Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 17, 2025
"I like her because YOU made her!" she exclaimed with a laugh, moving again away from her companion. Wayworth laughed still louder. "You made her a little yourself. I've thought of her as looking like you." "She ought to look much better," said Mrs. Alsager. "No, certainly, I shouldn't do what SHE does." "Not even in the same circumstances?" "I should never find myself in such circumstances.
Miss Violet Grey was the auditor he had most to say to, and he tried on the spot, across the shabby stage, to let her have the soul of her part. Her attitude was graceful, but though she appeared to listen with all her faculties her face remained perfectly blank; a fact, however, not discouraging to Wayworth, who liked her better for not being premature.
"Mrs. Alsager." Violet Grey smiled more deeply. "It's the same thing." "And how did Mrs. Alsager save you?" "By letting me look at her. By letting me hear her speak. By letting me know her." "And what did she say to you?" "Kind things encouraging, intelligent things." "Ah, the dear woman!" Wayworth cried. "You ought to like her she likes YOU. She was just what I wanted," the actress added.
Allan Wayworth had returned to England, at two-and-twenty, after a miscellaneous continental education; his father, the correspondent, for years, in several foreign countries successively, of a conspicuous London journal, had died just after this, leaving his mother and her two other children, portionless girls, to subsist on a very small income in a very dull German town.
"Oh, have her 'done' have her 'done'!" the young man gently wailed. "I see what you mean, my poor friend. What a pity, when it's such a magnificent part such a chance for a clever serious girl! Nona Vincent is practically your play it will be open to her to carry it far or to drop it at the first corner." "It's a charming prospect," said Allan Wayworth, with sudden scepticism.
As everything in her, however, turned to gentleness, she was admirably hospitable to such people as a class. She believed Allan Wayworth could do something, and she liked to hear him talk of the ways in which he meant to show it. He talked of them almost to no one else she spoiled him for other listeners. How in the world could she express better?
"And the play would have seemed better if the performance had been better," Wayworth said, gloomily, from the corner of the brougham. "She does what she can, and she has talent, and she looked lovely. But she doesn't SEE Nona Vincent. She doesn't see the type she doesn't see the individual she doesn't see the woman you meant. She's out of it she gives you a different person."
It was impossible to make out what the manager liked or disliked; no judgment, no comment escaped him; his acceptance of the play and his views about the way it should be mounted had apparently converted him into a veiled and shrouded figure. Wayworth was able to grasp the idea that they would all move now in a higher and sharper air than that of compliment and confidence.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking