection: “I pay -cash for my clothes. That’s more than some people can -say.”</p> - -<p>The black-eyed one giggled again. “They look it,” -she murmured sweetly.</p> - -<p>Miss Mariette indulged in a smile still more saccharine. -“They look as if you paid nothing for them, my -deah. Take my advice and pay cash to get rid of them.” -She gave a dismissing flourish of her small hand and -patted her pale blonde ringlets.</p> - -<p>The chorus girl of to-day buys her hats on Fifth Avenue -and borrows her manner from the same thoroughfare. -She never forgets that a lead awaits her if she’s clever -enough to look and act the part. Not that Miss Mallard -had any ambitions in that direction. She was content -to be cute and cuddly and first on the left in the front -row. But she did try to live up to the moleskin cloak -and the car that called for her every night. Only at -unguarded moments did Second Avenue scratch through -Fifth. “You don’t know how to manage him, my -deah,” she concluded, baby blue eyes fastened on the -radiant stone.</p> - -<p><a name="png.262" id="png.262" href="#png.262"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>252<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -The girl’s lips opened, then shut tight. She had told -them where the ring came from—and they didn’t believe -her. Besides, if she tried to answer them she’d -cry, and she’d die rather than let them see her do that! -It was the same struggle she went through every night -and two matinées a week—sometimes with bravado, -more often in choking silence. Somehow they made her -ashamed, those two, that for her the apple still hung -high on the tree. If they wanted to think some man -had given her the diamond, so much the better! It -would make her seem popular—less a little fool!</p> - -<p>She downed the tears by vigorous motion.... She -sprang up—a kick of her heel sent her chair spinning—and -ripping open her one-piece serge dress, she tossed it -on the hook in the wall where hung a plain brown -ulster and imitation seal turban—alley cat caught in the -rain, Miss Mariette had christened it. Then she gritted -her teeth, pulled the chair back into place and slashed -on make-up.</p> - -<p>Sallie MacMahon, listed in chorus annals as Zara -May, was one of those who merited the splashing announcement -of the red posters. Perhaps it was her -long mermaid hair with its glisten of sunset on the sea; -perhaps the fact that the lashes shading her deep blue -eyes were the same gold; perhaps the transparent quality -of her skin with the swift play of young blood under the -surface; but whatever it was, Sallie’s beauty held a -luminous quality Sallie herself did not possess. Sallie -was just a girl, with a facility for doing what she was -told. The daughter of a Scotch father with somber -eyes and an Irish mother with laughing ones, both of -<a name="png.263" id="png.263" href="#png.263"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>253<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>whom had sailed the misty river into unknown lands -after a stormy sojourn together in this one, she had been -left at fifteen to take care of herself, with a love of the -beautiful on one hand warring against a sense of economy -on the other.</p> - -<p>Sallie loved soft furs and clinging silks such as swept -into the chorus dressing-room nightly. But she had -no desire to follow the tortuous path by which such luxuries -are achieved. However, the fact that the Mallard -girl and Grace assumed she had done so, did not at -all disturb her. It was their ridicule she feared, their -jibes at her clothes. Speeding across the stone floor -under the Summer Garden stage she tried to bring a -smile to her lips. They merely trembled.</p> - -<p>There came the march of a military air and the girls -filed up the wobbly wooden steps and through a trap -door. Sallie fluffed up her abbreviated skirt, brought -the smile to her lips, fixed it as if it had been glued there. -Her young, elastic body rippled through the number -under the changing lights. She loved the jazz, loved the -stir of rhythm, and had it not been for the ache in her -heart whenever she set foot in the theater, she would -have loved the work. She was nineteen. Music was in -her blood.</p> - -<p>She danced through the varying scenes with swift -changes of costume, hurried dabs of powder, and little -time to nurse her woes. A number toward the end of -Act II was her favorite. It was the one in which the -girls trooped down the runway and trilled to some -not always embarrassed male occupant of an aisle -seat:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div>“Oh-oh-oh-oh-h-h-h-h—<a name="png.264" id="png.264" href="#png.264"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>254<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a></div> -<div>Won’t you—smile at me?”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Often as she swayed through it, it never failed to give -her a thrill. Likewise she never failed to get what she -demanded.</p> - -<p>To-night, as she syncopated down the aisle, a light -like blue fire darted from her deep eyes. Kindled by the -smouldering defiance of earlier evening it was utterly -unconscious of seeking an object. But the gentleman in -the particular seat that was her territory could scarcely -have been expected to know that. To him it constituted -challenge.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div>“Oh-oh-oh-oh-h-h-h-h—</div> -<div>Won’t you—smile at me?”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">urged Sallie.</p> - -<p>The man’s lips parted. “You just bet I will!” came -in a flash of white teeth.</p> - -<p>Sallie’s mind was not photographic. It registered no -definite impression of the individuals occupying her particular -aisle seat. They came and went, vague as shadows. -But this man’s response and his quick flashing -smile with its personal note, made her suddenly realize -that she had been singing to the same pleasant grin -every night that week.</p> - -<p>She was still wondering about him as Miss Mariette, -at the close of the performance, stepped into a short-waisted -chiffon dress and, pulling it over slender hips, -slipped her arms through the spangled shoulder straps. -She and Grace were booked for a party, and the latter -<a name="png.265" id="png.265" href="#png.265"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>255<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>emerged like a full-blown rose, black eyes dancing above -a gown of American beauty satin. Then both sat down -and took some of the make-up off their faces.</p> - -<p>Sallie was in the act of pinning on the alley cat.</p> - -<p>“Do show him to us, my deah!” persiflaged Miss -Mallard. “Don’t be so-er-close, even if he is.”</p> - -<p>Sallie jabbed the pin into her head, winced in pain -and, with chin trembling and eyes hot with starting tears, -hurried into the corridor followed by the familiar titter. -Blindly she made her way up the stairs to the stage entrance.</p> - -<p>Outside, a blaze of changing lights proclaimed that -Broadway was rubbing the sleep from her eyes and preparing -to dance. A gold haze lined the sky, veiling -the night even to the silver-white buildings that reared -their heads high into the heavens. Lined up at the -curb was a row of taxis. The modern stage door Johnny -no longer stands, bouquet in hand. He remains discreetly -in his cab or car and only when the lady of his -choice emerges does he do likewise.</p> - -<p>As Sallie started to cross the street someone called -“Good-evening.” But that being a familiar method of -address, she passed on without a glance.</p> - -<p>“I say,” pleaded the voice, “won’t you smile at me -again?”</p> - -<p>Sallie turned then. Descending from a big yellow car -which, had she known more of auto aristocracy, would -have stamped itself as of prohibitive peerage, was the -man of the aisle seat.</p> - -<p>He came nearer.</p> - -<p>Sallie turned flutteringly on her heel.</p> - -<p><a name="png.266" id="png.266" href="#png.266"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>256<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Wait, please,” he begged and his teeth gleamed as -they had in the theater. They were nice teeth in a -boyish mouth, and upon Sallie they had a disarming -effect. In spite of an instinctive impulse to run, she -hesitated. The talon scratches inflicted in the chorus -dressing-room were still bleeding and the smile of the -man who had ceased to be a shadow was balm.</p> - -<p>He reached her, lifted his hat.</p> - -<p>Sallie shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other.</p> - -<p>“Come for a ride, won’t you?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I couldn’t,” she answered promptly.</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“I—I just couldn’t, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>He gave her a curious, somewhat puzzled look. -“Round the park—once?”</p> - -<p>“I—I—no, thank you, I couldn’t.”</p> - -<p>“Then let me drive you home.”</p> - -<p>“I—I don’t live very far. I always walk it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, ride it to-night. Please!” Again that disarming -gleam.</p> - -<p>Sallie looked up with eyes clouded and a tremor on her -lips. “It’s nice of you to want to take me, but—”</p> - -<p>“But I’ve been coming here every night this week trying -to make a hit with you, and until to-night you never -even knew I was alive. Don’t you think you ought -to be a little kind to a fellow who’s as devoted as -that?”</p> - -<p>“I—I’d like to, awfully—but—”</p> - -<p>“Then what’s to prevent?”</p> - -<p>She looked down, tracing a pattern with the toe of her -boot.</p> - -<p><a name="png.267" id="png.267" href="#png.267"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>257<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Please—I—thanks just the same,” she brought out -finally.</p> - -<p>She took a step toward the curb, away from him.</p> - -<p>And just then came one of those feathery gusts that -send whirling the wheel of fate. Miss Mariette Mallard -and Grace issued from the stage door, their exchange -of glances telling too plainly that they were still enjoying -the laugh at her expense. At the curb waited a -limousine quite overshadowed by the gorgeousness of -the big yellow touring car. They drew near, still giggling.</p> - -<p>Swift as a bird, Sallie veered back to him. Instantly -he was at her side.</p> - -<p>“You can take me home”—it was breathless—“I’ll let -you do that.”</p> - -<p>Eagerly he helped her in, took his place at the wheel. -Sallie turned with the air of royalty. With the sweetest -of smiles, her head inclined in the direction of the two -girls. As the car sped round the corner she saw them -halt abruptly and, like Lot’s wife, stand rooted where<!-- TN: original reads "where where" --> -they stopped.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter II"><a name="png.268" id="png.268" href="#png.268"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>258<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER II</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">To</span> a woman, the discovery that events do not work -out as she had planned comes in the nature of a -disappointment. To a man, the same discovery adds -zest to the determination to make them do so. The man -in the yellow touring car was amazed to find that Sallie -actually did permit him to drive her home and no farther. -He had anticipated that run round the park at least -once—probably twice—possibly three times. He had -even anticipated a cozy supper at which, across a table -not too wide, he could drink deep of a pair of well-like -blue eyes shaded with gold. But Sallie gave him her -address, ten blocks from the theater, and though he -urged with all the masculine dominance of which he was -capable, she got out of the car in front of a brownstone -house sagging as if with the weight of its own -years.</p> - -<p>The man looked up the steep steps to where a flicker -of gaslight sifted on the broken mosaics of the vestibule.</p> - -<p>“Is this where you live?” he queried, still holding the -hand by which he had helped her.</p> - -<p>Sallie nodded, adding as she tried to withdraw the -hand, “Thanks ever so much.”</p> - -<p>“Here—just a minute!” He drew her back. “You -haven’t told me your name yet!”</p> - -<p>“Zara May.”</p> - -<p>“On-the-level name, I mean.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.269" id="png.269" href="#png.269"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>259<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Oh”—she flashed him a smile—“that one’s good -enough.”</p> - -<p>“Peaches and cream would fit better!” came in quick -response.</p> - -<p>She jerked her hand away. “Good-night, Mr.—Mr.—”</p> - -<p>“Patterson. Jimmie Fowler Patterson. You’ll notice -I’m not so stingy as somebody else!”</p> - -<p>She caught hold of the rusty iron railing.</p> - -<p>He sprang into the car. “Well, I can wait! See you -to-morrow, Miss Zara May.”</p> - -<p>Two emotions played havoc with her dreams that -night—exultation over the girls and fear. As through -her narrow rear window she watched the patch of dull -blue mellow into dull gray, she assured herself that to-morrow -she would do nothing more than walk past the -yellow car with a pleasant “Good-evening.”</p> - -<p>But of course she didn’t. Not to-morrow—nor any -other night that found it waiting at the stage entrance. -And that became every night.</p> - -<p>In the chorus dressing-room an aura of new interest -surrounded her. That car commanded respect. Miss -Mariette even restrained her inclination to persiflage until -one evening some ten days later when Sallie came in -after the final act and caught her hunched on the floor, -back up, meowing with all her might while the alley -cat reposed over one ear.</p> - -<p>All the old wounds tore open. The blood gushed to -Sallie’s head. She grabbed the hat and slapped Miss -Mariette’s face, leaving the latter too startled to retaliate -in kind. And when Mr. Patterson begged her as he -<a name="png.270" id="png.270" href="#png.270"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>260<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>did each evening to drive out to supper, she stepped into -the car, throat too full for speech.</p> - -<p>He gave a broad grin. “Shall we make it up the -Drive and back to Montmartre?”</p> - -<p>“I’d just rather ride if you don’t mind.”</p> - -<p>They spun up Broadway, through Seventy-second -Street and into the enveloping shadows of Riverside. -The moon was up, a new crescent streaking its modest -trail across the water. On the opposite shore the chain -of lights was a necklace of clustering jewels laid on the -plush of night.</p> - -<p>Sallie nestled into the deep leather-cushioned seat, -somewhat to the far side. A sharp wind lifted the curls -from under the despised turban and sent them flying -across the man’s face. He stole a moment to turn and -gaze.</p> - -<p>“You’re a winner!” he murmured.</p> - -<p>Sallie scarcely heard him. She was lost in the intoxication -of tearing motor and racing March wind. Never -had she experienced anything like it. And gradually the -turmoil of it soothed her own. She closed her eyes.</p> - -<p>When they opened it was to meet a swift turn of road, -the houses mounted to a higher level and before them, -far into the star-eyed night, a stretch of wooded walk -through which the Hudson shimmered.</p> - -<p>“What’s this?” she asked, hand grasping his coat sleeve -as if to stop the onward rush.</p> - -<p>“Lafayette Boulevard. You’ve been up here—haven’t -you?”</p> - -<p>“Never!”</p> - -<p><a name="png.271" id="png.271" href="#png.271"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>261<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -He slowed down, eyes mocking her.</p> - -<p>“Honestly! I’ve never even heard of it.”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord!” he whistled and stared at her.</p> - -<p>“How long have you been in the show business?”</p> - -<p>“About a year.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what have you been doing all that time?”</p> - -<p>“Working, most of it.”</p> - -<p>“But after working hours?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, home right after the show. I’m pretty tired -then.”</p> - -<p>He gave another low whistle, still regarding her curiously, -that puzzled, half-skeptical expression creeping -into his eyes.</p> - -<p>“And Sundays?”</p> - -<p>“I visit the girls I used to work with.”</p> - -<p>“Where?”</p> - -<p>“You mean where did I work?”</p> - -<p>He nodded, still with that curious measuring of her.</p> - -<p>“In Brooklyn—in a department store. I was at the -perfumery. And one day Miss Barton, Bessie Barton—ever -hear of her?”</p> - -<p>“Rather! Peach of a voice—in ‘Kiss Me Again.’”</p> - -<p>“Yes. She was playing over there last year and she -came in to buy some French extract—it’s awfully expensive—”</p> - -<p>“I know.”</p> - -<p>“I waited on her. And after she’d bought a big bottle—it -was eight-eighty an ounce—she asked me if I’d -ever wanted to go on the stage. She said I was—” -Sallie paused.</p> - -<p><a name="png.272" id="png.272" href="#png.272"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>262<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Go on,” he put in quickly. “She said you were a -beauty who didn’t belong behind a counter.”</p> - -<p>“How did you know?” came wonderingly.</p> - -<p>“I don’t need blinders to make me see straight,” he -remarked succinctly.</p> - -<p>She gave an embarrassed, stammering laugh. “Well—you—you’re -right. That’s what she did say—and -she’d have her manager give me a job if I wanted it. So -I went with them—twenty-five a week. It was a lot more -than I was getting at the store. And when she closed, -they took me on at the Summer Garden.”</p> - -<p>“And you still go round with the Brooklyn crowd?”</p> - -<p>Some note in his voice put her on the defensive.</p> - -<p>“They’re my old friends—why shouldn’t I?”</p> - -<p>He stared at her again. “Queer!” he remarked to -himself.</p> - -<p>They dashed up a hill.</p> - -<p>“I guess we’d better be going back,” she sighed regretfully.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter? Don’t you like this?”</p> - -<p>“It—it’s wonderful!” Luxuriously she nestled down, -eyes half closing again.</p> - -<p>“Then have a heart! I’ve been jitneying you from -the theater for two solid weeks! Be a little sympathetic, -won’t you?”</p> - -<p>She laughed, a ringing laugh free as the March wind. -“You must think I’m an awful grafter.”</p> - -<p>“I think you’re a sweetness.”</p> - -<p>The laugh died down. “I guess we’d better be going -back.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.273" id="png.273" href="#png.273"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>263<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -They swung round. “All right. But we’ll stop at -Arrowhead first.”</p> - -<p>“What’s Arrowhead?”</p> - -<p>Once more that swift quizzical look, then his head -went back with a long chuckle. “By George, you are -cute!”</p> - -<p>“What’s so funny about my asking?”</p> - -<p>“It’s called Arrowhead Inn, sweetness—and we’re going -there for supper.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!”</p> - -<p>“Now I guess you think you’re not hungry?”</p> - -<p>“No—I am hungry.”</p> - -<p>Her prompt and unexpected reply pleased him hugely.</p> - -<p>“Right! There you are!”</p> - -<p>They were flying up a drive, round a grass plot and -under a porte-cochère. Sallie saw a house girdled with -glass that glowed, warm and alluring.</p> - -<p>She went into the hall while her host parked the car. -A mirror on the wall reflected a face very different from -the one she saw habitually in the jagged glass of the -dressing-table or the mottled one above her washstand. -Its eyes were glistening, red lips were laughing, and at -one corner a dimple danced. The blood surged under -the smooth skin and went singing through every vein.</p> - -<p>To a rotund observer standing nearby, the girl in the -mirror looked like a golden-haired sprite. To Sallie -she looked nothing more than happy. She proceeded -to powder her nose critically and straighten the alley cat -on the shining curls. She was still engaged in the process -when Mr. James Patterson came in and bore her -off under the rotund one’s fat nose. Mr. Patterson -<a name="png.274" id="png.274" href="#png.274"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>264<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>had already achieved a proprietory air that prohibited -trespassing under penalty of the law.</p> - -<p>He refused the first table offered, selecting one close -against the window with an intimate little lamp shedding -its blush over the cloth. Sallie had never felt so -important, not even the night of her stage debut, for -then she had been conscious solely of the fact that she -was dancing with no skirt on before a lot of people.</p> - -<p>The head-waiter helped her out of the ulster. Mr. -Patterson then seated himself and for the first time -Sallie saw him under revealing electricity.</p> - -<p>His hair, parted at the side and brushed straight -from his forehead, gave evidence of having been in boyhood -the color affectionately known as “carrots.” But -frequent use of water and military brushes had charitably -darkened it. Remnants of freckles lingered where -no amount of hatless motoring could promote more than -one coat of tan. Above them gray eyes, not so young -as they might have been, searched a world with which -they were well acquainted. Smiling, they were a boy’s. -In repose, as old as any frequenter’s of stage doors.</p> - -<p>Sallie’s gaze settled, not on his features but on his -clothes. Patch pockets slanted across the coat. The -waistcoat was high and of the same dark blue material -threaded with a hairline of white. From the sleeves -she thought rather too short, he shook down blue silk -shirt cuffs matched by a soft collar. His blue Persian tie -was held in an immaculate four-in-hand by a small pearl -scarfpin. The correctness, the perfection of detail, were -to Sallie positively thrilling. As he picked up the menu -she noticed that his hands were wide and muscular -<a name="png.275" id="png.275" href="#png.275"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>265<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>with no shine on the nails. She was glad he wasn’t a -dude.</p> - -<p>He proceeded to order with the casual ease of one -who knows the chef’s best dishes. Sallie pulled off her -gloves, crossed her arms on the table, leaned forward -to listen with a kind of awe. He turned back and as -he did so his glance fell on her hand. It riveted there, -then slowly traveled upward accompanied by the -same long low whistle he had emitted as they drove uptown.</p> - -<p>“Whew, what a stone!”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” replied Sallie. “It used to be my mother’s.”</p> - -<p>He stared. After which came a knowing twinkle to -his eyes and a laugh, equally knowing, to his lips. He -said nothing.</p> - -<p>“Honestly it was,” Sallie protested.</p> - -<p>His stare probed her—then came a faint flash of resentment. -“I wasn’t born yesterday—not quite,” he announced.</p> - -<p>Tears started to Sallie’s eyes. “Please—<em>please</em> believe -me!”</p> - -<p>“Your mother owned a stone like that and you had to -work in a department store?”</p> - -<p>“It does sound funny. But it’s true! We never had -any money after my father died. Nor before, either. -He just saved and saved, and then when he was gone -mother just spent and spent. She went crazy spending. -She said he never gave us enough to eat when he was -alive and she was going to make the best of it now that -he was dead. So she went to the savings bank and took -out every cent and had a wonderful time—for a while. -<a name="png.276" id="png.276" href="#png.276"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>266<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>Hats and dresses and movies every night. She was awfully -pretty—”</p> - -<p>“I believe it,” came vehemently.</p> - -<p>“And she never did have a decent thing to wear while -my father was living. Then one day she came home -with this ring. ‘Baby,’ she said—she always called me -her baby—‘there’s not much left and before it’s all gone, -I want to be sure you’re fixed. If I put it in the bank -I’ll take it out again, so this way we’ll always have something -we can hock if we need to.’”</p> - -<p>He chuckled. “And did you ever need to?”</p> - -<p>“Often.”</p> - -<p>Unwittingly, perhaps, his gaze shifted from the diamond -to her dress and hat. She needed no intuition to interpret -that look. Experience had taught her exactly what -it meant. And where defiance had met the girls in the -dressing-room, a wave of shame now swept over her.</p> - -<p>Gazing at him in his immaculate perfection, her fingers -twitched to toss the alley cat out of the window. -Yet she could not apologize for it. She couldn’t explain -that, being her father’s daughter, she was banking such -of her earnings as could be spared against the day when -the sapphire sparkle would fade from her eyes.</p> - -<p>As the ’busboy shook out the glistening white napkin, -placing it across her knees, she felt an absurd inclination -to slide under the table.</p> - -<p>Mr. Patterson’s attention, however, had turned to the -silver dish of frogs’ legs submitted for approval. He -regarded them critically, nodded to the waiter, and Sallie’s -discomfort vanished in the thrill of a new experience, -though she wished he had ordered a nice thick steak.</p> - -<p><a name="png.277" id="png.277" href="#png.277"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>267<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -When they were once more gliding down the Drive he -leaned over, quickly freeing one hand, and gave hers a -squeeze.</p> - -<p>“You’re an adorable infant!” he whispered. “Don’t -know just what to make of you, but you’ve got me -going!”</p> - -<p>Sallie looked up a little uncertainly. “My right -name’s Sallie MacMahon,” she stammered.</p> - -<p>“I don’t care what it is,” came tenderly. “My name -for you is the same as your mother’s—‘Baby!’”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter III"><a name="png.278" id="png.278" href="#png.278"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>268<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER III</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">“Gracie</span> deah—will you gaze!”</p> - -<p>Miss Mallard’s wide, wondering orbs, accompanied -by Grace’s, turned toward the door. Sallie MacMahon -had just entered, resplendent in spring outfit. -Above slim ankles billowed a skirt of silk the color of -her eyes. The ankles ended in slippers mounted with -buckles of cut steel. Her arms gleamed white through -transparent clinging sleeves. A necklace of pearls -clasped her throat and over the golden head brimmed a -wide hat weighted with roses.</p> - -<p>She disrobed nonchalantly, hanging her garments -against the sheet that ran round the wall for their protection. -She pretended not to see the nudges of the girls -but her heart sang a paean of triumph.</p> - -<p>Now they would stop laughing at her!</p> - -<p>Now they would treat her with respect!</p> - -<p>Yea—weep for her, ye wise ones! Sallie’s day had -come. She had fallen from grace. Worse, actually reveled -in her downfall! That very morning, without a -struggle, she had gone to the bank and wantonly depleted -her little horde. There had followed a wild debauch -of spending such as her own mother had indulged in -years before. Silks, laces, chiffons, feathers! Shades -of Scotland, the Irish had won out!</p> - -<p>And having recklessly started at high speed, she could -not stop. She had no desire to. Ridicule she might -have endured indefinitely, but nightly to sit opposite to -<a name="png.279" id="png.279" href="#png.279"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>269<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>Mr. James Fowler Patterson in his perfectly tailored -clothes, conscious of the variety and extent of them, <em>that</em> -had been the straw that broke the backbone of resistance.</p> - -<p>Once and once only had Mr. Jimmie essayed the rôle -of godfather. Reaching home one evening after a long -drive in the moonlight, he had followed her up the ladder-like -steps to the dim vestibule. Standing there, he had -clasped quickly round her wrist a narrow glittering bracelet.</p> - -<p>“To match the ring,” he had whispered.</p> - -<p>Sallie’s gaze had fastened on the jewels that laughed -up through semi-darkness.</p> - -<p>“Oh—I—couldn’t!” she breathed at last. And don’t -imagine it was easy.</p> - -<p>“Please! Just because I want you to.”</p> - -<p>“But I—I couldn’t, Jimmie.”</p> - -<p>“But if I ask you? I’m crazy about you, Baby. -Never was so keen on a girl in my life.”</p> - -<p>Sallie gulped hard and, without looking at it, unclasped -the clinging circlet.</p> - -<p>“Please,” he protested as she handed it back. “Please—dear!”</p> - -<p>She shook her head decisively.</p> - -<p>“But I want to see you in pretty things. I want you -to have them.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks, Jimmie,—for wanting to give it to me. But -you mustn’t—ever do that again. It wouldn’t be right -for me to take it.”</p> - -<p>And Jimmie had been forced to content himself with -flowers and kid gloves and perfume—French stuff at -eight-eighty an ounce.</p> - -<p><a name="png.280" id="png.280" href="#png.280"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>270<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -That phrase of his, however—“I want to see you in -pretty things”—clung to her consciousness. She wanted -him to see her in them. She wanted to see herself in -them. She wanted those girls to see her in them.</p> - -<p>After which the savings bank simply flew to meet her.</p> - -<p>“Well,” observed Miss Mallard, still devouring the -new costume, “I’m glad you’re learning how to handle -him.”</p> - -<p>Sallie slipped into her chair.</p> - -<p>“May we inspect the dog collar, my deah?” Miss Mallard -pursued.</p> - -<p>With large indifference Sallie handed over the necklace -and watched the blue eyes widen. Not hers to inform -the lady that it had been purchased at a near-pearl establishment, -guaranteeing that “Our pearls rival the -real.”</p> - -<p>Miss Mariette fingered it lovingly, even to the tiny -barrel of brilliants that formed the clasp. “Atta boy!” -she breathed and let fall upon its possessor a look approaching -homage.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s nothing,” Sallie found herself saying, drunk -with the dazzle of scoring at last against her enemies, -“I’m going to get a car of my own soon.” And promptly -wondered <em>how</em> she was going to get it.</p> - -<p>But feminine imagination, given full rein, took the bit -between its teeth and galloped beyond Sallie’s control. -She spoke of champagne supper parties and a house on -Long Island and sables, with the largesse of an “Arabian -Nights.” She tasted the sweets of seeing baby blue eyes -and impudent black ones dilate with envy as the other -girls gathered round. She swept on, heedless of sharp -<a name="png.281" id="png.281" href="#png.281"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>271<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>turns ahead, and not until the callboy shouted the half -hour did she halt.</p> - -<p>At the curb that night she found a gray roadster barking -its haste to be off like a pert pomeranian. Mr. J. F. -Patterson stepped out, then stopped short with a gasp as -he took in the glory of her. She gave him her hand—and -waited. To her amazement he said not a word, -merely helped her into the car. It snorted and raced -up Broadway. Still not a word! She snuggled into the -low seat, turned to look up at him. He was frowning.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, Jimmie?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Something is.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing, I tell you.” His tone was brusque. The -frown settled deeper, bringing brows together.</p> - -<p>Sallie’s eyes filled. She had pictured something so different—Jimmie -bounding with delight when he saw her! -Jimmie covering her with admiration!</p> - -<p>But his mood did not change. Throughout the ride he -brooded, silent, absorbed—though she tried desperately -to make conversation.</p> - -<p>“Is this a new car, Jimmie?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you ever come in it before?”</p> - -<p>“In the repair shop.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!”</p> - -<p>Silence.</p> - -<p>“I like it, Jimmie.”</p> - -<p>“Do you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. It’s so—so cozy.”</p> - -<p>“Is it?”</p> - -<p><a name="png.282" id="png.282" href="#png.282"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>272<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Silence.</p> - -<p>“Montgomery’s laid up, Jimmie. And the new lead’s -made a big hit.”</p> - -<p>“Has he?”</p> - -<p>Silence—a long one.</p> - -<p>“Jimmie—I—I don’t want any supper.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“I—I think I want to go home.”</p> - -<p>“Just as you say.”</p> - -<p>“Jimmie—what—what’s wrong?”</p> - -<p>His eyes scanned the beauty of her, steel buckles, -silken dress, rose-laden hat. They ended on the glossy -pearls and his lips which had opened for speech snapped -shut.</p> - -<p>He drove her home, without a word lifted his cap.</p> - -<p>“Jimmie—please—please don’t act that way.”</p> - -<p>“What way?”</p> - -<p>“So—so queer.”</p> - -<p>He gave a short laugh.</p> - -<p>She clapped a hand over her mouth, stared at him, -eyes swimming, then fled up the steps.</p> - -<p>The following night Mr. Patterson was late for the -first time. He swung round the corner just as Sallie -appeared. She was wearing a violet suit, fluffy lace collar -and cuffs, and a hat of violets. They made her eyes -the same color. During a night of tearful and bewildered -groping she had arrived at a conclusion. Jimmie -hadn’t liked the way she looked! He wasn’t pleased -with her dress or hat or something. Maybe he didn’t -think they were becoming and hadn’t wanted to hurt her -feelings. A lighter color, perhaps, something gayer! -<a name="png.283" id="png.283" href="#png.283"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>273<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>After which she rolled over with relief, stole a few hours’ -sleep, and later embarked on another shopping tour.</p> - -<p>But the violet, apparently, made no more satisfactory -impression than the blue. He handed her almost roughly -into the car. They shot like a cannon ball into the -darkness.</p> - -<p>There were no stars. The moon had reached the full, -dwindled and slipped round to smile upon the other side -of the world.</p> - -<p>Sallie gulped, groped for a fitting subject and finally -burst out:</p> - -<p>“Jimmie, tell me about yourself. You never have told -me much.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing to tell.”</p> - -<p>“How does it feel to have so much money?” she proceeded -for want of something better to say.</p> - -<p>The effect was electric. He turned on her. The car -jerked to the other side of the road. “You ought to -know!”</p> - -<p>“I? Stop kidding!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you!”</p> - -<p>“But—”</p> - -<p>“Look as if you’d come into a Rockefeller income!”</p> - -<p>“Well, I haven’t.”</p> - -<p>“No?”</p> - -<p>“You know it.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know anything about women.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you ought to know all about me.”</p> - -<p>“Yes—I ought to.” He gave the same ugly laugh of -the night before but in his eyes was real pain. “But -who knows what to expect of a chorus queen.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.284" id="png.284" href="#png.284"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>274<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Jimmie!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, what’s the use?” came in husky desperation. -“Let’s be merry!”</p> - -<p>Sallie stared, choked and bewildered, into the darkness. -She didn’t know how to answer, how to act. This -new Jimmie, this—this nasty one! He was a stranger. -Small teeth settled into her lower lip. She felt like slipping -to the floor of the car and crying her eyes out.</p> - -<p>For three nights they followed the same program—Sallie -bewitching in a new costume chosen tearfully to -conciliate the mysterious male—he taciturn, unresponsive, -answering her labored conversation with husky monosyllables -or hard cynicism that hurt without enlightening. -Twice during those three days it drizzled and, instead of -suggesting supper in the neighborhood as was their habit -in bad weather, he drove the short ten blocks to the -weary brownstone house and left her there.</p> - -<p>“As if he was anxious to get rid of me,” sobbed Sallie -into her pillow.</p> - -<p>To dust and ashes in her mouth turned the sweets of -her triumph over the girls. Though she continued to -weave stories for their benefit, to elaborate on gifts in -the past and the car in the future, to flash her diamond -and twirl her pearls, the tang had gone out of it.</p> - -<p>By Friday she felt she couldn’t stand it another minute. -What had she done? Under the glimmering stars she -gazed up first in mute pleading, then—</p> - -<p>“Jimmie,” she choked, “take me home. I—I—guess -I’d better—”</p> - -<p>The roadster snarled at the tug that sent it round the -corner.</p> - -<p><a name="png.285" id="png.285" href="#png.285"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>275<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Oh—another date!”</p> - -<p>“Maybe!” His tone had brought defiance into hers.</p> - -<p>“H’m! Thought so!”</p> - -<p>“You—you’re horrid!”</p> - -<p>“And he’s all to the good—what?”</p> - -<p>“Who?”</p> - -<p>“Well—can’t blame you! What chance has a mean -little bracelet against a string of oyster tears like that?” -The volcano which had been rumbling all week sent up -a sudden blinding glare. “Gad, what an ass I’ve been!” -it spat out.</p> - -<p>“Don’t talk like that—don’t!”</p> - -<p>“I mean it,—a saphead! Swallowed that diamond -yarn whole—hook, line and sinker.”</p> - -<p>“It wasn’t a yarn.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll tell me next your mother bought the pearls, -too.”</p> - -<p>“No—I did.”</p> - -<p>The volcano roared a warning. “God!” A pause -while his breath caught.</p> - -<p>“It’s true, I tell you! I bought them myself—they’re -imitation.”</p> - -<p>He flung back his head. His laugh frightened her.</p> - -<p>“Oh—won’t you believe me?”</p> - -<p>“No!”</p> - -<p>“Won’t you—please?”</p> - -<p>“And I put you above them—way on top.” The volcano -erupted with thunderous crash. “But you’re like -the rest of them! Price—a string of pearls—a diamond! -Rotten—that’s what—! Sit down! Sit down, I say!! -I’ll get you home quick enough!”</p> - -<p><a name="png.286" id="png.286" href="#png.286"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>276<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -White and terrified, she subsided. Words rushed to -her lips, clung there.</p> - -<p>He crashed on.</p> - -<p>“But you did put it over! Had me going so that I’d -have staked my life on you. Got me with the baby stare -stuff. ‘Baby’—huh! It’s a lesson—I won’t be such a -damn fool next time!”</p> - -<p>“Jimmie,” the voice struggled to keep steady—“I -swear to you—!”</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t believe you on a stack of Bibles! Down -on your luck—thought you had an easy mark! Then -something better—pearls!—came along—”</p> - -<p>“I—I’ll never forgive—you!”</p> - -<p>“That’s right! Injured innocence—”</p> - -<p>“I—I could die this minute!”</p> - -<p>“It’s tough, though, when the first time a man really—cares—more -than he ever thought—” The words halted -painfully.</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>won’t</em> you listen? Jimmie—you—you had <em>so</em> -much—”</p> - -<p>“But the other fellow’s got more! Like all the rest—”</p> - -<p>They stopped with a jump that made the roadster -snort in protest.</p> - -<p>“You—you don’t understand.” The sobs clamored to -her lips. “To-morrow—please—please listen—”</p> - -<p>She sprang out of the car and up the steps, clinging to -the iron rail.</p> - -<p>But to-morrow when she hurried out of the stage entrance, -eyes darting to the curb, Mr. James Fowler Patterson -was not there.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter IV"><a name="png.287" id="png.287" href="#png.287"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>277<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER IV</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">“My</span> deah—what has become of the orange motah?” -Miss Mariette turned her round stare on Sallie.</p> - -<p>“What—d-do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Well, the yellow peril doesn’t seem to be on duty -any more.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! He—he’s out of town.”</p> - -<p>“M’m! Been ‘out’ some time, I take it.”</p> - -<p>“F-four weeks.” Sallie found it impossible to talk -these days without a quiver. And the wells that had -been her eyes were wept dry.</p> - -<p>“When does he return, my deah?”</p> - -<p>“Oh s-soon now, I g-guess.”</p> - -<p>“H’m!” Merciless blue eyes took in the small white -face, listless shoulders and drooping mouth, while their -owner hummed low and languorously, “When I Come -Back to You.” After which she proceeded: “And the -cobbles, my deah?”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“Pearls! The dog collar?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! I—I p-put it away.”</p> - -<p>“Ah?”</p> - -<p>“I—it—I thought I’d better not wear it round all the -time.”</p> - -<p>After a moment of slow scrutiny Miss Mariette cast -her eyes heavenward. “You were a wise child not to -let him get back the diamond, too,” she drawled.</p> - -<p>“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.288" id="png.288" href="#png.288"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>278<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Oh—d-don’t you? My deah, do I look as easy as -that? It’s plain he’s gone his merry way tra-la.”</p> - -<p>Like a whip Sallie snapped round at her. “He -hasn’t!”</p> - -<p>“Tra-la, tra-la-la!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you dare—”</p> - -<p>“Then where’s the car, tra-la?”</p> - -<p>“I told you—”</p> - -<p>“The car he was giving you, I mean.”</p> - -<p>Grace, who had entered in time for the last words, tittered -with all the old enjoyment.</p> - -<p>“Poor little car skidded on the way, Gracie deah,” -announced Miss Mallard.</p> - -<p>Sallie’s throat closed in a hard knot. Her head almost -dropped on the table. But not quite. Pride kept it -up. Pride and the determination never to let them -know how right they were.</p> - -<p>Yet Miss Mallard, having resumed her tactics of warfare -allowed to slip no opportunity for attack. She -teased and tormented and tra-la’d with purring delight, -sharp little talons inflicting new wounds.</p> - -<p>Sallie began to slink into the dressing-room as if to -hide from insinuating smiles. And coming out of the -stage door, she fairly ran round the corner to escape the -torturing vision of that line at the curb.</p> - -<p>The pearls she had recklessly let go. After what <em>he</em> -had said, she couldn’t bear to touch them. They curled -in her hand like some wriggling reptile. Her first impulse -had been to toss the necklace into an ashcan, but -eventually she found herself back at the near-pearl shop. -A suave salesman after much fingering and testing -<a name="png.289" id="png.289" href="#png.289"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>279<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>reminded her that they did not refund on merchandise but -added that he might be able to resell at a loss if she -cared to leave it. Sallie even hated the money—something -more than half the amount she had paid—which his -smooth hands finally counted into hers.</p> - -<p>One thing, though, she did determine in the long nights. -There must be a car! Never must they be certain that -Jimmie had gone for good! The savings account had -long since gone the way of all flesh. And cars, like -Pegasus, soar winged in the clouds. June had come gliding -into the arms of May while Sallie suffered and waited, -lived on bread and milk, and hopelessly priced the -cheaper makes.</p> - -<p>Other lips, mustached, clean-shaven, young, and not -so young, answered Sallie’s plea of “Won’t you smile at -me?” Sallie did not hear them. Other eyes sought hers -from motors at the curb. Sallie did not know they were -there.</p> - -<p>She was in her room balancing accounts at 11:30 <span class="allsc">P. M.</span> -When she did sleep, figures whirled through her dreams; -figures and Jimmie’s face.</p> - -<p>Then in the murky dawn of one June day came an inspiration. -Yesterday she had seen a second-hand runabout -painted a beautiful blue for only two hundred and fifty -dollars, with a week’s trial before buying. Her diamond! -She could get enough for that! A few months in which -to tear up to the stage entrance and spring out; to display -the shining blue body to startled eyes; to make them -believe he had come back! Jimmie—who never would! -She gazed out through the streaky window pane and for a -time the car was forgotten.</p> - -<p><a name="png.290" id="png.290" href="#png.290"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>280<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -When the chorus had assembled for the Wednesday -matinée, a ring dropped tinkling to the dressing-room -floor. Sallie picked it up, proclaimed that the stone had -come loose and wore it no more.</p> - -<p>Later, behind a window barred like a prison, Sallie -MacMahon’s lips clung together and she looked away as -her most precious possession passed into other hands—probably -for all time.</p> - -<p>At last the night arrived when the girls sighted at the -curb a little car blue as the heavens. One of them -stepped lightly from the stage entrance, fetched a key -from her bag, bent down, then sprang in and took -the wheel as though running a motor were a daily -pastime.</p> - -<p>Miss Mallard stopped in the center of the pavement.</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell the world!” she breathed, forgetting Fifth -Avenue. “She wasn’t lying, Grace,—she wasn’t!”</p> - -<p>Sallie MacMahon smiled upon them, put her foot on -the self-starter, heard the cheerful chug chug of the -engine responding and, with terror chasing down her -spine, spun round the corner.</p> - -<p>As she disappeared, Grace’s reply wafted on the breeze:</p> - -<p>“But he’s a piker, anyhow. It’s as big as a minute!”</p> - -<p>Up Broadway, eyes starting with fear, heart pounding, -went Sallie. And every instant’s progress petrified -her. Buildings descended. Motor trucks loomed -up. Trolleys tore, gigantic, within an inch of the blue -mite that held her. It was completely, totally swamped. -Alone in it for the first time, she clung wildly to the -wheel while all Broadway danced.</p> - -<p>Never had she traveled a distance to equal those -<a name="png.291" id="png.291" href="#png.291"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>281<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>ten blocks. Never before had the thought of the sagging -brownstone house been a welcome one. A century -later she reached her own street, turned in. Then something -snapped. The blue runabout stood stock still. -Sallie tried to recall the varied instructions of the garage -man who had taught her to drive it. Without his -guiding hand they were Greek.</p> - -<p>She fled in the direction of a passing policeman, -caught his arm. “Please, would you mind? Something’s -happened. It—it’s stuck.”</p> - -<p>He grinned as he took in the blue mite. “Better go -and phone your garage, Miss. I’ll take care of it till -you get back.”</p> - -<p>Sallie dropped his arm.</p> - -<p>“<!-- TN: superfluous opening single quote removed -->Why, I—I haven’t any—”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“Garage.”</p> - -<p>“What do you do with it at night? Take it to bed -with you?”</p> - -<p>“N-nothing. It—it’s new. I—I never thought—”</p> - -<p>“Then find some place to put it—quick. They’ll -send you a man—”</p> - -<p>Sallie stood stock still as the car, then turned on her -heel and dashed in the direction of the brownstone house. -On the top step she dropped.</p> - -<p>Not a cent in the world! Diamond gone!! Car that -was no good!! And no place to put it!!!</p> - -<p>Early in her career as a motorist she had discovered -that cars have a way of gathering expense like dust -by the wayside. There had been extra tires and repairs -<a name="png.292" id="png.292" href="#png.292"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>282<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>even while you were learning to run it. It fairly ate -up gas. You needed twice as much as she had reckoned.</p> - -<p>And now—this!</p> - -<p>Helplessly she gazed at the point far down the block -where the policeman stood guard. From time to time -his glance roved impatiently—and when at last he swung -on his way, leaving the blue mite unprotected, Sallie -knew there was nothing left but to sit there and watch -it all through the night.</p> - -<p>Then it was that the wells which had run dry filled -once more, overflowed. Huddled in a corner of the stoop, -she fastened her wilted gaze on a spot of blue parked -close to Broadway and wondered what she was going -to do with it when morning arrived.</p> - -<p>She came to drowsily as a clock struck one and something -heavy descended on her shoulder. It pulled her -upright, shook the sleep from her eyes and a cry from -her lips. The policeman!</p> - -<p>“What are you doing out here?”</p> - -<p>She strained forward.</p> - -<p>“Jimmie!!!”</p> - -<p>“What are you doing, I say?”</p> - -<p>“Jimmie—is it—is it—you?”</p> - -<p>“Answer me!”</p> - -<p>“I—oh, I can’t believe it! You—<em>you!!</em>” Then panic -seized her. “Jimmie—don’t—don’t go again! Wait—let -me tell you! I’ve been praying you’d give me the -chance to tell you. I—it was true,—I <em>did</em> buy all those -things myself. I did—I did! I was afraid you’d be -ashamed of me.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.293" id="png.293" href="#png.293"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>283<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -He stood glaring silently down at her and when his -voice did come, it was thick and tense.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t you know it was just those old clothes of yours -that convinced me the story you gave me was straight?”</p> - -<p>“But the girls always made fun of them—and I wanted -to look right for you. And you thought—oh, Jimmie, -what you thought has nearly killed me!”</p> - -<p>“What could a man who knew his Broadway think -when you appeared all of a sudden in a million dollars -worth of finery?”</p> - -<p>“But it wasn’t true! I took all my money out of -the bank to look nice just for you. Jimmie—if you go -again—the way you did—I—I’ll die!”</p> - -<p>He gave no direct answer. Instead he gripped her -shoulders until they ached.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing out here this time of night? -Answer me that!”</p> - -<p>The car! Her eyes raced down the block. There it -stood, untouched.</p> - -<p>“I—I hocked my diamond, Jimmie, and bought a car. -I made the girls think you were going to give me one -and I didn’t want them to know that you—you—” She -turned away. “So I hocked the ring—and—and got—that!”</p> - -<p>He followed her eyes to where a spot of blue reposed -near the corner.</p> - -<p>“And now it won’t go and I haven’t any money to -put it anywhere. They’ve been keeping it where I -bought it and I never thought about garaging. So—so -when it broke down I just had to sit here and watch -it all night.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.294" id="png.294" href="#png.294"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>284<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -The rushing words halted. She looked up at the face -bent over hers. If Mr. James Fowler Patterson had a -sense of humor—and he had—the comedy of the present -situation failed to bring it to light. He stood and -gazed down into the small tired face lifted with such -desperate appeal.</p> - -<p>“I—”</p> - -<p>“Jimmie, won’t you believe me this time—please?”</p> - -<p>He bent closer. “If I tell you I could take a gun this -minute and blow out what little brains I’ve got, will -<em>you</em> believe <em>me</em>? Will you?” He did not give her time -to answer. “I deserve it—shooting’s too good. Why, -even if you dressed up like a Christmas window, only -a saphead who’s wasted all his life chasing up and down -Broadway could have made such a mistake. What’s -love, anyhow? And sweetheart—I do love you. These -weeks without you have proved how much.”</p> - -<p>She closed her eyes as the words came.</p> - -<p>“Why,” he plunged on, “my dad had given me up as -a bad job—said he was through! And six weeks ago -I went to him and told him I’d found the girl who could -make a man of me—asked him to take me on at the -Patterson Iron Works, I didn’t care in what capacity. -He thought I was joking—but I put on overalls and -rolled up my sleeves. Because I wanted to be good -enough for you. That was just about the time you -showed up in all that gorgeousness. And I let the idea -get hold of me— Don’t cry, honey,—I can’t stand it!”</p> - -<p>There was an instant of potent silence, then:</p> - -<p>“How did you happen to come past here to-night—Jimmie?” -came smothered.</p> - -<p><a name="png.295" id="png.295" href="#png.295"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>285<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“I’ve been coming past here every night.”</p> - -<p>“Then why—why did you stay away from the theater?”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t—for long. Wanted to—but couldn’t! I’ve -watched you come out from around the corner—” He -broke off. “Sweetness—you’ve been looking awfully -sick.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve been awfully lonesome.”</p> - -<p>He lifted her chin.</p> - -<p>“Baby—”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Jimmie—dear—”</p> - -<p>“Will you forgive me?”</p> - -<p>“Jimmie—”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Baby—dear—”</p> - -<p>“Will you wait here till I get into my old rig, then -take me for a ride in my new car?”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="sect"> -<h2 title="Curtain!"><a name="png.297" id="png.297" href="#png.297"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>287<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CURTAIN!</h2> - -<h3 title="Melodrama"><i>MELODRAMA</i></h3> - - -<p>It consists not in shouts, the leveled gun, the drawn sword, -the flashlight in the dark. The quiet moment of decision -that means happiness or wreck; the hesitant hand moving -toward a doorknob that may open upon joy or the misery of -revelation; two people waiting in stillness for the pendulum -of uncertainty to swing—that is melodrama as it is played -every day within the four walls that enclose your next-door -neighbor.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h2 title=""><a name="png.299" id="png.299" href="#png.299"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>289<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CURTAIN!</h2> - - - - -<h3 title="Chapter I—Act I">CHAPTER I—ACT I</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">John Shakespeare’s</span> son remarked once in a -play he lightly invited us to take “As You Like It” -that all the world’s a stage. He told us that men and -women have their exits and their entrances, that one man -in his time plays many parts. But John Shakespeare’s -son did not refer to the acts that make up this drama -of living. The first act of introduction, the second of -conflict, the third of revelation, the fourth of readjustment. -Not that all lives can be so simply subdivided. -To some dramas there are ten or twelve scenes, swift-changing, -tense, terrifying. But whether few or many, -live in acts we do—each with its conflict, its climax, -each beginning a new problem, a new turn, a new development, -until the final curtain is rung down that leaves -the house of life in darkness.</p> - -<p>Partly because of this and partly because Nancy -Bradshaw’s story is essentially of the theater, it seems -but natural so to divide the telling of it.</p> - -<p>The first scenes had been that old familiar struggle -of the young girl trying to convince managers that even -though she has had her theatrical training somewhere -west of Broadway she really can act. She had encountered -and combated the habitual have-to-show-me -look until one day in Jerry Coghlan’s office while the -latter regarded her over horn-rimmed specs, she gave -him a disarming smile and said quietly:</p> - -<p><a name="png.300" id="png.300" href="#png.300"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>290<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Yes, Mr. Coghlan, I know you’re from Missouri, -but how can I show you unless you give me a chance?”</p> - -<p>Coghlan, being Irish, had tossed back his head with -a roar of approval and given her what she asked. He -had never regretted it.</p> - -<p>Nancy possessed two qualities that register with an -audience more quickly than genius—charm and personality. -I might better say, personality alone, because -that includes charm, doesn’t it? By the time she had -reached the place of leading woman and the age of -twenty-six, she had a following many older and more -experienced actresses envied. She was never idle. -When Coghlan, who had her under contract, was unable -to find a play or part for her, he loaned her to -other managers who featured their good fortune in advance -notices and electrics.</p> - -<p>Nancy had what Broadway calls class. She was -supple and slender with an airy slimness that seemed -more spiritual than of the body. She could curl up in a -couch corner with child-like grace or stand tense and -supplicating or sway with emotion. But whatever she -did, one felt the spirit ruling the flesh. She had heavy -gold hair that fell in deep sweeping waves over ears and -forehead. The brows that mounted above gold-brown -eyes were straight and black as were the lashes shading -them. Her mouth, a bit too large for beauty, had a -fascinating upcurve when she smiled but in repose was -strangely firm and chiseled. One found oneself puzzling -as to whether it belonged in a face whose charm lay -in the fact that its actual features eluded one. I’ve called -her eyes gold-brown. They weren’t always. At times -<a name="png.301" id="png.301" href="#png.301"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>291<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>across the footlights they looked green, at others hazel, -and often in some scene of fury they went burning black.</p> - -<p>Audiences loved her in all her moods—the matinée -girls because she might have been one of them; older -women because she might have been their daughter; -young men because she was so much a girl they wondered -how much a woman she might be; and old men because, -for a fleeting moment, she gave them back their youth.</p> - -<p>It looked pretty much as if Nancy’s drama of living -were to flow smoothly to its final scene with no more -conflict than a pastoral comedy. And then she met -Richard Cunningham.</p> - -<p>She had seen him once when lunching at the Ritz with -Ted Thorne, author of the play in which she was rehearsing. -Thorne had returned the nod of a man several -tables away and Nancy asked who he was.</p> - -<p>The young playwright’s eyes snapped as he answered: -“You, too—eh? Never saw a woman yet who didn’t want -to know Dick Cunningham.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t want to know him,” Nancy defended herself. -“I just want to know about him.”</p> - -<p>“Amounts to the same thing, my dear. Well, when -the papers speak of Cunningham, they call him a clubman—whatever -that may mean—and turfman. He keeps -a string of blooded horses at his place on Long Island -that are the envy of exhibitors all over the country. He -has a shooting box in the Adirondacks. He’s second -Vice-president of a railroad or two, is a regular first-nighter, -has more money than any one woman could -spend, and no one woman has so far succeeded in annexing -it. Men like him and women feel toward him much -<a name="png.302" id="png.302" href="#png.302"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>292<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>as they do toward original sin—they love and fear him -at the same time.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” Nancy imitated his crisp tone. “After -that, I really don’t think I care to know the gentleman.”</p> - -<p>“You will—sooner or later,” drawled Thorne.</p> - -<p>Nancy turned indifferently from the object of discussion, -but in that one short glance she could have told -you exactly what he looked like. Ted Thorne in a way -was right. Cunningham was one of those men whom -women sense the instant they enter a room, not so much -for height, big shoulders and powerful dark head, as for -a certain dynamic force that stimulates fear and curiosity -at once. In Cæsar’s day he might have been a Marc -Antony, but I doubt whether Cleopatra could ever have -persuaded him to abandon his armies for her dear sake. -More likely the devastating Egyptian would have descended -from her throne, laid her dainty olive hand in his -and followed where he led.</p> - -<p>For a man with manifold interests, Cunningham had -few hobbies—two, to be exact—his horses and the theater. -Actors, managers, dramatists, press-agents, all the -busy bees in that hive of Broadway, knew him—some by -sight only, others well enough to call him by his given -name. No first night was complete without him. His -familiar shoulders swung down the aisle at eight-thirty -sharp, hand stretched here and there in greeting.</p> - -<p>It was said his love of the theater far exceeded his -interest in women. In the same way, though in lesser -degree, they were necessary to his happiness—for amusement. -They entertained him. But as the play is done -in a few hours and one seeks new diversion, so they had -<a name="png.303" id="png.303" href="#png.303"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>293<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>a way of revealing themselves to him that after a short -period became a bore. He grew to know them too well—and -the glamor was gone. To-morrow another play! -To-morrow—!</p> - -<p>And then he met Nancy Bradshaw.</p> - -<p>It happened the opening night of Thorne’s comedy just -at the time Coghlan surprised Nancy by elevating her -to stardom.</p> - -<p>What a difference one little preposition makes! Stepping -out of a taxi into dripping rain at the stage entrance, -Nancy heard a shriek and saw her colored maid drop a -hatbox on the wet pavement to point wildly at the electric -sign outside the Coghlan Theater.</p> - -<p>Instead of:—</p> - -<p class="poster">“THE GAMESTER”<br - />with<br - />Nancy Bradshaw</p> - -<p class="noindent">she read:—</p> - -<p class="poster">NANCY BRADSHAW<br - />in<br - />“The Gamester”</p> - -<p>It blinked and smiled at her, that dazzling announcement. -She shut her eyes in ecstasy that hurt. When -she opened them, shameless tears were streaming down -her cheeks and a prayer was in her heart.</p> - -<p>Coghlan was waiting at the door of her dressing-room. -She rushed at him, arms flung recklessly about his neck, -and wept into the stiff white collar that held up his double -chin.</p> - -<p><a name="png.304" id="png.304" href="#png.304"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>294<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“You deserve it!” he told her, his own eyes a bit moist. -“You deserve it. Never asked for it. Never nagged me -for anything. Just worked like hell—and waited. How -old are you, kid?”</p> - -<p>Nancy looked up. “T—twenty-three for publication.”</p> - -<p>“But on the level?”</p> - -<p>“Almost twenty-eight.”</p> - -<p>“Well, by the time you’re thirty-three, you’ll be the -greatest actress in the country. Take it from me—Jerry -Coghlan knows what he’s talking about!”</p> - -<p>With his prophecy singing in her ears, Nancy made her -bow to New York as a star. The audience was with her -from the first, sharing her joy, her triumph, eyes shining -with hers, tears flowing when hers did. She took it all -modestly enough, even dragging on the leading man to -take the curtains with her. When finally they brought -her out alone, she stood a bit left-center and one could -plainly see her whole body shake, her lips tremble like -some unaccustomed schoolgirl’s.</p> - -<p>It was at this moment that a man with towering shoulders -and the stride of authority left his seat and made -for the lobby. There he cornered Coghlan and without -preamble made his point.</p> - -<p>“Jerry,” he said as they shook hands, “present me to -Miss Bradshaw, will you?”</p> - -<p>“Sure!” said Jerry proudly.</p> - -<p>And thus brought about the climax to the first act -of Nancy’s life drama.</p> - -<p>Cunningham wanted to give a supper party that night. -But she told him friends were entertaining her and Thorne -at one of those crowded and supposedly exclusive -<a name="png.305" id="png.305" href="#png.305"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>295<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>restaurants known as “Clubs.” He calmly followed them -and with two other men managed to procure a table near -theirs. Cunningham could procure anything anywhere.</p> - -<p>Nancy saw him instantly and wished he hadn’t come. -Not that he gave any sign of deliberate interest in her. -In fact, one would have said he did not know she was -there. His eyes—non-committal, steel-colored eyes they -were, the sort that read without permitting themselves to -be read—scanned the menu. Supper ordered, he turned -their full attention to his companions. But his presence -made Nancy self-conscious. Probably, she concluded, -because of what Ted Thorne had told her!</p> - -<p>As they recognized her, men sauntered from various -parts of the room, white mustache to beardless youth, -clamoring congratulations. And beside that sweet intoxication -of dreams realized, the champagne set frankly -before her was as plain water to the fountain of eternal -youth. She drank in every word, hearing the same ones -repeated many times.</p> - -<p>When Thorne managed to break through the circle -with her and spin into a one-step, those they passed -nudged each other. About the graceful figure in cloudy -silver with light hair tumbling over dark eyes and lips -curving in laughter, filmed the aura of the theater, fairyland -of illusion, the one magic world that makes children -of us all.</p> - -<p>As they went back to the table, she caught Cunningham -watching her with an unlit cigarette between his -lips and around them rather a puzzled look, as if he -might be asking himself some question he could not -answer.</p> - -<p><a name="png.306" id="png.306" href="#png.306"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>296<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“So you’ve met,” whispered Ted, as Nancy returned -his bow over the plumes of her black feather fan.</p> - -<p>“Yes, to-night. J. C. brought him back.” And added -casually: “He’s asked me to make up my own party for -supper some night. Will you come?”</p> - -<p>“I will that!” rejoined Thorne. “But before it happens, -I’ll ask you to marry me.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be a goose, Ted,” she laughed—and wondered -why a frown replaced for a flash the twinkle in the sharp -eyes behind Thorne’s glasses. They smiled again as he -raised his champagne.</p> - -<p>“Here’s to you, Nancy girl—and the future. May it -be a knock-out for you always!”</p> - -<p>Cunningham, however, did not wait for the date she -had set. The following night he sent word to the theater, -inviting her to ride next day. He had his horses in town -for the Show and wanted her to try his pet stallion. His -messenger would wait for an answer.</p> - -<p>There was a tone of assumption in the brief note that -Nancy resented. She couldn’t tell exactly where nor -what it was but she had a feeling that, though couched -in terms of invitation, it had been written with the assurance -that she would not refuse. At first she was tempted -to, but anxiety to see his horses—at least that explanation -she gave herself—made her compromise by writing -that he might telephone her in the morning.</p> - -<p>By the time he called her, she had on her habit and -half an hour later glided uptown in his car. Through -the park, fairly purring as it sped over the smooth roads, -it veered West and out at a street in the Sixties and -pulled up before what appeared to be a two-story house. -<a name="png.307" id="png.307" href="#png.307"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>297<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>Potted dwarf firs stood at either side of the big arched -door on a level with the street. Across the front above -it were three windows, each with its green window box -from which ivy trailed over the dull red brick. A saucy -little building it was in the midst of drab flat houses, like -a French cocotte dropped by mistake into a New England -village.</p> - -<p>Nancy gazed, puzzled and curious, when the heavy -iron-hinged door was drawn back and she stepped into -the unmistakable pungent odor of the stable.</p> - -<p>Cunningham came to meet her. His hands, tingling -with vitality, sent a glow through hers as he held them an -instant. Then he led the way toward the rear. The -floor was covered with a sort of porous rubber that gave -to the step and Nancy felt an absurd inclination to bound -into the air as she walked. Along the walls were cases -filled with blue, red and yellow ribbons, each rosette with -its streamers as dear to the sportsman as if it had been -pinned upon him instead of an equine representative. -Prints of blue ribboners with famous jockeys up hung -between the cases. Several of the originals stamped at -that moment in the stalls downstairs. Cunningham helped -her down the run.</p> - -<p>“I want you to meet my best friends,” he said, stopping -before the nearest stall. “Permit me—Lord Chesterfield!”</p> - -<p>With approved good manners his Lordship settled his -velvet nose in her outstretched hand.</p> - -<p>“Chawmed, M’lord,” she smiled. Her wondering eyes -went the length of the place.</p> - -<p>It was daintily white as a woman’s boudoir, each stall -<a name="png.308" id="png.308" href="#png.308"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>298<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>bordered in brilliant blue and bearing its occupant’s monogram -in the same color. A border of blue ran round the -white walls. Even the water buckets and feed boxes -were white with horse’s heads painted on them.</p> - -<p>There was a rush forward and eager heads poked out -as Cunningham went down the line. Satin bodies swaggered, -priming themselves for approval.</p> - -<p>“No wonder they’re your friends!” Nancy observed. -“You treat them so well.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think friendship has to be won that way?” -he put quickly.</p> - -<p>“No. It’s usually given first and earned afterward.”</p> - -<p>“That’s not <em>friendship</em> you’re speaking of.” The look -he bent on her was disconcerting. Nancy turned to -follow a groom who was leading two horses, saddled, -toward the run.</p> - -<p>A few moments later they swung through the wide -doorway into the autumn sunshine. Nancy had never -ridden any but academy horses and the sense of the fine, -spirited animal under her with his rearing head and shining -coat made her blood dance. Flying down the bridle -path was like soaring heavenward on Pegasus. Poetry -was in the air, in her eyes, in the crack of the gravel -under their horses’ feet. The man beside her sat his -mount, a bay of sixteen hands, as if part of it. His -muscular hands barely touched the reins.</p> - -<p>“How did you know that I rode?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“I recalled seeing your picture in riding habit in one -of the magazines.”</p> - -<p>“But that doesn’t prove anything. It’s the privilege -of an actress to be photographed in habit, even if she -<a name="png.309" id="png.309" href="#png.309"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>299<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>wouldn’t go near enough to a real horse to feed him a -lump of sugar.”</p> - -<p>He laughed, looked down at her slim straight body -in its tan coat, at the graceful limbs swung across her -mount, at her glossy gold hair and the light of the sun in -her eyes. “Well, I should have known you did anyway. -There’s nothing vital you couldn’t do.”</p> - -<p>He put it not as a question but directly, as if giving -her the information. She found no answer. This man -left her strangely speechless. For no reason at all her -cheeks went red with a deeper flush than the exercise -had brought to them.</p> - -<p>She said little during the two hours of their ride. He -told her of the fascination the theater had for him. -Then her eyes shone through their black lashes and she -told him it was her life. She loved it not as an artist -loves his work but with the passion one gives a human -thing.</p> - -<p>“That’s why you’ve made good,” he answered -promptly. “Because you’ve given yourself completely.” -He paused, then with the usual startling abruptness: -“Do you know, I had an actual sense of pride last night, -watching that crowd swarm round you. Odd, that—isn’t -it—in a man who had just met you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.” She did not meet the gaze she knew was -turned on her.</p> - -<p>When they dismounted and he was handing her into -the car, he bent down and into his non-committal eyes -came a warmth that enveloped her like a flame.</p> - -<p>“And to think that I flipped a coin last night whether -to go to the Show or go to see you!”</p> - -<p><a name="png.310" id="png.310" href="#png.310"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>300<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -She rode with him every day after that. He arranged -it as a matter of course. He had a direct way of taking -things into his own hands just as he had a direct way -of looking and speaking. Often it made her gasp but -at the same time possessed the attraction male dominance -always holds for the primitive in woman. Particularly -to the woman who has fought her own battles -is there something hypnotic in having decision taken out -of her hands.</p> - -<p>At the end of two weeks she called his horses by name; -had fed them more sugar than was good for them; had -dined and danced with him; and knew, though to herself -she denied it, that tongues quick to wag, were busy with -their names. Nancy Bradshaw, popular star, and Dick -Cunningham who, in the eyes of the world, could like -Joshua command sun and moon and stars to stand -still!</p> - -<p>When his friends—men who made the nation’s pulse -throb—stopped at their table in a restaurant or, as was -frequently the case, joined them at his invitation and -gave to Nancy the homage a charming actress always -receives from men a bit jaded, Cunningham’s probing -glance warmed and a smile softened his sharply determined -mouth.</p> - -<p>He sent her flowers and books as a matter of course. -Wherever they went he surrounded her with an atmosphere -of unconscious luxury that was like a narcotic.</p> - -<p>And finally at the house of the fir trees, instead of -that diamond-lighted district bounded by the Forties, -he gave the supper-party they had planned the night of -their meeting. Ted Thorne was there and Lilla Grant, -<a name="png.311" id="png.311" href="#png.311"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>301<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>ingénue of the company, a sinuous little thing with pert -nose, full Oriental lips and eyes that might have come -from Egypt. She had begged Nancy to let her meet -Cunningham.</p> - -<p>“She’ll get there, that kid,” Jerry Coghlan had once -remarked. “Don’t know yet whether her name used to -be O’Shaughnessy or Rabinowitz. But take it from me, -she’ll make her mark—maybe because it used to be both.”</p> - -<p>Lights shone in the upper windows as the four stepped -from the car, not the brilliant light of electricity but one -gentle and golden. They went up the flight of steps -leading to the unique apartment above the stable.</p> - -<p>“Make yourselves at home. I’ll send a maid.” Cunningham -opened the door to a room done in gray and -rose, with enameled dressing-table and pier-glass, and -rose brocade chairs, divan and hangings.</p> - -<p>Lilla dropped her frou-frou of cloak from bare -shoulders and, taking the center of the floor, gazed round -with glistening eyes.</p> - -<p>“What a duck you were to ask me!” she cried. “I’ve -been just crazy to see this place.”</p> - -<p>Nancy turned. “You’ve heard of it?”</p> - -<p>“Heard of it! My dear, there have been <em>some</em> parties -given here!”</p> - -<p>Swift indignation swept the color into Nancy’s cheeks. -The insinuating tone more than the words angered her. -“Don’t talk like that!” Her eyes flashed black as they -sometimes did in a big scene.</p> - -<p>Lilla looked up wickedly. “Crazy about him, aren’t -you?”</p> - -<p>The color went, leaving her white. “Of course not.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.312" id="png.312" href="#png.312"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>302<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Well, don’t let him know it—that’s all I have to say.”</p> - -<p>She powdered her nose, head perked to one side, -guided a brush over hair dense-dark as velvet, added a -touch of mascaro to her lashes, and turning to the maid -who had just come in asked whether her dress was hooked -all the way up the back.</p> - -<p>“I do envy you, Nancy,” she frowned, taking in the -other girl’s graceful figure in swathing black satin, relieved -only by a splash of green fan. “One of these -days—soon—I’m going to have a maid and not break -my neck gathering myself together after the show.”</p> - -<p>As they went out Lilla linked her arm in Cunningham’s.</p> - -<p>“Do you live in this heavenly place?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“No. But I like to have people here—the people -I like, I should say. That’s why I fixed up the -second floor—for parties like this one. There’s a fully -equipped kitchen at the back. And here’s my banquet -hall.”</p> - -<p>The short corridor ended in the room of the three -windows. They might have been entering an Italian -Villa. Paneled oak stretched straight to the ceiling. -At either end yawned a marble fireplace with logs sputtering -the faint scent of fir. A refectory table, with -couch the color of purple grapes backed against it fronted -one. Drawn close to the other stood two old Medici -chairs. On both mantels and smaller tables were candlesticks -with thick yellow candles. The silver set for supper -on the long table gleamed under the glow of branching -candelabra.</p> - -<p><a name="png.313" id="png.313" href="#png.313"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>303<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Cunningham watched Nancy’s face as she paused in -the doorway. Her eyes had dreams in them.</p> - -<p>“Makes a great stage setting for you,” he whispered. -“I’ll want you here all the time now.”</p> - -<p>A manservant passed cigarettes. They sat and -chatted while they waited for the other guests, Mr. -and Mrs. Courtleigh Bishop and several friends who were -coming in from the Opera. Nancy was in a chair by the -fire; Lilla nested in the couch depths, her somber gaze -lidded as if heavy with secrets, following her host; and -Thorne springing up every now and then to wander about -the room, examining its treasures.</p> - -<p>Lilla watched and listened to the others, much as she -watched and absorbed every word of the director at -rehearsals. She had advanced by wits rather than wit -and was clever enough to know the value of silence. -Only when Cunningham brought her the spray of orchids -he had supplied for each of the women did she -look up from under thick lids.</p> - -<p>“You do everything just right,” she murmured, pinning -them into the orange chiffon at her waist, “and I -guess never anything wrong.”</p> - -<p>In her somnolent eyes was an obvious dare to which -several weeks ago Cunningham would probably have -responded. Now he smiled down amusedly at the round -soft form sunk in the couch cushions and went back to -Nancy. The somnolent eyes went after him.</p> - -<p>They persuaded Thorne who, unlike a number of writing -men, hated to talk about himself, to tell the plot of -his new play.</p> - -<p><a name="png.314" id="png.314" href="#png.314"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>304<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“I’ve tackled a big problem,” he said. “Woman’s -rights in love!”</p> - -<p>“You’ve tackled the universe,” came from Cunningham. -“Fifty years ago it could have been summed up -in one beautiful word, ‘Submission’. To-day—” He -flung up his hands.</p> - -<p>Nancy smiled. “And you’re just the type a submissive -woman would bore to death.”<!-- TN: original has single closing quote --></p> - -<p>“Don’t you believe it,” chimed in Lilla. “He’s apt -to fall for some baby doll who’ll tell him what a great -big wonderful man he is and do exactly what he wants—when -he’s around.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t subscribe to the fifty-fifty theory then, -old man?” suggested Thorne when the laugh died -down.</p> - -<p>“No, I believe in ninety-nine-one. At least women -can make it that if they know how to handle us. Just -as Miss Grant says, we’re nothing but a bunch of boobs.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what you like to make us think,” Nancy corrected. -“And the unfortunate part of it is, we want to -deceive ourselves just as much as you want to deceive -us.”</p> - -<p>Cunningham blew a ring of feathery cigarette smoke -and studied her through it. “I didn’t know you were -such a cynic.”</p> - -<p>“Did you think dealing with theatrical managers had -taught me nothing?” she laughed.</p> - -<p>At twelve Mrs. Bishop bubbled in commandeering -a group of light-voiced women and husky-voiced men.</p> - -<p>She apologized for being late and wailed at the length -of Russian Opera.</p> - -<p><a name="png.315" id="png.315" href="#png.315"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>305<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Courty can sleep through it all,” she sighed. “But -the noise keeps me awake.”</p> - -<p>She caught Nancy by both hands, drawing her out -of the chair.</p> - -<p>“I’ve been so anxious to know you, my dear. I -begged Dicky to bring you to see me but he said you -were the mountain—Mohammet would have to come to -you.”</p> - -<p>All through the elaborate supper they gushed over -her, with just that touch of patronage position assured -permits itself toward those of the stage.</p> - -<p>But though conversation was light and general and -Cunningham the perfect host, he might have been alone -with the young star, so completely did his eyes disregard -the others. They seemed to send their gaze round her -like a cloak. She felt it unmistakably and a glow -radiated from her eyes and voice, from her whole -body.</p> - -<p>When the dregs of Crème<!-- TN: original reads "Crême" --> de Menthe and Benedictine -had settled in little green and gold pools at the -bottom of cordial glasses, and candle flames gleamed faint -blue in the dripping tallow; when laughing voices mellowed -into distance and cars had slid off into darkness, -two figures stood at the curb in front of the little house. -The door swung slowly shut behind them. The woman -looked up, the man down, and there flashed between -them that secret look of understanding that can pass -only when words no longer have value.</p> - -<p>The last car drove up. He helped her in. The door -slammed. Without a word he took her to him. Just -as his gaze had encompassed her, so his arms enclosed -<a name="png.316" id="png.316" href="#png.316"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>306<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>her now. Her lips trembled against his. For a moment, -endless because of all time, there was silence—that -intense beating silence that chokes.</p> - -<p>Then his voice came with a ring of triumph.</p> - -<p>“You know I want you.” And he waited for no answer. -“You knew I wanted you that night we met.”</p> - -<p>“Yes—I knew.”</p> - -<p>“You’re the first woman I’ve ever wanted—for my -wife.”</p> - -<p>The word danced into the soft gloom of night merging -into day, out across the wraith-like Park, up to the sky -where pale stars spelled it before her. She murmured -it, and he bent closer.</p> - -<p>“Mine! Nancy—you don’t know how much it’s -meant, seeing them gather round you and knowing that -you were going to belong to me.”</p> - -<p>Their lips were one again. At the moment she took -no count of the assurance that had brooked no denial. -She only throbbed to the strength of him and smiled into -the eyes so close to hers.</p> - -<p>The car sped past shadowy trees, past lamps paled -against the rising dawn, through a world unreal not because -light had not yet come but because these two were -in a world apart. They spoke low, as lovers will though -no one is there to hear; in short phrases, saying little -yet so much, she seeking to hold close this wonder thing, -he with the claim of the possessor.</p> - -<p>“Why do you love me, Dick?” came finally the eternal -question.</p> - -<p>He told her the tale men have told women for centuries -and will continue to tell them as long as the -<a name="png.317" id="png.317" href="#png.317"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>307<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>world shall last. “I love you because you’re different -from other women. There’s no one like you.”</p> - -<p>“How—different?”</p> - -<p>“Why analyze it? You’re <em>You</em>, complete, apart—wonderful.”</p> - -<p>“But what attracted you—first? What made you—want -me?”</p> - -<p>“Well, seeing you there in the center of that stage with -a first night audience wearing out its hands, you looked -so beautiful and frightened—give you my word I wanted -to go up then and there and take you in my arms.”</p> - -<p>“It was the glamor of the stage then?”</p> - -<p>“No. You’re not the first actress I’ve known, dear. -But you’re the only one in town that scandal has never -touched.”</p> - -<p>She drew back a bit.</p> - -<p>“That’s not fair, Dick. We’re a much-talked-of profession -but half the stories you hear aren’t true.”</p> - -<p>In the semi-gloom of the car she did not see the smile -play about his knowing lips.</p> - -<p>“What does it matter?” was his reply. “You’re in -the theater, yet not of it—sought after, made much of, -yet unspoilt. And I’ve won you—for myself.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you’ve won me.”</p> - -<p>He drew her close. “How much do you love me?”</p> - -<p>“Before all the world.” She closed her eyes as if -to shut out all other vision.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to take you to Hawaii,” he whispered. -“That’s the land of lovers—green lapping waters and -purple hills and palm trees with music in them.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve been there?”</p> - -<p><a name="png.318" id="png.318" href="#png.318"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>308<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Yes. Then to China and Japan—and if you like, -India. We’ll make a year of it.”</p> - -<p>She opened her eyes slowly and into them came a ray -of amusement.</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t take me too far away, for too long, or -the fickle public will forget me.”</p> - -<p>“They’re going to.”</p> - -<p>“Going to?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I’m a jealous brute. You’ve got to belong -to me exclusively.”</p> - -<p>“Dick”—she pulled away then, groping dazedly for -one silent second—“Dick—you don’t mean—you can’t -mean you want me to give up the stage?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>She stared at him, unbelieving. But his face was nothing -more than a blur against the darkness. As the car -rolled out of the Park, it rolled out of Eden.</p> - -<p>“But—but it’s my career—my life!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll make a new career—a new life for you.”</p> - -<p>“But it’s the biggest—the best part of me.”</p> - -<p>“The new life will be all of you.”</p> - -<p>“No, Dick! I couldn’t—I couldn’t!”</p> - -<p>He caught the hands that were raised to push him -from her, caught them in both of his. “I want you for -myself. I’m not satisfied with part of your time.”</p> - -<p>“But dear—can’t you see—”</p> - -<p>“Can’t <em>you</em> see that if you remain on the stage, your -evenings and part of your days will go to the public. -I’ll still be going round alone—just as I am now. -If you’re my wife you’ve got to take your place with -me.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.319" id="png.319" href="#png.319"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>309<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“But I can—except for a few hours. Dick, you say -I’m different. Let me stay different!”</p> - -<p>“You’ll always be that. Let’s look at it sensibly. -Dick Cunningham’s wife earning her living—why, it’s -a joke!”</p> - -<p>“Every one would know it’s not a question of money.”</p> - -<p>“Then why do it? Give some one else a chance—some -one who needs it.”<!-- TN: closing quote invisible --></p> - -<p>“But it’s my life,” she repeated desperately. “And -now, when success has just come—”</p> - -<p>“You said—‘before all the world’ awhile ago.”</p> - -<p>“Yes—and I meant it. I do love you, before everything. -You know that. You’ve swept me off my feet. -I can’t reason.” And then her hands came together and -she cried out: “Oh, why did this have to happen—why?”</p> - -<p>“It had to happen,” he repeated huskily.</p> - -<p>“Why couldn’t you have cared for some one in your -own set?”</p> - -<p>“I want you.”</p> - -<p>“Dick,” she said after a moment’s harsh stillness, -“don’t make me choose. It—it’s too—it hurts too much. -I couldn’t! I simply can’t do it. If you make me give -up the stage, you make me tear out my heart. You -wouldn’t ask that?”</p> - -<p>“It’s a question of which means more. I’m merely -asking what any normal man has the right to ask of the -woman he marries—first place.”</p> - -<p>“But you’ll have that.”</p> - -<p>“No. You won’t be free to give it to me.”</p> - -<p>“It’s queer”—her voice came shakily. “I’ve dreamed -<a name="png.320" id="png.320" href="#png.320"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>310<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>of love as every girl does. But I never dreamed it would -mean this—this sacrifice.”</p> - -<p>“It won’t mean sacrifice to you. I’ll fill your life, -Nancy. I’ll make you forget there ever was any other -bond. Sweetheart—don’t you believe I will?”</p> - -<p>She swayed toward him—then just as quickly pulled -back.</p> - -<p>“Haven’t I the right to ask it?” he urged.</p> - -<p>“Dick—”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t I?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t know! I don’t know!”</p> - -<p>“Consider my side.”</p> - -<p>“I only know it’s everything you’re demanding—everything!”</p> - -<p>“I’m giving everything in exchange.”</p> - -<p>She closed her eyes with a very different expression -from that of a few moments before. Then it had been -to let him fill her vision. Now it was to shut him out.</p> - -<p>Vaguely it came to her that he couldn’t realize the -enormity of the thing he was asking. Vaguely she repeated -aloud:</p> - -<p>“No—I couldn’t! If I mean to you what you say, -you won’t ask it.”</p> - -<p>He lifted her face so that the eyes opened to meet -his. Even through the shadows he could read their -anguish.</p> - -<p>“It’s because you mean what you do, that I can’t let -you go on.”</p> - -<p>Her hands closed tight on each other and she turned -to fasten her gaze on the awakening streets.</p> - -<p>“No, Dick—there’s no use. I couldn’t.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.321" id="png.321" href="#png.321"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>311<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Does what I offer balance so little that you can thrust -it away without even stopping to consider?”</p> - -<p>“If I stop to consider—”</p> - -<p>“You’ll do what I ask,” he put in quickly. “Ah, I -thought so! Nancy, can’t you see? The woman in you -is greater than the actress. You won’t always be young -and worshipped by your public but love—”</p> - -<p>“Will love last always?” And as his arms went out -to answer: “No—no! Don’t try to influence me—don’t, -please! I must think it over alone. It’s my -whole life—just everything.”</p> - -<p>His arms dropped. They did not again reach out to -her. He said good-night with the usual handclasp and -left her at the door of the apartment house, haunting -white, her dark eyes strained toward the first flicker of -sun as it came haltingly out of the east.</p> - -<p>A month later she sent for him. In all that time he -gave her no word, not even the message of a flower. He -waited cleverly in silence—a silence that made the battle -she fought all the more difficult. And in the end she -sent for him, so completely had he absorbed her will. -Not once during those weeks of struggle did her mind -hark back to the fragment of conversation at the supper -party. Because she could care with the intensity of -the big woman and because she was in love, she did not -realize that in sending for him she bowed before the -god she had scorned—Submission.</p> - -<p>And so the curtain fell on Act I of Nancy Bradshaw’s -life drama.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter II—Act II"><a name="png.322" id="png.322" href="#png.322"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>312<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER II—ACT II</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">Out</span> Long Island way on the North Shore where -Newport goes to stretch her tired limbs after a -busy season, there’s a house set like a long white couch -on a green carpet that spreads straight to the Sound.</p> - -<p>The place is called Restawhile—and having some -twenty rooms, not to speak of servant quarters, is known -modestly as a cottage.</p> - -<p>Here Dick Cunningham brought his bride following -their honeymoon trip through the Orient. Here they -spent the greater part of each year. For with its kennels -and stables, Nancy loved it next to the house of the fir -trees which would always be her castle of romance. Besides, -it was not too near Broadway, not near enough for -whisperings of the Rialto to tug at the heart or fill the -eyes. Or if the dull ache of longing too deep for tears -did come, it was a place to hide them from a curious -public.</p> - -<p>The announcement of Nancy’s marriage and retirement -from the stage had come as a shock to the social -world and a bomb to the theatrical. Broadway buzzed, -Fifth Avenue bristled, and poor Jerry Coghlan almost -went crazy. But as the calcium of the society column -replaced her beloved footlights, the star of the theater became -a star of the social realm and another nine days’ -wonder became memory.</p> - -<p>The column told of her dinners and dances, of her -trips to Florida, her visits to Newport. It listed her -<a name="png.323" id="png.323" href="#png.323"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>313<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>with her husband among inveterate first-nighters and -usually added: “The one-time Nancy Bradshaw whose -romantic marriage robbed the stage of one of its most -promising young actresses.”</p> - -<p>Eventually it announced with clarion blast the arrival -of Dick Junior and later Nancy the Second, quite as if -a chubby Dick and Nancy Cunningham were more important -than the same weight John and Mary Smith.</p> - -<p>A fairy tale come true even the most caustic observer -would have remarked, had he known the history of the -beautiful woman seated on the stone-paved veranda of -Restawhile one April afternoon five years after the curtain -descended on Act I.</p> - -<p>She wore a short white skirt, green sweater and white -sport shoes. Strands of hair had been tossed across her -eyes by a romp on the lawn with young Dicky. He sat -at her feet now, pink legs outstretched, and mobilized -between them a regiment of wooden soldiers.</p> - -<p>Ted Thorne and her former manager had driven out -to read Thorne’s latest drama, written with Lilla Grant -in mind. She was the season’s new darling and her hybrid -little face with its eyes from the Orient and nose -from Erin’s Isle decorated many a magazine cover and -wood-cut. It might also have been seen at the Ritz -lunching daily with varied and various conquests. She -had acquired an air and no longer spoke of her profession -as “the show business.” Her gowns were the talk -of fashion editors, her hats the despair of imitators. -She was colorful as a Bakst drawing and as decorative.</p> - -<p>The woman in white skirt and sweater that matched -the lawn sat listening at one side of the tea table, while -<a name="png.324" id="png.324" href="#png.324"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>314<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>Coghlan at her right measured three fingers of Scotch -against two of soda and the playwright’s voice sounded -vibrant against the sweet spring stillness. It was a tense -elemental story suggested to him by Nancy, with Hawaii—land -of love—as a setting. Finally he closed the script -and looked across at her.</p> - -<p>“What do you think of it?”</p> - -<p>“The best thing you’ve done, Ted,” she announced -instantly.</p> - -<p>“Of course, it’s only in the rough. But I wanted your -opinion. Am I like that fellow who knows all about the -Himalayas because he never got there?”</p> - -<p>“Just like him—an authority,” she retorted.</p> - -<p>“But straight—how does it strike you?”</p> - -<p>“I love it! You’ve never written anything with greater -emotional possibilities.”</p> - -<p>“How do you like Lilla for the lead?”</p> - -<p>“Just the type. And good from a box-office standpoint, -too—she’s made such a hit this season.”</p> - -<p>“Some kid!” put in Jerry, tinkling the ice pleasantly -against his glass. “Always said she’d make her mark. -And take it from me, Jerry Coghlan knows what he’s -talking about.”</p> - -<p>Nancy smiled. “You couldn’t find any one better to -play an Hawaiian.”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, we could!” came from Thorne.</p> - -<p>“Who?”</p> - -<p>“You.”</p> - -<p>She laughed and in her laughter the men detected -nothing but mirth.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you ever have a hankering for the old game, -<a name="png.325" id="png.325" href="#png.325"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>315<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>Nancy?” Coghlan demanded. “Don’t the theater ever -get in your blood?”</p> - -<p>She bent and lifted young Dick suddenly to her knees.</p> - -<p>“Here’s my theater,” was her answer.</p> - -<p>The playwright’s gaze traveled over the two gold heads -to the father’s eyes that smiled from the baby face into -his mother’s. Fat arms wound round her neck and she -sank her lips in the fluffy curls.</p> - -<p>“You’ve got a part that suits you to perfection,” he -said in a low voice.</p> - -<p>“Say, there ain’t any part Nancy couldn’t play! -Always said she had class. And take it from me—”</p> - -<p>“It’s good to know you haven’t forgotten us,” Thorne -interrupted, still in that low tone. “Whenever things get -balled up I say to myself: ‘Here goes for a run out to -Restawhile. Nancy’ll help me straighten them out.’”</p> - -<p>“It’s good to know you feel that way. You see”—she -held Dicky closer—“I can give you the viewpoint of -the audience now.”</p> - -<p>That night she told her husband of the play. They -had dined at the Courtleigh Bishop place, some five miles -distant, and during the drive home Nancy had been unusually -quiet. She walked up the wide staircase, head -bent, her long velvet cloak pulled close around her as if -for protection against the country chill of April. But -as he followed into her boudoir with its amber lights and -drapes of cornflower blue she dropped into a chair, let -the wrap slip from her shoulders and leaned forward, -speaking rapidly.</p> - -<p>“Tell me something of your doings to-day, Dick. You -haven’t yet.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.326" id="png.326" href="#png.326"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>316<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -He recounted the day’s activities—certain complications -that had arisen in his Western interests. Cunningham, -in spite of wealth or perhaps because of it, was not -a waster. She listened eagerly to every word.</p> - -<p>“And, by-the-way,” he added, much as an afterthought; -“I lunched with a former friend of yours, Lilla Grant. -Met her as I was going into the Ritz. She was alone—so -was I. So we joined forces.”</p> - -<p>She leaned back with a deep sigh.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad you told me that.”</p> - -<p>His reply held a note of surprise.</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“Because Mary Bishop made it a point to inform me -to-night that she’d seen you there. ‘Dicky still has a -penchant for the theatrical profession,’ she said, ‘I saw -him lunching to-day with a stage beauty.’ Of course, -it amused me but I just had a feeling that I’d like to hear -about it from you.”</p> - -<p>“It was of no importance. I might not have thought -of mentioning it.”</p> - -<p>“No. Still—I suppose I’m silly and feminine—but -if you hadn’t, I think it would have hurt.”</p> - -<p>“Do I demand to know every time Thorne comes out -here?”</p> - -<p>“You don’t have to, Dick.” Her eyes were still intent -on him.</p> - -<p>“I’ve lunched with Lilla Grant other days and haven’t -thought of mentioning it.”</p> - -<p>“I know that, too.”</p> - -<p>His eyebrows shot up. “How?”</p> - -<p>“Other women.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.327" id="png.327" href="#png.327"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>317<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -He laughed. “How they do love each other!”</p> - -<p>She laughed with him. “It’s all right now. You’ve -told me. I just didn’t want to think you’d deceive -me.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear girl, an omission like that is not deliberate -deceit.”</p> - -<p>“Omission,” came softly, “is often twin sister to -commission.”</p> - -<p>His lips went tight. “Does that mean you’d ever -let anything as cheap as suspicion of me enter your -mind?”</p> - -<p>She got up, brushing her mouth across the hard line -of his. “If I love you as much as I do, it’s reasonable -to suppose other women might.”</p> - -<p>And that was when she gave him the story of Thorne’s -play—more to change the subject than anything else—with -eyes shining and slim jeweled hands sending sparks -into the room’s golden shadows. He listened, watching -her, the light on her face, the blaze of enthusiasm under -the thick lashes.</p> - -<p>“It’s a splendid part for Lilla,” she ended. “She’ll be -fascinating in it, don’t you think?”</p> - -<p>“Great!” And after a moment, “Nancy—does seeing -so much of Thorne and old Jerry ever tempt you to go -back on the stage?”</p> - -<p>She went close to him as if his bigness were a shelter.</p> - -<p>“It’s a temptation I’d never acknowledge, dear heart—not -even to myself.”</p> - -<p>“But you haven’t answered me.”</p> - -<p>“I did that when I made my choice—when I married -you. I couldn’t be disloyal to that. Besides”—and all -<a name="png.328" id="png.328" href="#png.328"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>318<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>the woman of her went into the words—“you and the -two little yous fill my life. I’ve no time for any other -devotion.”</p> - -<p>He looked down at the head, reddened under the amber -lights, at the graceful line of throat and shoulder, -at the proud lips that were his. And his arms swept up -and round her.</p> - - - -<p class="tb">Drama moves swiftly. No pause for explanation once -the wheels are set going, no rambling into far corners for -side lights as in the novel, but a tornado-like gathering -of incident that hurls itself without notice into crashing -storm. Life crowded into a few short hours, just as a -few short hours so often crowd life into one crashing -crisis. Without warning, or at least without warning -heeded, one answers the doorbell or opens a telegram or -takes up a telephone receiver. And behold, the face -blanches, the heart stops beating, to beat again with hammer -stroke too horrible to bear!</p> - -<p>It happened that Thorne’s roadster drew up under -the porte-cochère one May day and, removing dusty goggles, -he announced that he had come to talk about a scene -that stumped him.</p> - -<p>“I’ve traveled to Mecca to consult the Oracle.”</p> - -<p>Nancy shook hands enthusiastically. Dick had been -away for several days; her favorite mount, Lord Chesterfield, -had been taken to town by the head groom for -treatment under a famous “vet”; and endless dinners -had bored her to a state of loneliness known only to those -whose lives have hummed with activity. Her husband -would not be back until to-morrow and to put in a few -<a name="png.329" id="png.329" href="#png.329"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>319<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>hours with Ted in the atmosphere of the theater was a -welcome diversion.</p> - -<p>When they had discussed pros and cons and the kick -in the big scene; when the playwright in hushed voice -had told Dicky the usual pirate tale, and the three had -lunched together under the trees, Nancy jumped up.</p> - -<p>“Ted, will you run me into town this afternoon? I -want to have a look at Lord Chesterfield. He went lame -last week, you know.”</p> - -<p>Thorne beamed.</p> - -<p>“Bully! It’s a whale of a day. Why not stay in? -We can dine and I’ll run you out early.”</p> - -<p>But she refused. The kiddies were put to bed at -six-thirty and she wanted to be back before then.</p> - -<p>“I’ll take the train back. Don’t bother about that.”</p> - -<p>She came downstairs presently buttoned into a gray -topcoat. From under a tight little turban the sunset hair -waved, held by a gray veil.</p> - -<p>They tore out of the grounds, along roads of glass at a -pace that left both breathless. Nancy felt the sluggishness -of the past few days lashed out of her blood. It -flew happily to her cheeks, tingled to her finger tips, sent -the laughter into her lips as the man beside her gave the -latest bits of Broadway gossip, the latest funny story -from a region teeming with them. She stored them up -for Dick, picturing his enjoyment when on his return next -day she should give them with all her embellishment of -mimicry.</p> - -<p>The first pungent scent of summer, clover and sweet -grass and occasional great mounds of hay, rose from the -meadows as they sped past. The vault above was -<a name="png.330" id="png.330" href="#png.330"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>320<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>intensely turquoise and without a cloud. It would be a -heavenly night with a young silver moon etched against -the sky and all things filmed by its light. She wished -Dick were going to be home. They could have taken a -tearing ride like this with all the countryside to themselves.</p> - -<p>The breezes became sultry. City smoke crept in. The -car jerked over cobbles, dodging barelegged youngsters -and wedging at last into the clatter of Queensboro Bridge. -Nancy’s nose crinkled. She had come to hate the city -with its odors and noises and strained faces and heavy -air, all the elements which had passed unnoticed when -she was part of it and a struggler.</p> - -<p>From the cluttered Eastside they went through the -district whose boarded doors and windows like the blank -eyes of the blind proclaimed it fashionable; then the -dust-covered green of the Park and out at the street in -the Sixties where down the block three windows blinked -coquettishly.</p> - -<p>Nancy descended, held out a hand. “Good luck, Ted. -And let’s hear it when you’ve got it ready.”</p> - -<p>His alert gaze was bright with satisfaction. “You’ve -set me on the right track. You always do.”</p> - -<p>She waved as he drove off, then rang the bell beside -the big door. It swung back slowly, heavily, and the -head-groom stood in the opening. She caught the look -of surprise that swept over his face, passing as quickly -after the manner of well-trained servants who are supposed -to have no emotions.</p> - -<p>“How is Lord Chesterfield?” she inquired, stepping -out of the sunlight.</p> - -<p><a name="png.331" id="png.331" href="#png.331"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>321<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“He’s not been so fine to-day, madam. I think there’s -pain in the left forefoot.”</p> - -<p>“I want to have a look at him.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, madam.”</p> - -<p>He closed the door, led the way to the run. But Nancy -started toward the stairs.</p> - -<p>He turned. “Is there anything I can do for you, -madam?”</p> - -<p>“No, that’s all right, Jarvis. I’ll just leave my coat -and come down.”</p> - -<p>“I can take it.” He stepped forward hastily, with -rather a note of apology. “The painters are up there, -madam. The rain of two days ago made a leak in the -roof and I had to have them in. The place is in something -of a mess.”</p> - -<p>But Nancy was already halfway up the stairs. “It -doesn’t matter.”</p> - -<p>She disappeared, dropped her coat on the divan in -the gray room, and looked ceilingward. No sign of repairs -there. Probably the leak was at the front of the -house.</p> - -<p>Turning into the hall she noticed that Jarvis had followed -her.</p> - -<p>“Pardon me, madam—will you be coming down to -see Lord Chesterfield now?”</p> - -<p>“Just a minute.”</p> - -<p>She threw open the double oak doors at the end. And -her breath stopped as she did on the threshold.</p> - -<p>A stream of sunshine flecked with motes came through -the far window and centered on the couch. Lounging -there in a position of uttermost comfort was Dick and -<a name="png.332" id="png.332" href="#png.332"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>322<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>at his feet, hatless and cross-legged like some willing -slave of the harem, Lilla Grant. A look of flame was -in his non-committal eyes and in her heavy ones, languor. -The ripe red lips were raised. From her fingers a cigarette -dangled as he leaned close and struck a match. -All too evident, though, that it was not to light the cigarette -those lips were lifted.</p> - -<p>Nancy’s hand went to her throat. That was all. -Went to her throat and clung there.</p> - -<p>The two started at the sound of another’s presence. -The match halted. Cunningham looked up. He -straightened, sat for an instant without moving, then -got to his feet.</p> - -<p>The provocation faded from Lilla’s lips. A moment -before she had had the unmistakable air of being -perfectly at home. Now as she followed the man’s -sharp glance she stiffened. Uneasily she too rose and, -as neither of the others spoke, gave a nervous little -laugh.</p> - -<p>“Why, Nancy, this is a coincidence! We’ve been expecting -Ted Thorne for tea and only half an hour ago -tried you on the phone to get you, too.”</p> - -<p>Nancy made no attempt to refute the glib lie. She -simply stood gazing at her husband as if her eyes were -touching him. Then she turned away.</p> - -<p>“I think—I won’t wait,” she managed to say and -went out, closing the door.</p> - -<p>At the other side she stopped, hands pressed tight -to her lips, and waited for courage to go forward.</p> - -<p>Partway down the stairs she saw Jarvis looking up. -Fright grayed his face.</p> - -<p><a name="png.333" id="png.333" href="#png.333"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>323<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“I’ll see Lord Chesterfield now,” she told him and -followed to the run.</p> - -<p>With gaze straining through the train window an hour -later at meadow and woodland she did not see, she was -carried back to Restawhile, to the babies waiting for -her.</p> - -<p>The moon rose, as she had pictured it, paling the -trees outside her room and the lawn beneath.</p> - -<p>At last her door opened. Cunningham entered, closing -it softly, switched on the lights and saw her sitting -hunched in a chair, with eyes bewildered as if they could -not realize the thing they had revealed. He spoke her -name—once, twice. She did not even glance at him.</p> - -<p>“Nancy, answer me!”</p> - -<p>She turned slowly.</p> - -<p>“I ask you not to jump at conclusions. Nancy—”</p> - -<p>“Yes!”</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you wait?”</p> - -<p>Her gaze locked with his incredulously. “You think -I could have waited?”</p> - -<p>“I understand,” he put in hastily. “That’s why I -made no attempt to detain you. The situation was awkward.”</p> - -<p>She laughed. It might have been a cry from the soul.</p> - -<p>“Awkward, nothing more!” he hurried on. “I admit, -it looked damning. I, myself, would have judged -as you did. But I give you my word—”</p> - -<p>She swept it aside.</p> - -<p>“Jarvis tried to keep me from going up. That alone -proves—”</p> - -<p>“Jarvis is a servant, with the view point of his class.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.334" id="png.334" href="#png.334"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>324<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -She uttered the thought that had been spinning round -in her brain. “He would scarcely have tried to protect -you if that had been her first visit.”</p> - -<p>“Why not? He concluded because a woman happened -to be there with me—alone—Bah,” he broke off, “that -end of it’s not worth considering! What you think is -all that concerns me. And what you think is only too -evident.”</p> - -<p>“What I think—what I think!” Her hands clasped -and unclasped incessantly. Her voice came strangled.</p> - -<p>He had been pacing up and down. Now he pulled -a chair close to hers.</p> - -<p>“But you’re wrong, dear. It’s circumstantial evidence -and worth as much. I came back to-day unexpectedly, -looked in at the uptown office before going home and -found a message from Lilla, asking me to see her this -afternoon without fail. I called her hotel and arranged -to meet her at the stable. Jarvis had notified me that -Lord Chesterfield was seedy and it occurred to me that -by having her come there, I’d save time.”</p> - -<p>“You—” the words came haltingly as if difficult to -speak—“you didn’t seem in haste when I saw you.”</p> - -<p>“Come now—be sporting, dear.” He tried to make -a laugh cut the tension. “You know my interest in the -theater.”</p> - -<p>“Yes—I know.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Lilla’s consulted me any number of times about -one thing or another. And she has a Bohemian way of -establishing palship that you don’t understand.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t I?”</p> - -<p>“No. I wouldn’t want you to. But the fact remains -<a name="png.335" id="png.335" href="#png.335"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>325<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>that Lilla on the floor with a cigarette in her mouth -means no more than another woman at the tea table.”</p> - -<p>She made no reply.</p> - -<p>“Of course she lied when she said we were expecting -Thorne,” he pursued. “You knew that, didn’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. He was out here to-day and motored me in. -But I’d have known anyway.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t understand why it’s so much easier for women -to lie than tell the truth.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps men teach them it’s easier.”</p> - -<p>There was a breath without words.</p> - -<p>“For instance,” she went on monotonously and her eyes -dropped to the hands clenched against her knees, “you’re -going to tell me I’ve no right to misjudge either you -or Lilla.”</p> - -<p>“Why, my dearest,” Cunningham lifted her lowered -face, looked long into it. “There’s nothing mysterious -in the whole affair. Kane offered to star her in a new -production if she’d get him the backing and she -wants me to put up the money. That’s the long -and short of it. I had every intention of consulting -you.”</p> - -<p>She drew away, looking at him straight and direct. -Her lips opened but closed without speech. She had been -on the point of asking how it happened that he had -arrived in town a day ahead of time without letting her -know, why he had failed to telephone. But she could -not bring herself to question him. And he gave little -time.</p> - -<p>Lifting both her hands he unlocked them, drew them -to his breast and met her eyes unwavering.</p> - -<p><a name="png.336" id="png.336" href="#png.336"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>326<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Lilla and I are nothing more than good pals, like—like -you and Thorne. I want you to believe that.”</p> - -<p>“It’s impossible, Dick—after what I saw to-day.”</p> - -<p>“Why? Have you ever before had cause to doubt -me?”</p> - -<p>“No.” She hesitated a bit before admitting it.</p> - -<p>“Then why seize on the first occasion?”</p> - -<p>“Seize on it? Seize on it?” She gave another low -breathless laugh. “That—that’s funny! Seize on my -own misery—seize on the shattering of all I hold dear!”</p> - -<p>“You’re nervous and hysterical now and things look -monstrous. But I know you too well to think this -mood can last.” His hands crept toward her shoulders. -All through the interview there had been no conflict -on his part, no man-woman antagonism, just an assumption -of honest effort to convince her. And now he -adroitly resorted to the means by which he had won -her, a man’s most convincing way of setting himself right, -the lover’s. He drew her, resisting, out of the chair—enfolded -her in his arms—bent his lips, whispered: -“No other woman could mean anything while I have -you. Don’t you know that?”</p> - -<p>A moment passed, longer than any she had ever lived -through. Then, so low that he could scarcely hear: -“I’m going to believe you, Dick—because I want to believe -you,” she said.</p> - -<p>Neither of them referred to it again. As if by mutual -agreement the matter was sealed. Whatever scar the -experience had left so far as Nancy was concerned, her -lips were closed as the lips of the dead.</p> - -<p>When eventually she heard through Thorne that along -<a name="png.337" id="png.337" href="#png.337"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>327<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>the Rialto it was whispered Lilla actually was considering -an offer from Kane, she felt immensely relieved. -Dick had told her the truth then about that end of it. -Why was the rest not true as well?</p> - -<p>And as if to assure her, his devotion duplicated that -of their honeymoon. Her happiness seemed the thought -paramount, her peace of mind his topmost concern. It -continued so until business called him West, the tangle -that for some time had been knotting his California -interests. The letters he sent, when they were not of -her and the children, spoke of his boredom after affairs -of the day were done with, of the humidity and discomfort -of the rainy season and emphasized his eagerness to return. -They came from various coast cities—San Francisco, -Sacramento, Santa Barbara, Los Angeles.</p> - -<p>“It’s possible you may not hear from me the next -few weeks,” a final communication told her. “I find it -necessary to go to New Mexico to look into a railroad -proposition. For a time I may be located miles from -any post office. But know that I’m safe and thinking -of you, my dearest, and expect me back sometime in -September.”</p> - -<p>Nancy packed when it arrived and left to visit the -Bishops at Newport. Stopping overnight in town, she -ran into Coghlan on his way to the Knickerbocker Grill, -daily trysting place of managers.</p> - -<p>“Say, what d’you think of Lilla?” He chortled in -the midst of pouring out plans for the coming season. -“Gone to Hawaii to get atmosphere before she signs up -for that lead. Atmosphere! Can you beat it? Paying -her own expenses, too. Told her she was crazy, but -<a name="png.338" id="png.338" href="#png.338"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>328<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>nothing to it—had to go. Developing too much temperament -for her own good, that kid!”</p> - -<p>Nancy had not yet brought herself to the point of -hearing Lilla’s name without wincing. But she managed -a smile and asked: “When does she return?”</p> - -<p>“Next month sometime. Told her rehearsals begin -the fifteenth whether she’s on the job or not. So you -can bank on it, she’ll be here.” His appraising yet impersonal -glance ran the length of Nancy’s graceful figure, -from the wide hat shading her eyes to the narrow brown -pumps and slim ankles. “All to the good, Nancy,” he -sighed regretfully, “all to the good! Just home and -mother stuff too! And, by golly, five years ago I guyed -myself into thinking I’d turn you out the greatest actress -in America!”</p> - -<p>She wondered vaguely as she sped toward the worldly -paradise whose gates had swung wide to her whether -old Jerry was right. Would she have become a great -actress or just the darling of a few fickle years? That -girl with her wild dark eyes and swirl of golden hair, -would the public she had loved have wept and laughed -with her to-day? She wondered and smiled reminiscently, -a smile with a tear, like some bittersweet memory -of the dead.</p> - -<p>At the station she was met by her host, otherwise -known as Mary Bishop’s husband, and in a supremely -groomed car was driven through supremely groomed -streets, ultra as the leaders who dwelt there. Courty -Bishop sat back beside her, caressed his waxed mustache -and regaled her with choice bits of news, just as -Coghlan had regaled her the day before. After all, she -<a name="png.339" id="png.339" href="#png.339"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>329<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>told herself, there wasn’t much difference in the two -worlds. Appraisingly, but with a look not quite so impersonal -as that of her former manager, the sophisticated -eyes turned to scan her beauty while his facile -tongue rambled on.</p> - -<p>“I say—you top ’em all, Nancy! What a risk that -boy, Dick, takes—leaving you alone so long!”</p> - -<p>“Not so much of a risk,” she laughed, mentally placing -her husband next to the little man.</p> - -<p>“But what the deuce takes him such a distance this -time of year?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, railroad stuff.”</p> - -<p>“Bore—the tropics in midsummer!”</p> - -<p>“Tropics?”</p> - -<p>“Well,—that’s what I’d call the Hawaiian Islands. -One of my men, McIntyre, met him on the way out. -Wrote that if Cunningham didn’t kick at going, guessed -he couldn’t. But why in hades—”</p> - -<p>The woman beside him heard no more. Hawaii!! -Like some giant machinery against her ears, his words -became a whirr. She smiled mechanically, as so many -women have done, while the world stood still.</p> - -<p>Fate had lifted the prompter’s hand and slowly the -curtain descended on Act II of Nancy Bradshaw’s life -drama.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h3 title="Chapter III—Act III"><a name="png.340" id="png.340" href="#png.340"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>330<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>CHAPTER III—ACT III</h3> - - -<p class="dropcap"><span class="dropcap">The</span> hum of arrival in that great hive, the Grand -Central, kept up an incessant drone. Scurrying -figures swarmed like bees from the gates to disappear -into the night. Red caps raced back and forth, elbowing -one another in the rush for spoils. City husbands -reached out eagerly from roped-off lines to country -wives and sunburned youngsters. Embraces and -laughter and inarticulate efforts to tell everything in -one moment kept the air abuzz. Life, centralized in -one small area of space, was at its busiest.</p> - -<p>Into this hubbub from the Lake Shore Limited swung -a man in tweed suit, the porter at his side laden with -the trappings of a long trip. His big shoulders pushed -through the throng into the lighted terminal and he looked -around. Rapidly his glance traveled from face to face, -then back along the congested line and once again its -length. A look of annoyance that brought brows together -followed the swift scrutiny and he made for the -telephone booths. Impatiently he gave the operator a -number, concentrating his gaze on her while she made -the Long Island connection. When some three minutes -later he emerged from the booth, the look of annoyance -had changed to anger.</p> - -<p>With characteristic stride of authority he moved across -the crowded stone floor, bounded up the steps and waited, -peering at his watch in the outer gloom as taxis unloaded -their burdens and took on others. When his turn came -<a name="png.341" id="png.341" href="#png.341"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>331<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>he sprang in, gave the address of a small select hotel -off Fifth Avenue and all the way there sat staring fixedly -out at the lighted shops, his lips a thin, angry line.</p> - -<p>The line had not disappeared as he stepped from the -elevator to the door of a suite and imperatively rang -the bell. It was opened by a girl in nursemaid’s cap -who gave a start when she saw who it was. He pushed -past with the same look he had cast about the station. -Then he turned abruptly, sending at her a volley of -rapid-fire questions.</p> - -<p>Madam was not there, she answered. Yes, the children -were, but Mrs. Cunningham had gone to dinner and -the theater. No, she did not believe any telegram had -been received from him. Madam, she was sure, had -not expected him to-night. They had been in town since -the beginning of the week. No, Mrs. Cunningham had -not gone out with any one. To The Coghlan Theatre, -she believed.</p> - -<p>Her curious gaze followed him as he went down the -hall to the elevator. Then softly she shut the door.</p> - -<p>At ten minutes to nine he strolled into The Coghlan -Theater, the last of a fashionably late audience.</p> - -<p>The place was packed and he leaned leisurely against -the rear balustrade to wait for the curtain before trying -to locate his wife.</p> - -<p>Across the footlights palm trees swayed, recalling the -land of secrets he had left behind. Something about -the sensuous atmosphere so realistically reproduced -made him turn away. Then his eyes took in the woman -who held the center of the stage. Her voice—low, -beautifully modulated—rolled toward him. Her eyes, -<a name="png.342" id="png.342" href="#png.342"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>332<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>burning black, turned in his direction. He gripped the -rail, bent over it.</p> - -<p>Nancy!! In spite of the dark wig and olive tinted -skin, there was no mistake! Nancy—on the stage of -The Coghlan! The sudden sharp crackle of a program -broke the stillness.</p> - -<p class="poster">NANCY BRADSHAW<br - />in<br - />“Broken Wings”</p> - -<p class="noindent">There it was—Nancy Bradshaw—staring at him from the -sheet he had not troubled to read.</p> - -<p>Nancy! Mrs. Richard Cunningham!</p> - -<p>He made the lobby like a bull gone mad. Generations -of training, years of the will to control, were as if they -had never been. He was the outraged male, bent on -destroying the thing which had defied him.</p> - -<p>Outside he found Coghlan who, from the box-office, -had glimpsed him sauntering in and evidently anticipated -precisely what had happened.</p> - -<p>Jerry’s good-natured face with its row of chins was -hard as an iron mask as he blocked Cunningham’s onrush.</p> - -<p>“Hello, there,” he said genially, reaching out a hand.</p> - -<p>Cunningham’s fists clenched white.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got to see my wife.”</p> - -<p>“Well, can’t see her from anywhere but in there until -after the performance. Nobody goes backstage—strict -orders.” Then smiling broadly, “Made a hell of a hit! -You ought to be damn proud of her.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to see her <em>now</em>!”</p> - -<p><a name="png.343" id="png.343" href="#png.343"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>333<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -Jerry grinned serenely. “Don’t blame you. Should -have been here Monday for the opening—sensation, old -man! Always said that in five years she’d be the greatest -actress in the country. And take it from me—”</p> - -<p>From within, a swelling volume of applause told the -fall of the curtain.</p> - -<p>Cunningham made a lunge to pass the figure that -blocked him.</p> - -<p>“Careful, careful, old boy!” came firmly from the manager. -“Hold tight there! They’ll be coming out—take -it easy.”</p> - -<p>The other man’s face was set.</p> - -<p>“I’ve told you—”</p> - -<p>“And I tell <em>you</em>! This is my theater! Anybody who -causes any disturbance gets out!”</p> - -<p>A prominent clubman sighted Cunningham at this -juncture and hurried across the lobby. From that moment -Nancy’s husband was forced to assume an easy pride -calculated to disarm gossip, forced to become the center -of a throng bent upon congratulating him on his wife’s -success.</p> - -<p>During the ten minutes of intermission he bore it with -a smile chiseled on his handsome face, then left the -theater as the lights went low. Back to the hotel he -tramped, turned and retraced his steps like some madman -muttering to himself. Then up and down the dark -alley of the stage entrance, watching for signs that the -final curtain had fallen, unable to consider the sane and -sensible alternative of waiting for his wife in the privacy -of her own rooms.</p> - -<p>When at last they stood face to face under the -<a name="png.344" id="png.344" href="#png.344"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>334<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>brilliant lights of her dressing-room it was evident Coghlan -had warned her.</p> - -<p>She was alone. In the little room where they had met -five years ago they met once more. And to-night as that -night a flame like a living thing darted between them. -Then it had been white and warming. Now it filled -the place, a devastating fury. But in the face of it she -stood calm.</p> - -<p>It would have taken an observer less self-absorbed -to note that her hand trembled as it grasped a chair-back, -that her breath came quickly. In silence they -measured each other. In silence she waited, her eyes -never leaving him.</p> - -<p>At last he spoke and his voice was as hard as that -of a judge pronouncing extreme penalty.</p> - -<p>“Well—have you anything to say for yourself?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head and not defiance but sadness -was in the look she sent him. “Nothing I <em>want</em> to -say.”</p> - -<p>“You realize, of course, that I’m going to put a stop -to this business here and now.”</p> - -<p>Again that look—half regret, half sorrow.</p> - -<p>“You can no longer put a stop to anything I do.”</p> - -<p>In his unreasoning wrath the actual import of her -words missed him.</p> - -<p>“I don’t care what contracts you’ve made—to-night -finishes them.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose we try to talk this over quietly”—she gave -a slight gesture of weariness as she sat down before her -dressing-table—“if it must be discussed.”</p> - -<p>“Must be discussed? Good God! I come back after -<a name="png.345" id="png.345" href="#png.345"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>335<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>three months, ring my home, find that my wife has moved -into town without a word to me—”</p> - -<p>“You forget—you had overlooked giving me your address.”</p> - -<p>“And come up against the fact,” he rushed on, “that -she’s taken advantage of my absence to put over— -What’s your explanation of this damned outrage?” he -broke off hotly.</p> - -<p>Her eyes, tense and brilliant, held his. He gave a -short laugh.</p> - -<p>“I assume you and Coghlan have concocted one.”</p> - -<p>“Coghlan has no idea of my reason for doing it. He -merely knows that in July I sent word to him that I -would take this part if Lilla Grant refused it. He didn’t -wait to find out, though she cabled him a week later -saying Kane was going to star her.”</p> - -<p>“And you thought I’d let you get away with it! After -five years of living with me you thought I’d stand for -anything like this!”</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t matter whether you stand for it or not.”</p> - -<p>He had been pacing up and down, hands thrust into -his pockets, ready to plunge through the walls. Now -suddenly he veered about, stood rooted.</p> - -<p>“I mean it.” Softly she answered his amazement. -“I’m back on the stage because I realize how little my -leaving it meant to you.”</p> - -<p>He went close to her then, threat in every line of -his big frame.</p> - -<p>“You’re my wife—the mother of my children.”</p> - -<p>“Yes—that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“All?”</p> - -<p><a name="png.346" id="png.346" href="#png.346"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>336<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“I bore your name, I bore your children. I gave up -the stage to do both. And in giving it up, I sacrificed -your love.”</p> - -<p>Her back was turned but out of the shadows of her -triple mirror gazed a face white with pity of him, with -suffering for the thing which, through him, both had lost.</p> - -<p>“Sacrificed my love?” he began as a man feels his -way along paths he is not sure of. “What in heaven’s -name gave you that idea?”</p> - -<p>“Please,” she stopped him with a swift gesture, -“please—don’t speak of it! I can’t bear it!”</p> - -<p>“Look here, Nancy,” came somewhat more calmly, -“this is nonsense—silly woman stuff. I’m not saying you -didn’t think you had some rational excuse for doing this -thing. But it’s out of the question. It simply can’t -continue. I made that clear when I married you. Boredom -or restlessness or the sort of unreasoning mood -that gets hold of women probably drove you to it.”</p> - -<p>“You drove me to it,” she answered quietly.</p> - -<p>“What’s got over you?” he came back sharply. “You -talk like a mad woman.”</p> - -<p>“No—I’m quite sane. I see quite clearly—too clearly. -I’ve had plenty of time to go over it—to face the truth. -I thought when I married you that you loved the woman -in me. Now I know it was the actress. You loved me -for the thing I gave up because I loved you—the glamour -of the stage. Popularity—the fact that I was conspicuous -made me desirable. You demanded that I -sacrifice all that. And when I did, I became the same -to you as hundreds of women you’d known, women you -were tired of. You cut me off completely from my old -<a name="png.347" id="png.347" href="#png.347"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>337<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>life, except as a spectator—then sought in that old life -the thrill and interest I could no longer give you.”</p> - -<p>She paused. Her hand went to her throat as it had -that day in the house of the fir trees.</p> - -<p>“All these five years when I’ve longed for a glimpse -of it—just a glimpse—to become part of it again if only -for a little while, I’ve felt guilty, almost as if I’d been -untrue to you. I’ve thrust the thought aside as something -unworthy. I’ve let you fill my life. Well,” she -paused, “now I’ve gone back to it. I’ve gone back to -the thing that made you love me. And I’ve gone—to -stay.”</p> - -<p>Defiance at last leaped at him. It tore from her, as -they stood measuring each other, like a panther from -some rustling jungle. It gripped his throat.</p> - -<p>“Woman excuses!” he brought out at last. “Without -rhyme or reason to back them! Well, they won’t -answer. I’m still waiting for a straight, rational explanation. -Suppose you let me have it—now.”</p> - -<p>“All right, I will. I didn’t want to, but since you -demand it you shall have it. I’ve given you my reason, -my motive. I’ve told you what sent me back to the stage. -But the thing that brought me to my senses, that made -me realize the truth, can be summed up in just three -words<!-- TN: original reads "word" -->: Hawaii—Lilla Grant.”</p> - -<p>She spoke as if merely voicing them were tearing open -a wound unhealed, spoke them so low that they came -like a breath.</p> - -<p>And hearing, he straightened, stood silent, too stunned -to think of an answer.</p> - -<p>The noise of slamming doors and scurrying feet beat -<a name="png.348" id="png.348" href="#png.348"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>338<span class="ns">] - </span></span></a>instead against the stillness, all the echoing movements -that strike bare walls when the play is done.</p> - -<p>“It was rather funny—wasn’t it?—that I should have -believed you that first time,” she went on. “But I -told myself what I had seen was impossible; that if I -had given up the thing that was life to me, surely you -wouldn’t go back to it for the fascination of grease-paint -and footlights. Surely you couldn’t seek in another -woman the thing you had denied me! That’s why I accepted -your half truths—eagerly. Because I wanted to—and -one does so many foolish things when one wants -to. That’s why it was so much harder when I did find -out.”</p> - -<p>“Nancy—” he began.</p> - -<p>“Please don’t try to explain this away!” came breathlessly. -“It can’t be set right. It’s done! And I’d -like to go on being friends, because, you see, I <em>did</em> love -you.”</p> - -<p>“Then—” he seized on the note in her voice.</p> - -<p>“No! Never!”</p> - -<p>They were just two words, low as a conscience whisper. -But they closed the gates of what had been with the -grim certainty of fate. His steel-colored eyes—habitually -so sure of themselves—wavered. His fists gripped against -an enemy unknown. And only the woman whose gaze -locked with his knew that the enemy was himself.</p> - -<p>He looked down at the blonde head round which the -lights of the theater glimmered once more; those lights -he had torn away to make her entirely his.</p> - -<p>“You mean that?” he brought out at last.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p><a name="png.349" id="png.349" href="#png.349"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>339<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“Finally?”</p> - -<p>“It can’t be otherwise—now.”</p> - -<p>He turned swiftly on his heel and went the length of -the room, then back to where she stood. He pulled up -sharp and his lips snapped together.</p> - -<p>“All right. But you leave one item out of the reckoning. -As long as you bear my name, you respect it! -If you persist in this—I’ll divorce you.”</p> - -<p>“The name is yours. I am Nancy Bradshaw again.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by that?”</p> - -<p>“Only what I said. You can have it back any time -you want. I won’t make a move to stop you. You -can have everything you’ve ever given me—everything. -The one thing I had a right to keep—you’ve taken away. -So what else matters?”</p> - -<p>She walked slowly over to where her clothes hung behind -a cretonne curtain, took down a black hat and pulled -it over her shining hair. She stood there, shoulders -drooping, head bent.</p> - -<p>Outside the soft shuffle of the old watchman’s feet -told he was going the rounds. Good-nights had been -tossed from one to another of the departing company. -That heavy quiet of night in a darkened theater rolled -backstage. The world of make-believe had vanished. -Only the shell remained.</p> - -<p>Cunningham leaned a bit heavily against the door. For -the first time life had thwarted, left him impotent, and -a new sensation, when unpleasant, is difficult to handle.</p> - -<p>The woman he had loved and desired, the woman -who had stirred him, who had been his, came toward -him as to a stranger.</p> - -<p><a name="png.350" id="png.350" href="#png.350"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>340<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a> -“I’m afraid I must go,” she said.</p> - -<p>He roused himself to a final stand.</p> - -<p>“You realize,” came hoarsely, “that I’ll fight this—fight -it to a finish? You realize as well that the children -will come to me?”</p> - -<p>Pain for what had been and what might have been; -memories, all that had made these moments a requiem, -vanished from her voice. She went close to him. Like -his own her body went taut, her hands tense, her head -high. Primitive even as himself, she met him, ready -for combat.</p> - -<p>Suddenly something in her answering gaze, in the -black of her eyes that could flame up like two live -things, made clear the writing on the wall.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think you’ll try to do that. I shan’t attempt -to keep them from you, of course. But they’re mine, -you know,—and <em>I</em> haven’t forfeited the right to -them.”</p> - -<p>Without another word, she stood waiting for him to -step aside. He hesitated, made as if to speak, then -turned abruptly and the slam of a door resounded like -thunder.</p> - -<p>One by one she turned off the lights. Out across -the familiar boards she went to the center of the stage, -set for to-morrow. Face lifted to the darkness, she stood -where had come to her the struggle eternal—success, -conflict, love, renunciation. And to her lips came the -question woman will always ask, the question always unanswered: -“Why?”</p> - -<p>And so the curtain descended on Act III of Nancy -Bradshaw’s life drama.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chap"> -<h2 title="The Curtain Falls"><a name="png.351" id="png.351" href="#png.351"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>341<span class="ns">]<br - /></span></span></a>THE CURTAIN FALLS</h2> - - -<p>The lights of the auditorium flame high. The audience -rises. It has stepped down from the footlights. It -moves in undulating tide toward the wide-flung doors.</p> - -<p>Beyond those doors is night, the world of care. The -brief hours of living in a house of dreams is over. Forgetfulness -gives place to memory. The spirit of the -theater lifts its magic touch from tired eyes.</p> - -<p>Backstage all is dark and wondering. Have we played -our parts as an audience and sensed its heartbeats? Have -we smiled its smiles? Teased its vanity? Gained its -approval? We of this little play—have we succeeded in -our striving to make a critical throng throb to it? Back -of the swaying curtain, before which one of asbestos has -dropped heavily, all is wild hope, eager prayer, despairing -question.</p> - -<p>The house of dreams is empty, the soft-armed chairs -shrouded as if each held a pale ghost. Is it to be alight -or dark? Do we live or die?</p> - -<p>To-morrow holds the answer.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="tnote"> -<h2>Transcriber’s Note</h2> - -<p>A small number of clear typographic errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Consistent period spelling has been retained, as has inconsistent hyphenation.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="full" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOOTLIGHTS***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 60950-h.htm or 60950-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/0/9/5/60950">http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/9/5/60950</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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