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Fortunately for her, summer audiences are not highly critical. Her youth and beauty pleased, and the local reviewers, susceptible like ordinary mortals to the charms of a pretty woman, were unusually indulgent. Some of them paid doubtful compliments, but what they said of her acting sounded good to Laura, who eagerly cut out the notices and mailed them to Brockton.
As they both remained there in silence, the front door bell rang, first gently and then more violently. Brockton went to open. Before he could reach it there was another ring. The caller, whoever it was, seemed in a good deal of a hurry. "D n that bell!" exclaimed the broker.
"I said 'common sense," rejoined Brockton quietly. "All right," replied his rival, more calmly. "Agreed?" demanded the broker. "You're on," muttered Madison. The Rialto, flooded with the warm sunshine of a glorious spring morning, presented its every-day aspect of leisurely gaiety and business bustle.
Turning her back on him, she went to the window, and stood there, gazing out into the street. Brockton watched her for a moment; then, with a covert smile, he said dryly: "If you don't mind, I'll stay here." Laura left the window, and coming back into the room, sat down at the piano. "Just as you please," she said, realizing that he was watching her, and trying her utmost to appear unconcerned.
Brockton will probably want you to do something. Later I think he'll have you pack up, just as soon as he finds I'm gone. I've got the address that you gave me. I'll let you know if you can come on." Hiding the ribbon inside her waist, the negress said suddenly: "Ain't yuh goin' to give me anything at all, jes' to remembuh yuh by? Ah've been so honest " "Honest?" echoed her mistress scornfully.
Eyeing the broker with savage determination, he deliberately and slowly covered him with the deadly weapon. Brockton, who had seen the movement, sprang quickly to his feet. Laura, terror stricken, screamed loudly and threw herself right in the line of fire. "Don't shoot!" she pleaded hoarsely. Madison kept his rival covered, but he did not shoot.
Straining her eyes, she tried to make out the little cloud of dust that would warn her of John's approach. She wondered what detained him. He said he would come at four o'clock, and now it was nearly five. Yet, perhaps, it was just as well. It would hardly do for the men to meet until she had had her talk with Will. The critical moment had come. She must tell Brockton everything.
What kind of a life could he, a penniless scribbler, give her compared with the comforts and gifts which Willard Brockton was able to shower upon her? Above all else, Laura had sought to be practical in life. She often declared that it was one of the secrets of her success. It was late in the day, therefore, to make a mistake of which only an unsophisticated beginner could be guilty.
But, thanks be," she added, laughing, "the world, the flesh, and the devil won. So cheer up, Mr. Brockton. It may happen again." "Oh, I'm not hopeless by any manner of means. I want her pretty badly, and I'm used to getting what I want.
"How long will you be gone?" asked Laura, as she toyed with a lobster claw and glanced around the café, to see who was there. "I've no idea," answered Brockton. "I may return day after to-morrow or I may be detained there a week or longer. It's a big job, you know in connection with floating a big issue of railroad bonds. There's a barrel of money in it.
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