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Updated: June 3, 2025
Crayford, taking no part in the conversation, had been watching him, and listening to him more and more attentively as that conversation went on. Within the last moment or two Wardour had become instinctively conscious of this. He resented Crayford's conduct with needless irritability. "Why are you staring at me?" he asked. "Why are you looking unlike yourself?" Crayford answered, quietly.
"Opera's going to be the big proposition!" was his art cry. There was no doubt of Jacob Crayford's influence upon him. He was the first person who turned Claude's mind seriously toward opera, and therefore eventually toward a villa in Algeria. Having launched the song with success, Alston Lake naturally wished to hear more of Claude's music. Claude played to him a great deal of it.
Her glassy eyes suddenly soften then close. A long shudder runs through her. A faint flush shows itself on the deadly pallor of her face, and fades again. Her limbs fail her. She sinks into Mrs. Crayford's arms. The servants, answering the call for help, carry her into the house. They lay her insensible on her bed.
And Crayford's verdict on Charmian was, "She's a wonderful little lady. I know her, and I say she's a peach. Heath did the cleverest thing he ever did in his life when he married her." Charmian really had influence with Crayford, and she used it, revelling in a sense of her power and importance. He consulted her about many points in the performance.
And Madame Sennier, though she nodded and said a few words, scarcely seemed to remember who Charmian was. Only once did Charmian see a peculiarly keen expression in the yellow eyes as they looked at her. That was when some mention was made of a project of Crayford's, his intention to build a big opera house in London. Madame Sennier had shrugged her shoulders.
Her cheeks were still burning when she pushed the heavy door which protected the mysterious region from the banality she had left. But there she was again carried from mood to mood. She found everyone enthusiastic. Crayford's tic was almost triumphant. His little beard bristled with an aggressive optimism. "Where's Claude?" said Charmian, not seeing him and thinking of Mrs. Shiffney.
The fierce eyes, the hard voice, softened under Crayford's influence. Richard Wardour's head sank on his breast. "You are kinder to me than I deserve," he said. "Be kinder still, and forget what I have been talking about. No! no more about me; I am not worth it. We'll change the subject, and never go back to it again. Let's do something. Work, Crayford that's the true elixir of our life!
No, don't call her, Bibi, we will find her!" "Look well on the stage that boy!" said Crayford's voice. "No mistake at all about its being picturesque over here." Then the two men came in sight in the sunshine. Instantly Alston said, as he took off his Panama hat: "You got my wire from Marseilles, Mrs. Charmian?" "Oh, yes, I was expecting you! But I didn't know when. Mr.
Her hand twitched more convulsively under Susan's as she thought of, waited for, the sound. The locust scene was a triumph for Crayford, Mr. Mulworth, and Jimber. The scene which succeeded it was a triumph for Alston Lake. Whatever else this night might bring forth one thing was certain; Alston had "made good." He had "won out" and justified Crayford's belief in him.
Still looking at him attentively, Crayford picked it up. "There is your handkerchief, Richard," he said. "Strange!" "What is strange?" "You told us you had hurt yourself with the ax " "Well?" "There is no blood on your handkerchief." Wardour snatched the handkerchief out of Crayford's hand, and, turning away, approached the outer door of the hut. "No blood on the handkerchief," he said to himself.
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