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The love-scene between Moscovitch and the young girl seriously perturbed Braybrooke. He hoped, he sincerely hoped, that Adela Sellingworth would not be upset, would not think that he had chosen the Shaftesbury Theatre for their place of entertainment with any arriere pensee. He fancied that her face began to look rather hard and "set" as the act drew near its end. But he was not sure.
We don't change, I've always said it. We don't change!" And she looked from Craven to Lady Sellingworth. Moscovitch bowed many times. "Well, Mr. Braybrooke," said Miss Van Tuyn, "I've seen some acting in London to-night that I should like to show to Paris. Thank you!" She was more beautiful and more human than Craven had ever seen her before in her genuine enthusiasm.
And then they talked about Moscovitch and the persistence of a ruling passion till Braybrooke came back.
But suddenly there was applause and no one was looking at her. Moscovitch had walked upon the stage. "That man can act!" Miss Van Tuyn had spoken. "He gets you merely by coming on. That is acting!" And immediately she was intent on the stage. When the curtain fell Braybrooke got up resolutely and stood at the back of the box. Craven, too stood up, and they all discussed the play.
She had been going to show him a book of poems by a young American poet in whose work she was interested. And they would have talked over the little events of the preceding evening, have discussed Moscovitch, the play, the persistence of love, youth, age, everything under the sun. Craven was severely disappointed. He even felt rather angry and hurt.
It was the fascination of Moscovitch which held the audience tight and which brought thunders of applause when the curtain fell. "If that man acted in French he could have enormous success in Paris," said Miss Van Tuyn. "You have chosen well," she added, turning to Braybrooke. "You have introduced us to a great temperament."
About a singer, sir, who kept on loving like a young man when the age for it was really what one might call over, sir. But it seems that for some it never is over, sir." "Good heavens, have I done the wrong thing again?" thought Braybrooke, who had chosen the play almost at random, without knowing much about it except that an actor unknown to him, one Moscovitch, was said to be very fine in it.
And as over the theatres in letters of fire were written the names of the stars in the London firmament Marie Lohr, Moscovitch, Elsie Janis so over, all over, Lady Sellingworth seemed to be written for Craven to read: "I am really not a Bohemian." "Do you genuinely wish Lady Sellingworth to finish the evening at the Cafe Royal?" he asked of his companion. "Yes. They would love her there.
But Craven now acted well, for women's keen eyes were upon him. Presently they got up to go to the theatre, leaving the other quartet behind them, quite willing to be late. "Moscovitch doesn't come on for some time," said Mrs. Ackroyde. "And we are only going to see him. The play is nothing extraordinary. Where are you sitting?" Braybrooke told her the number of their box.
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