Willard's hand jerked. He caught the pipe again, and rose halfway out of his chair.
"But he said"
"He said to me last night, not a penny. I saw him at the Globe-Journal office. He was as lordly as the statue of himself over in the comer. After mature consideration (hur-rum), he had decided that for reasons of policy and discretion it would not be well to lend the name of Canifest to theatrical enterprises. Weight of the name! He wasn't to appear at all, blast him. I say, Willard, it shakes you up, doesn't it? Aren't the managers so keen on your work as they used to be — or as Marcia was? So, if you don't get this engagement…"
He stopped.
"I never pretended to be a great actor, John," Willard said quietly. "But I don't think I deserved that."
After a silence Bohun passed his hand across his eyes. Then he replied, just as quietly: "I beg your pardon, old man. So help me God, I wouldn't have said that… I think you must know by now that I'm an egotistical ass who's usually afraid to talk; and when I do talk I only mess things up. I didn't mean it. But the shock of all these things together… Not that it matters now. Rainger must have talked to Canifest, that's all. I didn't think Rainger knew. If only Marcia hadn't been such a fool’
Again he caught himself up, from a different cause this time. By mutual consent both of them ignored what had been just said about Willard, but Willard took him up rather sharply on this.
"Knew?" he repeated. "What are you referring to there?" "Nothing."
"Not even, for instance, a suggestion that our distinguished publisher had been considering making Marcia Lady Canifest?"
Bohun cackled. "That's rot, and you must know it. D'you think she'd have him? — Where did you pick up that idea?"