“Austin, I’m afraid of Bryton. I’m afraid he’ll try to prevent the performance in some way. I saw him in the street outside just now, and yesterday he did his best to persuade me to throw up my part.”
“What a scoundrel he is!” Dick exclaimed. “But, of course, I have no fear of his succeeding. You’d never throw me down that way.”
Marion Gray caught her breath suddenly. Her eyes were full of tears, and she was evidently in a very nervous condition.
“I’m glad you realize that much,” she faltered. “I couldn’t do such a thing as that, though sometimes it’s dreadfully hard——”
She broke off abruptly, and Merriwell looked at her questioningly.
“Hard?” he repeated.
Her face was turned away from him.
“Yes—hard to have you—make love—to me—on the stage,” she whispered chokingly.
Dick drew a quick breath. Great heavens! The girl was madly in love with Demarest, and she was as much as telling him so. There was no mistaking the tones of her voice. He had not thought of this complication, and for a moment he did not know what to do or say. He had no idea what the actor’s general attitude was toward this extremely attractive young woman, and, even if he had, he could never bring himself to behave in a sentimental manner toward the girl who was mistaking him for another man.
“There, my dear,” he ventured presently, in Demarest’s whimsical tones, “you’re worried sick over this fellow Bryton. There’s nothing to be afraid of. He can’t stop the performance now. Come, it’s time we started the ball moving. The stage must be waiting for us.”