“Oh, a splendid fellow. Did you ever hear that story about him——?” and they moved away.
Lord Cecil drank half his soda and brandy, and then went back to his box.
Meanwhile, a thrill of excitement seemed to run through those engaged behind the scenes. A theatre is rendered famous by its actors, and it seemed that the Theatre Royal, Barton, was going to be made celebrated as the place of the first appearance of a great actress.
“If she can only carry us through to the end!” muttered Jeffrey, as he paced to and fro, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes flashing fire.
“Oh, she’ll do it!” said the manager, who happened to hear him. “Don’t you be afraid, Mr. Jeffrey; that young lady is a genius! I knew it from the first. She will carry it through to the very last. And about the engagement now? You make your own terms, and I’ll agree to them. You’ll find me straight and honest——”
But Jeffrey paced on. He was an old theatrical hand, and he knew, full well, that a Juliet may score in the balcony scene and yet fail in the later and more important ones.
But there did not seem much fear of failure with Doris.
Off the stage, and in her dressing room, she was quiet and subdued, but the moment she got on the boards her eyes flew to the centre box, and she seemed to draw inspiration from the handsome face that leaned forward in rapt, almost devout, attention.
The play proceeded. The great scene, in which Romeo takes leave of Juliet, his newly-made wife, went with a rush. The audience cheered until it was hoarse. Thrice the young actress was called to the front, and everybody who had brought a bouquet flung it at her feet.
Jeffrey, pale and statuesque, implored Doris to be calm.