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As she was leaving, Annie gave into her hands a pasteboard box, just brought to the house by a messenger boy. The box was full of Jacqueminot roses, to the stems of which a note from Corthell was tied. He wrote but a single line: "So it should have been 'good-by' after all." She can wear them to her dance to-night," she said.
She wanted him to love her, to pay her all those innumerable little attentions which he managed with such faultless delicacy. To say: "No, Mr. Corthell, I do not love you, I will never be your wife," would this time be final. He would go away, and she had no intention of allowing him to do that. But abruptly her reflections were interrupted.
In the box the conversation turned upon stage management, and Corthell told how, in "L'Africaine," at the Opera, in Paris, the entire superstructure of the stage wings, drops, and backs turned when Vasco da Gama put the ship about. Jadwin having criticised the effect because none of the actors turned with it, was voted a Philistine by Mrs. Cressler and Corthell. But as he was about to answer, Mrs.
Corthell got out of his evening coat, and Evans brought him his smoking-jacket and set the little table with its long tin box of cigarettes and ash trays at his elbow.
It seemed to her that it would be the most delicate chivalry on his part having won this much to push his advantage no further. She waited anxiously for his next words. She began to fear that she had trusted too much upon her assurance of his tact. Corthell held out his hand again. "It is good-night, then, not good-by." "It is good-night," said Laura.
Thus it ran: "Please do not try to see me again at any time or under any circumstances. I want you to understand, very clearly, that I do not wish to continue our acquaintance." Her letter to Corthell was more difficult, and it was not until she had rewritten it two or three times that it read to her satisfaction. "My dear Mr.
But she had no more than time to register a swift impression of the details, when he came quickly forward, one hand extended, the other holding his cap. "I cannot tell you how glad I am," he exclaimed. It was the old Corthell beyond doubting or denial.
Ah, but she would make amends now. No more Verdi and Bougereau. She would get rid of the "Bathing Nymphs." Never, never again would she play the "Anvil Chorus." Corthell should select her pictures, and should play to her from Liszt and Beethoven that music which evoked all the turbulent emotion, all the impetuosity and fire and exaltation that she felt was hers. She wondered at herself.
"After all," said Corthell, "this music seems to be just the right medium between the naive melody of the Italian school and the elaborate complexity of Wagner. I can't help but be carried away with it at times in spite of my better judgment." Jadwin, who had been smoking a cigar in the vestibule during the entr'acte, rubbed his chin reflectively. "Well," he said, "it's all very fine.
The Cresslers and the Gretrys were invited, together with Sheldon Corthell and Landry Court. Jadwin brought up some of the horses and a couple of sleighs. On Christmas night they had a great tree, and Corthell composed the words and music for a carol which had a great success.
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