“At any rate, your success has not made you vain, Doris,” he said with grim approval.
“If it should make any one vain, it should you—not me, dear,” she said, quietly. “It was you made last night’s Juliet, good or bad.”
“Very well,” he said; “I’ll be vain for both of us. Yes, it is a wonderfully good critique, and I think the news of your success will reach London, too. There were a couple of critics from London in the stalls; I didn’t tell you last night, in case it should make you nervous.”
She looked at him thoughtfully.
“I don’t think it would have made much difference,” she said. “I seemed to forget everybody and everything——”
“After the second act,” he put in.
She blushed to her temples.
“There was a distinct change, then; I noticed it, and I have been puzzling my brain to account for it. Perhaps you can explain it.”
She shook her head, and kept her eyes on her plate.
“No? Strange. But such inspirations are not uncommon with genius; and yours is genius, Doris.”