She knew well enough what the result would be if she left; the company would collapse. A man might be spared, and his place filled, or his parts doubled, but the loss of a woman would inflict irreparable injury upon the prospects of the theatre. Mr. Hart knew this also.
"You don't forget," he said gravely, "that we have your signature, and that if you leave without consent we can make you pay heavy damages!"
"That for my signature! that for your heavy damages!" Each time she snapped a disdainful finger.
"My dear lady," he said, in a soothing tone, "you are excited, you are overstrained. We have taxed you a little hardly. We'll play light pieces for a night or two, and give you a rest."
Inconsiderate man He could not more successfully have fanned the flame in her breast.
"You'll play no light pieces to give me a rest! Play light pieces, and give her the opportunity of taking leading characters! The shameless hussy! Not if I know it!"
Mr. Hart began to understand. This colloquy was taking place on the stage; the theatre was clear, the curtain was up. Down the stairs which led to the ladies' dressing-room tripped Margaret, fresh, and bright, and happy, with her bunch of flowers in her hand.
"Good night, Mr. Hart," she cried gaily.
In the shadow of the door which led on to the stage a man was waiting for her--Philip. They met, clasped hands--her supple fingers lay in Philip's great palm as in a nest, and he imprisoned them, be sure!--and walked out, side by side, chatting confidentially, with their heads close together. The Leading Lady saw this, and her anger rose higher; but still it was bitter gall to her to reflect that if she went away, the field would be clear for her rival.
Mr. Hart felt that he was on the horns of a difficulty; he could spare neither one nor the other of the ladies.