"You can’t possibly go to-night," she burst out. "Evidently these people"—she made an impatient gesture that indicated Alexandra—"don’t know that it’s the last night of your season, and that you’re booked to leave for America in three days’ time. Or probably they don’t care. To think of throwing up your part at a moment’s notice and letting the curtain come down in your absence is madness. You must stop for your speech. If you want to you can go first thing to-morrow, though you’ll probably have a wire by then to say your wife’s better and won’t see you for worlds!" A boy put his head in at the door. "Your call, sir," he announced. Lambert got up, the towel still in his hand, the paint still on his face. Alexandra watched the indecision in it. Had he enough strength of mind to come? Or would he let self-interest prevail? "Hugh, do be guided by me," begged Miss Mantel. "Think of your career. There will be call on call for you at the end of the show. The house is full of pressmen. Are you going to throw away hundreds of pounds’ worth of gratuitous advertisement?" That last argument decided him. Publicity, the acclamation of the crowd, the opportunity to pose before it, to deliver the carefully-prepared speech, egotistical yet full of sham humility, were temptations he was unable to resist. With a quiver of his painted lips that owed nothing to solicitude for a wife who lay between life and death, he said: "I’ll come in the morning;" and without looking at Alexandra, made for the stage. She heard the thunder of applause that greeted him. To the little tin gods the plaudits of the multitude are as the music of the spheres. XXIV It was verging on midnight when Chalfont came out of the sick room to hear the result of Alexandra’s errand. The moment he saw that she was alone, limp and tired from her journey, he knew it had failed. He had had the forethought to have some cold supper ready for her, and while she ate a little of it and drank the glass of champagne which he insisted on her taking, he answered her many questions about Mrs. Lambert. In tones of sad resignation he told her that the operation had been successful but that there was little hope. She had taken the anesthetic badly and was still under its influence. "So Lambert wouldn’t come?" he asked, when the painful subject was exhausted. "I believe he was willing to come," she replied. "I saw him alone first. But Miss Mantel came in and dissuaded him. It was a last night. He had to make a speech. She urged him to stay. He’s very weak, I think. He said he would come in the morning. Can I go to her?" "Better not. The nurse will let us know when she is conscious. It oughtn’t to be long now. Lie down on the sofa and try to sleep."