"If I can answer for her, she'll do no more acting after she's handed in her notice to you--two weeks, I suppose, like most contracts," Garth returned. "It's hard on you, in the middle of a run. But didn't I see in some Sunday supplement a photo of a beautiful young lady, labelled 'Miss Sorel's Understudy'? And as you say 'safety first!'--naturally I put my own safety before yours." "As if anyone would go to the 'Spring Song' to see Marise's understudy!" broke out Mrs. Sorel. "Well, in _my_ 'Spring Song' there's no understudy to take her part. She has to play it herself," retorted Garth. "But I leave the decision to her." As he spoke he looked straight at Marise--a warning look, as she read it. The thought of his threat was sharp as the point of a knife, pricking a painful reminder into her breast. The girl could hear every word he had said to her in the taxi between church and hotel--hear the whole conversation as though it were being repeated by a gramophone. If she ventured to promise Belloc and Sheridan now that she would stay on in spite of her marriage, this big, uncompromising fellow would turn his back on her, giving to the public some garbled story of the desertion, a story which would shame her and ruin Tony's plans. She could have stamped her foot and burst into tears, as the emotional Spanish "Dolores" had to do in one scene of the play: but the reporters were all eyes and ears, and would simply "eat" an exhibition of the star's fury with her brand-new bridegroom. Oh, she was at the beast's mercy in this first round of their fight--and well he must know it, or he'd not dare give her such a lead! "Of course Marise wouldn't leave two old friends in the lurch at a fortnight's notice," Mrs. Sorel gave her ultimatum. "This is only a joke of Major Garth's." "No, Mums, I'm afraid it isn't," said the girl, her cheeks hot, her eyes filling with tears. "We--we were talking things over in the taxi just now, and--and--well anyhow there's a fortnight to get Susanne Neville into shape as Dolores before I have to--go. She's so clever and pretty, I shall probably be jealous as a cat of the hit she makes in 'Dolores.'" Mrs. Sorel was stricken dumb for once. Not that she intended to let things fall to pieces in any such way; but she was sure Marise wouldn't pronounce what sounded like her own doom without reason. Mums would have it out with Marise and the Terrible Garth when everyone else had safely faded away. The best she could do was to go herself to the vestibule door when the reporters left in a body and breathe a few words to them. "I wouldn't take all this as being definitely decided, if I were you. There may be a quick change. Better say that nothing's settled." And again, when Belloc and Sheridan gloomily departed, "Don't give up. I'll 'phone you later. There's sure to be better news!"