The Hillman

  XXVI

  "I suppose," Sophy sighed, as they waited for a taxicab, "we shall spendthe remainder of the evening in the usual fashion!"

  "Do you mind?" John asked.

  "No," she assented resignedly. "That play will end by making a drivelingidiot of me. Only think for yourself! At first we had to rehearse anextra month to please M. Graillot. I never had more than a dozen linesto say, even before my part was practically cut out, but I had to bethere every time. Now it has been running for I don't know how manynights, I have played in it half the time, and if your highness evervouchsafes me a few hours in the evening, you turn to me about nineo'clock with just the same plaintive expression, and murmur somethingabout going on to the theater!"

  "We'll do something else to-night," John proposed heroically. "I reallyhad no idea that you were so fed up with it."

  Sophy shook her head. They were in the taxicab now and on their way.

  "Too late!" she sighed. "Besides, my sense of economy revolts at theidea of your empty box. If Louise is tired to-night, though, I warn youthat I shall insist upon supper."

  "It's a bargain," John promised. "We'll drive Louise home, and then I'lltake you back to Luigi's. We haven't been out together for some time,have we?"

  She looked up at him with a little grimace and patted his hand.

  "You have neglected me," she said. "I think all these fine ladies haveturned your head."

  She drew a little closer to him and passed her arm through his. Johnmade no responsive movement. He was filled with resentment at thesensation of pleasure that her affectionate gesture gave him.

  "I might as well try to flirt with a statue!" she declared,discontentedly. "What makes you so unlike other people, you man ofgranite? You used to kiss me very clumsily when I asked you to, andnow--why, how hot your hand is!"

  John pushed her away almost roughly.

  "Yes, I know I did," he admitted, "and now I don't want to any more, doyou see? It's this cursed place and this cursed life! One's feet seemalways on the sands. I wouldn't have believed it when I first came here.Don't tease me, Sophy," he added, turning toward her suddenly. "I amrather inclined to despise myself these last few weeks. Don't make meworse--don't make me loathe myself!"

  She shrugged her shoulders a little pettishly as she leaned back in thecab.

  "You are nothing but a crank," she declared; "you and your brother, too!You've lived among those flinty rocks till you've become almost likethem yourselves."

  The taxi drew up at the theater. John, with a little sigh of relief, wasalready out upon the pavement. Sophy's eyes were still shining at himthrough her veil, as she walked lightly and gracefully by his side, buthe led the way in silence down the stairs to the box that he had takenfor the season.

  "And now," she exclaimed with a pout, as she leaned back in the corner,"my little reign is over! You will sit in the front seat and you willlook at Louise, and feel Louise, and your eyes will shine Louise, untilthe moment for your escape comes, when you can go round to the back andmeet her; and then you will try to make excuses to get rid of me, sothat you can drive her home alone!"

  "Rubbish, Sophy!" he answered, as he drew a chair to her side. "You knowquite well that I can't sit in the front of the box, for the veryprosaic reason that I haven't changed my clothes. We shall both have tolinger here in the shadows."

  "Well, there is some comfort in that, at any rate," Sophy confessed. "IfI become absolutely overcome by my emotions, I can hold your hand."

  "You had better not," John observed. "The stage manager has his eye onyou. If his own artists won't behave in the theater, what can he expectof the audience?"

  Sophy made a little grimace. "If they stop my three pounds a week," shemurmured, "I shall either have to starve or become your valet!"

  The curtain was up and the play in progress--a work of genius rather inits perfectly balanced development and its phraseology than in anyoriginality of motive. Louise, married as an ingenue, so quicklytransformed into the brilliant woman of society poking mild fun at theunsympathetic husband to whom she has been sold while still striving todo her duty as a wife, easily dominated every situation. The wittyspeeches seemed to sparkle upon her lips. While she was upon the stage,every spoken sentence was listened to with rapt attention. Graillot,seated as usual among the shadows of the opposite box, moved his headappreciatively each time she spoke, as if punctuating the measuredinsolence of her brilliance.

  Exquisitely gowned, full of original and daring gestures, she movedabout the stage as if her feet scarcely touched the boards. She was fullof fire and life in the earlier stages of the comedy. She heaped mildridicule upon her husband and his love-affairs, exchanged light sallieswith her guests, or parried with resourceful subtlety the constantappeals of the man she loved.

  The spell of it all, against which he had so often fought, came overJohn anew. He set his chair back against the wall and watched andlistened, a veritable sense of hypnotism creeping over his senses.Presently the same impulse which had come to him so many times beforeinduced him to turn his head, to read in the faces of the audience thereflection of her genius. He had often watched those long lines of faceschanging, each in its own way, under the magic of her art. To-night helooked beyond. He knew very well that his search had a special object.Suddenly he gripped the arms of his chair. In the front row of the pit,sitting head and shoulders taller than the men and women who loungedover the wooden rest in front of them, was Stephen. More than ever,among these unappropriate surroundings, he seemed to represent somethingalmost patriarchal, a forbidding and disapproving spirit sitting injudgment upon some modern and unworthy wantonness. His face, stern andgrave, showed little sign of approval or disapproval, but to John'sapprehending eyes the critical sense was there, the verdict foredoomed.He understood as in a flash that Stephen had come there to judge oncemore the woman whom his brother desired.

  At last the second act ended, and John pushed back his chair. Sophy,whose apprehensions were remarkably acute, especially where John wasconcerned, lifted the edge of the curtain and understood. She exchangeda quick glance with her companion.

  "He won't like it!" she whispered.

  "If only we could get him away before the next act!" John muttered.

  They both glanced once more into the auditorium below. Many of thespectators had left their places to stroll about. Not so Stephen.Unflinchingly he sat there, with an air of dogged patience. He hadbought a program and was reading the names, one by one.

  "Is there nothing we can do?" Sophy asked. "Couldn't we send amessage--persuade him that the last act isn't worth staying for?"

  John shook his head.

  "Stephen has come here with a purpose," he said gloomily. "I might haveguessed it. He will see it through. He will sit there till the end."

  The curtain went up again and the play moved on, with subtle yetinevitable dramatic power, toward the hated and dreaded crisis. Louise'smoment of combined weakness and strength was so wonderfully natural, sovery human, that its approach sent a thrill of anticipation through theaudience. The intense lifelikeness of the play predominated over everyother feeling. It was as if real things were happening, as if they werewatching and listening to a woman at the moment of her choice. And thenat last the tense moment, the sudden cessation of her husband's foolishlaughter and futile taunts, the supreme denouement with its interval ofbreathless silence.

  John, who was slowly tearing his program to pieces, turned his headtoward the spot where his brother was sitting in the dimmer light.Stephen's countenance seemed to have changed into the color as well asthe likeness of those granite rocks. The line of faces on either side ofhim appeared now curiously featureless. His eyes were still riveted uponthat closed door, his eyebrows had come together in a stupendous frown.

  Sophy had parted the curtain and was peeping through.

  "Nothing in the world could make him understand!" she murmured. "Do youthink it would be of any use if we met him outside?"

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bsp; John shook his head.

  "You can't convince people," he replied, "when you are unconvincedyourself."

  The play came to an end presently, amid a storm of applause. The grimfigure in the front of the pit remained motionless and silent. He wasone of the last to leave, and John watched his retreating figure with asigh. Sophy drew him away.

  "We had better hurry round," she said. "Louise is always very quickgetting ready."

  They found her, as a matter of fact, in the act of leaving. She welcomedthem naturally enough, but John fancied that her greeting showed somesigns of embarrassment.

  "You knew that I was going out to supper to-night?" she asked. "Ordidn't I tell you? The prince has asked the French people from HisMajesty's to meet M. Graillot at supper. I am hurrying home to dress."

  John handed her into her waiting automobile in silence. She glanced intohis face.

  "Is anything the matter?" she asked.

  "Nothing!"

  "The prince would have asked you, without a doubt," Louise continued,"but he knows that you are not really interested in the stage, and thisparty is entirely French--they do not speak a word of English. _Aurevoir!_ Sophy, take care of him, and mind you behave yourselves!"

  She waved her hand to them both and threw herself back among thecushions as the car glided off. John walked to the corner of the streetin gloomy silence. Then he remembered his companion. He stopped short.

  "Sophy," he begged, "don't hold me to my promise. I don't want to takeyou out to supper to-night. I am not in the humor for it."

  "Don't be foolish!" she replied. "If you stay alone, you will onlyimagine things and be miserable. We needn't have any supper, unless youlike. Let me come and sit in your rooms with you."

  "No!" he decided, almost roughly. "I am losing myself, Sophy. I amlosing something of my strength every day. Louise doesn't help as shemight. Don't stay with me, please. I am beginning to have moods, andwhen they come on I want to be alone."

  She drew a little closer to him.

  "Let me come, please!" she begged, with a pathetic, almost childlikequiver at the corner of her lips.

  He looked down at her. A sudden wave of tenderness swept every otherthought from his mind. His mental balance seemed suddenly restored. Hehailed a passing taxi and handed Sophy into it.

  "What a selfish pig I am!" he exclaimed. "Anyhow, it's all over now.We'll go back to Luigi's to supper, by all means. I am going to make youtell me all about that young man from Bath!"