He resented, too, the airy changes from tart rage to suavity. Their talks became a tedious, uncertain duet with one performer unwilling. Gurdy strolled into the cottage and Olive Ilden looked up from a novel. “What have you been quarrelling with Margot about?” she asked. “Not quarrelling.” “Nonsense. I could see you through the doors. You were quarrelling and she began it. Tell me.” She closed the book and regarded him, not smiling, from her wicker chair. There was an odd alarm in her eyes under which hollows showed. The negligent trail of her black gown was dusted with cigarette ash. Gurdy stared, upset. “We weren’t quarrelling. Cosmo Rand’s making an ass of himself at the rehearsals. She rather planted him on Mark. Mark’s so sensitive about Cora Boyle that Russell--the man who’s rehearsing ‘Todgers’--and I don’t want to worry Mark with the mess. I wanted Margot to write Rand a note and tell him to buck up. He’s holding the rehearsals back. Here it’s almost the first of November. Mark’s got a theatre in Washington for a couple of weeks from now and the play isn’t half ready.” Olive tapped a cigarette holder on the walnut, Dutch table and looked at the floor. Then she raised her eyes and smiled, spoke without artifice. “I shan’t let her write to Rand, Gurdy. She’s too much interested in him. I don’t like it. She cabled him to come over here as soon as she’d bullied Mark into buying the rights to ‘Todgers Intrudes.’ The little idiot thinks him a great actor. I’m sure I don’t know why. I don’t at all like this. I only found it out yesterday. Mark wouldn’t like it. The man’s married and if he happens to tell people Margot sent for him--I quite understand theatrical gossip, Gurdy. Mark’s a great person and it would make quite a story. And of course there are rats who don’t like Mark.” “How did you find this out, Lady--” “In the silliest way. I was talking about Ronny Dufford and Margot began to argue that this wretched play is really good. She rather lost her temper. She told me you’d tried to persuade Mark not to produce the thing to spite her. I--” Olive laughed unhappily, “I hadn’t the faintest idea that you’d quarrelled. You’re rather too cool, old man. I’ve been teasing you all this time fancying that you were wildly in love with the child and it seems that you’re at odds.--Oh, It’s all utter nonsense, of course! But I don’t like it. It’s a pose. She rather prides herself on being unconventional. And the silliest part of it is that she feels she’s done Mark a favour.” “She’s probably cost him about fifteen thousand dollars,” said Gurdy. This was antique, this tale of a handsome, dapper actor and a girl gone moonstruck over his pink face. Gurdy grunted, “We can’t tell Mark this. He’d be upset. It’s idiotic.”