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Updated: May 15, 2025
Even if it was so, still she must not think it. She must say to herself over and over again "Brent or no Brent, I shall get on I shall get on" until she had silenced the last disheartening doubt. Miss Francklyn, with Fitzalan on her left and Spenser on her right, was seated opposite Susan.
Her heart ached. After the play Fitzalan took the authors and the leading lady, Constance Francklyn, and Miss Lenox to supper in a private room at Rector's. This was Miss Francklyn's first trial in a leading part.
He chewed savagely at his cigar, looking about the while for things to grumble at or to curse. Rod? He is still writing indifferent plays with varying success. He long since wearied of Constance Francklyn, but she clings to him and, as she is a steady moneymaker, he tolerates her. Brent? He is statelily ensconced up at Woodlawn. Susan has never been to his grave there.
He had carefully coached Miss Francklyn to play the part of unsuspected "understudy" Susan saw that before they had been seated in Jack's ten minutes. And she also saw that he was himself resolved to conduct himself "like a gentleman."
Spenser was not a good liar. His face twisted and twitched so that Susan laughed outright. "Why, you look like a caught married man," cried she. "You forget we're both free." "Whatever put that crazy notion in your head about Miss Francklyn?" demanded he. "When you take me or anyone for that big a fool, Rod, you only show how foolish you yourself are," said she with the utmost good humor.
And she understood why that very night he for the first time asked her to supper after the rehearsal with Sperry and Constance Francklyn, the leading lady, with whom he was having one of those affairs which as he declared to Sperry were "absolutely necessary to a man of genius to keep him freshened up to keep the fire burning brightly."
"Come on, my dear," cried Miss Francklyn, smiling sweet insolent treachery into Susan's face. Susan smiled sweetly back at her. As she was leaving the taxicab in Forty-fifth Street, she said: "Send Rod home by noon, won't you? And don't tell him I know." Miss Francklyn, who had been drinking greedily, began to cry. Susan laughed. "Don't be a silly," she urged. "If I'm not upset, why should you be?
At the door of the restaurant, Spenser said: "Susan, you and Miss Francklyn take a taxicab. She'll drop you at our place on her way home. Fitz and Sperry and I want one more drink." "Not for me," said Sperry savagely, with a scowl at Constance. But Fitzalan, whose arm Susan had seen Rod press, remained silent.
And how could I blame you two for getting crazy about each other? I wouldn't spoil it for worlds. I want to help it on." "Don't you love him really?" cried Constance, face and voice full of the most thrilling theatricalism. "I'm very fond of him," replied Susan. "We're old, old friends. But as to love I'm where you'll be a few months from now." Miss Francklyn dried her eyes.
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