"But get the angle on me right, Bobby," she hastened to amend. "I haven't loafed. Now, I've made good. From this on I can be the captain of my soul—and you can be pretty sure I will."
CHAPTER XV
TWO DISCOVERIES
Bob Maxwell was standing before the fire. He turned abstractedly and set his untouched glass on the mantel shelf.
"You've got a grouch, Bobby," lectured the young actress, "at a time when you ought to be all puffed up and chesty. Aren't you glad we made good in the same piece? It would be nice of you to say so."
He turned on her a face strangely drawn and his words came swiftly in agitation.
"Triumph, did you say? Don't you know that it's only when you get the thing you've worked for, that you realize it's not worth working for? That's not triumph—it's despair. Triumph means laying your prize at somebody's feet—" he broke off with a sort of groan. "To hell with such success!" he burst out with sudden bitterness. "To hell and damnation with the whole of it!"
For a long while the girl held him in a steady scrutiny. They had both forgotten me, silent in my corner. Her cheeks paled a little, and when finally she reiterated her old question, her steady voice betrayed the training of strong effort.
"Who is she?"