'I told him that I should leave him and go away somewhere with Anne.'

'Anne wouldn't go, of course.'

'You're right. She wouldn't when I asked her this morning, or I should be on my way to Paris by now.'

'If he treated you really badly,' said Sir Charles, 'she would have gone. It must be that she knows there's nothing in it.'

'I've offered to remain, on condition that we are merely friends. And he won't hear of it.'

'No wonder,' said Sir Charles. 'Now Hyacinth you know you've always been a spoilt child and had everything on earth you wanted. You must remember in life sometimes little things won't go right.'

'Anything might have gone wrong--anything in the world, and I would have borne it and not cared--but _that_!'

'I would do anything to see you happy again,' he said. 'You know that.'

She looked up. There is a tone in the accents of genuine love that nothing can simulate. She was touched.

'Look here, Hyacinth, promise me to do nothing without letting me know.'

'I promise, Charles.'

'And I a.s.sure you that everything will come right. I know--I've had a little experience of the world. Won't you trust my judgement?'

'I'll try. You are a comfort, Charles.'

'And to think that I came to you for consolation!' he said. 'Well, Hyacinth, I shall bury this--forget all about it. Next time I see you you'll be beaming again. It's a pa.s.sing cloud. Now, what do you think I've got to do? I've got to go home and fetch Janet to go to a meeting of the Dante Society at Broadwater House.'

'Good gracious! What on earth does Aunt Janet know about Dante?'

'Nothing, indeed. I believe she thinks he wrote a poem called "Petrarch and Laura." But someone told her it's the right thing to do; and when Janet thinks anything is the right thing--!' He took his hat and stick.

'Try and forgive Cecil. I'm sure he adores you. We all do.'

'Thanks, Charles. And I do hope Aunt Janet won't be wearing her green bonnet this afternoon.'

'Thank you, dear, I trust not. Good-bye.'

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

Rehearsing

'How did you get on at the rehearsal today?' Edith asked.

Bruce was looking rather depressed.

'Not very well. You can't think how much jealousy there is in these things! When you rehea.r.s.e with people day after day you begin to find out what their real characters are. And Mitch.e.l.l always had a very nasty temper. Of course, _he_ says it's quick and soon over. He thinks that's the best kind to have. I think he's rather proud of it. The fact is he has it so often that it's as bad as if it were slow and not soon over.

First of all, you know, there was a kind of scene about whether or not I should shave for the part of the footman. _He_ said I ought. _I_ declared I wouldn't ruin my appearance just for the sake of a miserable little part like that; in fact, I might say for a few minutes in a couple of hours during one evening in my life! At last we compromised.

I'm to wear a kind of thing invented by Clarkson, or somebody like that, which gums down the moustache, so that you don't notice it'

'But you don't notice it, anyhow, much.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'I don't mean anything. But I never heard of anybody noticing it. No-one has ever made any remark to me about it.'

'They wouldn't take the liberty. It can't have pa.s.sed unnoticed, because, if it had, why should Mitch.e.l.l ask me to shave?'

'There is something in that, I must admit,' she answered.

'Well, I consented to this suggestion of Mitch.e.l.l's, though I don't like it at all, and I daresay it will spoil my appearance altogether. It was about something else we had a bit of a tiff this afternoon. We were going through the whole play, and one or two people were to be allowed to see us. Mitch.e.l.l said he expected a certain manager, who is a pal of his, to criticise us--give us some hints, and so on. I saw a man who hadn't been there before, and I spotted him at once. He looked like a celebrity. Without waiting for an introduction, I went up and asked him what he thought of our performance. He said it seemed all right. Then I asked him if he considered my reading of my part what he would have done himself, and he laughed and said, "Yes, very much the same." We were criticising the other actors and having a long talk--at least _I_ was having a long talk,--_he_ didn't say much--when he suddenly said, "I'm afraid you must excuse me," and went away. Then Mitch.e.l.l came up to me and said, "How on earth is it you had so much to say to that chap?" I said (still believing he was the manager) that he was an old acquaintance of mine, at least, I had known him a long time--on and off--and that he seemed very pleased to see me again. Mitch.e.l.l said, "Oh, you met him before today, did you?" I answered, "Yes, rather," and I said, "He was very friendly, I must say. He's very pleased with my performance. I shouldn't be surprised if he sends me a box for his First Night. If he does you must come, you and Mrs Mitch.e.l.l." As a matter of fact, I _had_ hinted that I should like a box for the First Night at the Haymarket, and he had laughed good-naturedly, and said, "Oh, yes." So it was really no wonder that I regarded that as a promise. Well, when I told him that, Mitch.e.l.l said, "He offered you a box, did he? Very nice of him. You know who he is, don't you? He's a man who has come to see about the electric lighting for the footlights. I've never seen him before." Now, you know, Edith, it was a most infernal shame of Mitch.e.l.l to let me make the mistake with his eyes open. Here was I talking about acting and plays, deferentially consulting him, asking for artistic hints and boxes from an electrical engineer! Oh, it's too bad, it really is.'

'So you quarrelled with Mitch.e.l.l again?'

'We had a few words.'

'Then the manager was not there?'

'No; he'd promised, but didn't turn up. I told Mitch.e.l.l what I thought of him in very plain terms. I went so far even as to threaten to throw up my part, and he said, "Well, all right, if you don't like it you can give it up at any time," I said, "Who else could you get at the last minute to play a footman's part?" and he said, "Our footman!"'

'That would be realism, wouldn't it?'

'I was awfully hurt, but it was settled I was to stick to it. Then there are other things. That horrid Miss Flummerfelt--how I do dislike that girl--had been silly enough to go boasting to Mrs Mitch.e.l.l of my invitation to lunch the other day.'

'Boasting!' said Edith.

'Yes, it was a shame, because of course I only asked her simply and solely as a way of returning some of the Mitch.e.l.ls' hospitality--'

'Then why did you mind their knowing?' Edith inquired.

'I _didn't_ mind their knowing. How stupid you are, Edith. But I objected strongly to the tone in which Miss Flummerfelt had evidently spoken of it--to the light in which she had represented the whole thing.

Mrs Mitch.e.l.l came up to me in her soft purring way--what a horrid little woman she is!'

'Why, you told me she was so sweet and charming!'

'I didn't know her so well then. She came up to me and said, "Oh, Mr Ottley, will you think it rude of me if I suggest that you don't ask dear Elsa out to lunch any more? She said it's so awkward always refusing, but she's not allowed to go out like that without her mother.

In fact, though her father is German by birth, she's been brought up quite in the French style. And though, of course, we know you meant no harm, she's positively shocked. You really mustn't flirt with her, Mr Ottley. She doesn't like it. In fact, she asked me to speak to you about it." There was a nice position for me, Edith! Isn't Miss Flummerfelt a treacherous little beast?'

'I thought you said she was so enormously tall. A regal-looking creature was what you called her the first time you met her. Anyhow, you must have been trying to flirt with her, Bruce. I think it rather serves you right. Well, what happened?'

'I said that I was very much astonished at Miss Flummerfelt's misunderstanding me so completely. I even said that some girls have a way of taking everything as if it was meant--in that sort of way, and that I had only asked her to lunch to meet my wife. But, of course, I promised not to do it again. And now it will be rather awful at the rehearsals, because Mrs Mitch.e.l.l, of course, told her back, and Miss Flummerfelt and I don't speak.'

'Well, after all, it doesn't matter so very much. You only have to announce her. It's with the woman who plays Lady Jenkins you have your longer scene, isn't it? What is she like?'

'Mrs Abbot, do you mean? Oh, I don't think much of her. She's acted before and thinks herself quite as good as a professional, and frightfully smart. She's the most absurd sn.o.b you ever saw. She had the cheek to criticise me and say that I don't move about the room naturally, like a real footman. I told her, rather ironically, that I was afraid I'd never been one. So she answered, "Still, you might have seen one." Oh, I have a good deal to go through, one way and another!'