“Not for a minute!” “But--but”--she was laughing a little--“it's outrageous. Here are two successes--right here on Broadway--both by Peter--each a preachment and each flatly contradicting the other. Do you mean to say that somebody won't point it out?” “What if somebody does? Who'd care? The public can't think either, you see. They're like Pete, all they can see is effects. And, of course, the main chance. They love his effectiveness. And they admire him for succeeding. I'm not sure, myself, that he isn't on the way to becoming what they call a great man.” CHAPTER XXXIX--A MOMENT OF MELODRAMA |THEY wandered into the crowded lobby. Friends were there from Greenwich Village. There was a high buzz of excitement. Jaded critics were smiling with pleasure; it was a relief, now and then, to be spared boredom. Peter had spared them. Peter himself appeared, wearing his high hat--flushed, his eyes blazing, but unsmiling. He held a folded envelope against his shirt-front. Acquaintances caught at him as he passed. One critic publicly congratulated him. It was an ovation; or it would have been had he responded. But he saw, out near the entrance, through the crowd, the face of Sue Wilde. He pressed through to her side. “Sue,” he murmured in her ear. “I want to see you? How about to-morrow? Lunch with me perhaps? I've written something....” His excited eyes wandered down to the paper in his hand. Sue, smiling a little, suddenly rather excited herself, pulled at the Worm's elbow. That young man turned. “It seems to be across, Pete,” he said casually. Peter glared at him. But the words he might have uttered, by way of putting this too casual old friend in his place, remained unsaid. For Sue, demure of everything excepting eyes, remarked: “My husband, Peter. We were married to-day.” The playwright dropped, in one instant, from the pinnacle of fame, money power, on which, for nearly two hours, he had been exultingly poised. His chin sagged. His eyes were dazed. A white pinched expression came over his long face. “Married--to-day!” He repeated the words in a flat voice. She nodded. “You must congratulate us, Peter. We're dreadfully happy.” Peter seemed unable, however, to say anything more. He continued to stare. The beginnings of a low laugh of sheer delight bubbled upward within Sue's radiant being. Peter heard it, or felt it. Suddenly he bolted--out through the crowd to the sidewalk. He brushed aside the enthusiastic hands that would detain him. He disappeared. There are conflicting reports as to what occurred after this. _The Evening Earth_ described the incident as taking place on the sidewalk directly in front of the theater. _The Press-Record_ had it on the farther corner, across the side street. _The Morning Bulletin_ and _The Continental_ agreed that the woman pursued him through the stage door.