Actresses -- Fiction; Dramatists -- Fiction; Love stories; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction
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 and
trust me."
Douglass was moved to their defence, and strove during the remainder of
the ride to add to Helen's pleasure; and this effort on his part made
her 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 succeed
this time I will utterly despair of the public. I know how sweet you
will 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 neglected
at rehearsal."
"I know you will," he answered, feelingly.
She was better than her promise, laboring tirelessly in the effort to
embody through her company the poetry, the charm, which lay even in the
smaller roles of the play. That one so big and brusque as Douglass
should be able to define so many and such fugitive feminine emotions was
a constant source of wonder and delight to her. The discovery gave her
trust and confidence in him, and to her admiration of his power was
added something which stole into her mind like music, causing foolish
dreams and moments of reckless exaltation wherein she asked herself
whether to be a great actress was not, after all, a thing of less profit
than to be a wife and mother.
She saw much less of him than she wished, for Hugh remained coldly
unresponsive in his presence, and threw over their meetings a restraint
which prevented the joyous companionship of their first
acquaintanceship.
More than this, Helen was conscious of being watched and commented upon,
not merely by Hugh and Westervelt, but by guests of the hotel and
representatives 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 no
part in the rehearsals, except to rush in at the close with some changes
which he wished embodied at once, regardless of the vexation and
confusion resulting. His brain was still perilously active, and not only
cut 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 not
merely carrying the burden of _Lillian's Duty_, and directing rehearsals
of the new piece--she was deeply involved in the greatest problem than
can come to a woman. She loved Douglass; but did she love him strongly
enough to warrant her in saying so--when he should ask her?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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