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Updated: May 17, 2025
"Certainly my leading lady won't make Nona much like YOU!" Wayworth one day gloomily remarked to Mrs. Alsager. There were days when the prospect seemed to him awful. "So much the better. There's no necessity for that." "I wish you'd train her a little you could so easily," the young man went on; in response to which Mrs. Alsager requested him not to make such cruel fun of her.
Wayworth sat for an hour with the old lady, who understood everything and to whom he could speak frankly. She gave him a touching picture of her niece's condition, which was all the more vivid for the simple words in which it was expressed: "She feels she isn't right, you know she feels she isn't right!" "Tell her it doesn't matter it doesn't matter a straw!" said Wayworth.
They looked at each other with eyes that, for a lurid moment, saw the worst of the worst; but before they parted they had exchanged vows and confidences that were dedicated wholly to the ideal. It is not to be supposed, however, that the knowledge that Mrs. Alsager would help him made Wayworth less eager to help himself.
When they said "she," in these days, they always meant Violet Grey, though they pretended, for the most part, that they meant Nona Vincent. "Oh yes," Wayworth assented, "she wants so to!" Mrs. Alsager was silent a moment; then she asked, a little inconsequently, as if she had come back from a reverie: "Does she want to VERY much?"
Wayworth was approached at the same moment by a gentleman he knew as one of Mrs. Alsager's friends he had perceived him in that lady's box. Mrs. Alsager was waiting there for the successful author; she desired very earnestly that he would come round and speak to her.
Wayworth was sceptical he had seen Miss Violet Grey, who was terribly itinerant, in a dozen theatres but only in one aspect. Nona Vincent had a dozen aspects, but only one theatre; yet with what a feverish curiosity the young man promised himself to watch the actress on the morrow! Talking the matter over with Mrs. Alsager now seemed the very stuff that rehearsal was made of.
You were perpetually throwing over the cargo to save the ship, but what a motion you gave her when you made her ride the waves a motion as rhythmic as the dance of a goddess! Wayworth took long London walks and thought of these things London poured into his ears the mighty hum of its suggestion.
Wayworth qualified it as a senseless thing, but wished to know what had led to the discovery. She characterised this inquiry as superficial for a painter of the ways of women; and he doubtless didn't improve it by remarking profanely that a cat might look at a king and that such things were convenient to know. Even on this ground, however, he was threatened by Mrs.
"I thought you might have thought I was asleep." "Indeed you were, sir, when I came in with the lamp and well you'd earned it, Mr. Wayworth!" The landlady came back an hour later to bring him a telegram; it was just as he had begun to dress to dine at his club and go down to the theatre. "See me to-night in front, and don't come near me till it's over."
They sank to rest quickly, but he felt it to be long before he could back away, before he could, in his turn, seize the manager by the arm and cry huskily "Has it really gone REALLY?" Mr. Loder looked at him hard and replied after an instant: "The play's all right!" Wayworth hung upon his lips. "Then what's all wrong?" "We must do something to Miss Grey." "What's the matter with her?"
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