The dining-room opened off the long passage on the ground floor, and already other members of the company had assembled for the midday meal, which must be eaten in haste before the rehearsal.
Mr. Jacobus was there, in the act of sitting down between two ladies at the head of a long table; but seeing Loveland he condescended to summon him with a gesture.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Bill's Star
Val could have laughed aloud as he imagined the old self of a few weeks since—the young and popular officer-in-the-Guards self—obeying the beckoning finger of such a man. But he walked towards it like a lamb, and was introduced to Mrs. Jacobus (Miss Moon) and Miss de Lisle.
As Star of the company, Miss de Lisle ought of course to have come first, but Miss Moon, the heavy lead ("heavy" in more senses than one) was not a lady to submit to such distinctions.
She would probably have said that Lillie de Lisle was a star only because it suited the convenience of Mr. and Mrs. Jacobus to head the troupe, financed by their money, with a pretty enough little soubrette, likely to take the popular fancy.
Miss Moon's first sweeping glance at the newcomer was one of self-conscious, important condescension; but seeing that he was an extremely handsome, well dressed young man, with an air and an appearance widely different from the tenth-rate actors of her acquaintance, past and present, her face and manner changed. Instead of posing as the manager's wife, she set herself to vie with Lillie de Lisle in youthful charm, as she sent forth a radiant, long-lashed look to fascinate Mr. Perceval Gordon.
She was a big woman of forty-two or three, with the splendid ruin of what had been a fine figure, an erectness of head which partly concealed the existence of a double chin, a complexion spoiled by a love of rich food and constant use of powder, singularly wide-open dark eyes fringed with painted lashes, and a good deal of bright crimson hair edged with rusty brown at the roots.