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I had brought with me the manuscript of Searles's play, and I fell upon it irritably and began reading the first act. The dialogue moved briskly, and I read on as though enfolded in the air of a crisp spring morning. It was Searles's whimsical stroke, only with a better vehicle than he had ever before found for it. My grouch over the upsetting of my plans yielded under the spell of his humor.
The presence of Arrowsmith had put zest into the company, and I hadn't seen a better performance of Searles's play. The trio in the box joined in the prolonged applause at the end of the act. As they resumed their talk Alice, it seemed, was relating something of moment for Arrowsmith's benefit, referring now and then to Mrs. Farnsworth as though for corroboration.
Farnsworth's voice, then, mystified and awed, I crept down the ladder and stole away. "It's Dick Searles's play," I kept whispering to myself. It was the "Lady Larkspur" that he was holding back until he could find the girl who had so enchanted him in London and for whom he had written this very comedy with its setting in the Virginia hills.
Searles's voyage, as they expected soon to be en route for Europe. Mr. Searles said, "The cause of the 'Majestic's' delay was a broken propeller in rough seas off the Banks of Newfoundland. I am glad to reach New York." He had arrived at the Hotel at ten o'clock and already had been to lunch. Mr. Searles gladly accepted an invitation from Colonel Harris for a drive, Mrs.
I reviewed Searles's enthusiastic description of the young woman who had inspired him to write "Lady Larkspur," and could only excuse my stupidity in not fitting it to Alice the first time I saw her on the ground that Barton was the last place in the world I should have looked for her. And then, with all his exuberance, Searles hadn't done her justice!
"How lovely!" she said, looking about. "You got the end room, after all, didn't you? What splendid times you'll have! Oh, how plainly you can see Berry Searles's window! Has he spoken to you yet?" "Spoken to us, of course not! Why should he?" replied Katy: "he doesn't know us, and we don't know him."
For either I was stark, staring mad, or these were lines from Searles's "Lady Larkspur," the manuscript of which was carefully locked in my trunk. "That should be spoken a trifle more slowly, and with the best air of unpremeditatedness you can put into it," Mrs. Farnsworth was saying. "You can work it out better when you've memorized the lines.
She professed indignation when I told of my eavesdropping in the woods, but when I explained that I knew all about the play and Searles's despairing search for her she was enormously pleased. "How wonderful!" she exclaimed. "You know I told you, Constance, that if we really threw ourselves in the path of adventure mystery would come out to meet us in silken sandals."
I'd try to get the end room, if I were you. Mary Andrews and I had it once. There is a splendid view of Berry Searles's window." "Berry Searles?" "Yes; President Searles, you know; his youngest son. He's an elegant fellow. All the girls are cracked about him, perfectly cracked!
Bashford and I made no question that Searles's companion was indubitably my uncle's widow gave me her hand and smiled in a way that showed that she was not so greatly displeased with Alice as her words implied. "Pay that driver for me and don't fail to tip him. Those Methuselahs at the gate all but killed him.
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