XIV
At last the new play was finished and the author brought it and laid itin the hands of the actress as if it were a new-born child, and herheart leaped with joy. He was no longer the stern and self-absorbedwriter. His voice was tender as he said, "I give this to you in the hopethat it may regain for you what you have lost."
The tears sprang to Helen's eyes, and a word of love rose to her lips."It is very beautiful, and we will triumph in it."
He seemed about to speak some revealing, sealing word, but the presenceof the mother restrained him. Helen, recognizing the returning tide ofhis love, to which she related no self-seeking, was radiant.
"Come, we will put it in rehearsal at once," she said. "I know you areas eager to have it staged as I. I will not read it. I will wait tillyou read it for the company to-morrow morning."
"I do not go to that ordeal with the same joy as before," he admitted.
The company met him with far less of interest in this reading of thesecond play, and his own manner was distinctly less confident. Hugh andWestervelt maintained silence, but their opposition was as palpable as acold wind. Royleston's cynical face expressed an open contempt. Thelesser people were anxious to know the kind of characters they were toplay, and a few were sympathetically eager to hear the play itself.
He read the manuscript with some assurance of manner, but made nosuggestion as to the stage business, contenting himself with producingan effect on the minds of the principals; but as the girlish charm of_Enid's_ character made itself felt, the women of the company began toglow.
"Why, it's very beautiful!" they exclaimed.
Hugh, on the scent for another "problem," began to relax, and evenWestervelt grunted a few words of approval, qualified at once by thewhispered words, "Not a cent in it--not a cent." Royleston, between hisacts, regarded the air with dreamy gaze. "I don't see myself in thatpart yet, but it's very good--very good."
The reading closed rather well, producing the desired effect of "happytears" on the faces of several of the feminine members of the cast, andHelen again spoke of her pleasure in such work and asked them to "lendthemselves" to the lines. "This play is a kind of poem," she said, "andmakes a direct appeal to women, and yet I believe it will also win itsway to the hearts of the men."
As they rose Douglass returned the manuscript to Helen with a bow. "Irenounce all rights. Hereafter I am but a spectator."
"I think you are right in not attempting rehearsals. You are worn andtired. Why don't you go away for a time? A sea voyage would do yougood."
"No, I must stay and face the music, as my father used to say. I do notwish to seem to run away, and, besides, I may be able to offer asuggestion now and then."
"Oh, I didn't mean to have you miss the first night. You could come backfor that. If you stay we will be glad of any suggestion at anytime--won't we, Hugh?"
Hugh refused to be brought into any marked agreement. "Of course, theauthor's advice is valuable, but with a man like Olquest--"
"I don't want to see a single rehearsal," replied Douglass. "I want tohave the joy this time of seeing my characters on the opening nightfully embodied. If the success of the play depended upon my personalsupervision, the case would be different, but it doesn't. I trust youand Olquest. I will keep away."
Again they went to lunch together, but the old-time elation was sadlywanting. Hugh was silent and Douglass gloomy. Helen cut the luncheon fora ride in the park, which did them good, for the wind was keen andinspiriting and the landscape wintry white and blue and gold. Shesucceeded in provoking her playwright to a smile now and then by someaudacious sally against the sombre silence of her cavaliers.
They halted for half an hour in the upper park while she called thesquirrels to her and fed them from her own hands--those wonderful handsthat had so often lured with jewels and threatened with steel. No oneseeing this refined, sweet woman in tasteful furs would have related herwith the _Gismonda_ and _Istar_, but Douglass thrilled with suddenaccession of confidence. "How beautiful she will be as _Enid_!" hethought, as, with a squirrel on her shoulder, she turned with shiningface to softly call: "This is David. Isn't he a dear?"
She waited until the keen-eyed rascals had taken her last nut, thenslowly returned to the carriage side. "I like to win animals like that.It thrills my heart to have them set their fearless little feet on myarm."
Hugh uttered a warning. "You want to be careful how you handle them;they bite like demons."
"Oh, now, don't spoil it!" she exclaimed. "I'm sure they know me andtrust me."
Douglass was moved to their defence, and strove during the remainder ofthe ride to add to Helen's pleasure; and this effort on his part madeher eyes shine with joy--a joy almost pathetic in its intensity.
As they parted at the door of his hotel he said: "If you do not succeedthis time I will utterly despair of the public. I know how sweet youwill be as _Enid_. They must bow down before you as I do."
"I will give my best powers to this--be sure nothing will be neglectedat rehearsal."
"I know you will," he answered, feelingly.
She was better than her promise, laboring tirelessly in the effort toembody through her company the poetry, the charm, which lay even in thesmaller roles of the play. That one so big and brusque as Douglassshould be able to define so many and such fugitive feminine emotions wasa constant source of wonder and delight to her. The discovery gave hertrust and confidence in him, and to her admiration of his power wasadded something which stole into her mind like music, causing foolishdreams and moments of reckless exaltation wherein she asked herselfwhether to be a great actress was not, after all, a thing of less profitthan to be a wife and mother.
She saw much less of him than she wished, for Hugh remained coldlyunresponsive in his presence, and threw over their meetings a restraintwhich prevented the joyous companionship of their firstacquaintanceship.
More than this, Helen was conscious of being watched and commented upon,not merely by Hugh and Westervelt, but by guests of the hotel andrepresentatives of the society press. Douglass, in order to shield her,and also because his position in the world was less secure than ever,returned to his self-absorbed, impersonal manner of speech. He took nopart in the rehearsals, except to rush in at the close with some changeswhich he wished embodied at once, regardless of the vexation andconfusion resulting. His brain was still perilously active, and not onlycut and refined the dialogue, but made most radical modifications of the"business."
Helen began to show the effects of the strain upon her; for she was notmerely carrying the burden of _Lillian's Duty_, and directing rehearsalsof the new piece--she was deeply involved in the greatest problem thancan come to a woman. She loved Douglass; but did she love him stronglyenough to warrant her in saying so--when he should ask her?
His present poverty she put aside as of no serious account. A man sophysically powerful, so mentally alert, was rich in possibilities. Thework which he had already done entitled him to rank above millionaires,but that his very forcefulness, his strong will, his dominating idealismwould make him her master--would inevitably change her relation to theworld--had already changed it, in fact--she was not ready toacknowledge.
Up to this time her love for the stage had been single-minded. No manhad touched her heart with sufficient fire to disturb her serenity, butnow she was not merely following where he led, she was questioning thevalue and morality of her avocation.
"If I cannot play high roles, if the public will not have me in worklike this I am now rehearsing, then I will retire to private life. Iwill no longer be a plaything for the man-headed monster," she said oneday.
"You should have retired before sinking your good money in theseDouglass plays," Hugh bitterly rejoined. "It looks now as though wemight end in the police station."
"I have no fear of that, Hugh; I am perfectly certain that _Enid_ is toregain all our losses."
"I wish I had your beautiful faith," he made answer, and walked away.
Westervelt said litt
le to her during these days; he only looked, and hisdoleful gestures, his lugubrious grimaces, were comic. He stood to losenothing, except possible profits for Helen. She was paying him fullrental, but he claimed that his house was being ruined. "It will get thereputation of doing nothing but failures," he said to her once, in alast despairing appeal, and to this she replied:
"Very well. If at the end of four weeks _Enid_ does not pull up topaying business I will release you from your contract. I will free yourhouse of Helen Merival."
"No, no! I don't want that. I want you, but I do not want this crazy manDouglass. You must not leave me!" His voice grew husky with appeal."Return to the old plays, sign a five-year contract, and I will make youagain rich."
"There will be time to consider that four weeks hence."
"Yes, but the season is passing."
"Courage, mein Herr!" she said, with a smile, and left him almost intears.