‘You’ve got to give me a little bit of a chance here,’ said Miss Belmont, with her pretty little gloved hand on Paul’s shoulder. ‘You see, it’s your forgiveness melts me, and if you forgive me like chucking a pennyworth of coppers at a beggar, I shan’t be melted. Now, then: “Georgy”—say it like that, just a bit throaty and quivery—“I loved you so that I’d have laid down my life for you!” Try it like that. That’s better. Now, give me your eyes, large and mournful, for just five ticks. Now turn, three steps up stage, hand to forehead. That’s it, but not quite so woodeny. Turn. Eyes again. “Georgy!” Now one step down, both hands out Pause. That’s it “You have broken a truer heart than you will easily find again. But I will say no more. Good-bye, Georgy. And for the sake of those old dreams which were once so sweet, and now are flown for ever, God bless you ‘Oh, God bless you and forgive you!” No. Try and get it just a little bit more. Poor dear Bannister always cried when he came to that. I’ve seen the tears run down his face many a time. Just go back to “Georgy, I loved you sa” Yes, yes, yes, that’s it; that’s capital. Now, that lets me in. “Oh, Richard! Richard! Is it possible that you forgive me?” That’s your cue for the chair, face in both hands. Now my long speech: “Richard,” and so on, and so on. “Good-bye, then, dearest, truest, tenderest.” Just a little shake of the shoulders here and there, as if you were sobbing to yourself, don’t you see? “Good-bye, good-bye.” No, don’t get up yet. Count six very slowly after “Good-bye” the second time. Now rise, turn, arms out “Georgy! Can’t you see?” Then down I rush, and—curtain. Now, just once more from “Georgy, I loved you so.”’
The company clapped hands. Berry, the first comedian, poked Earlsford, the leading man, in the waistcoat.
‘You’ll have to look to your laurels in a year or two.’
‘Now,’ said Miss Belmont, ‘you can’t expect to shine tonight. That wouldn’t be reasonable, would it? But if you won’t prevent the rest from shining you’ll have done your duty nobly. Never you mind Darco: I’ll keep him out of the house to-night. I’m the only woman in the profession who has the length of his foot I’d rather say the breadth of his heart, for that’s where I always get at him. There’ll be an explanation and an apology. You’d better read your part. The house won’t mind it. Then put all you know into that last scene. Chuck the book a minute before the real business comes on, as if you’d made up your mind to go for the gloves. That’ll fetch ‘em. Well go over that bit again and again till you’ve got it They’ll be just jumping with pleasure in front if you surprise ‘em with a good touch at the finish, and they’ll go away thinking how splendidly you’d have done it if you’d had half a chance. It’s the trot up the avenue, don’t you see?
Mr. Warr, who at a gesture had followed Darco from the theatre, appeared with a basket in his hand, and was followed by a man who bore a larger basket on his shoulder.
‘The governor sends his highly superior compliments, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Mr. Warr, ‘and his polite request that you will be so very kind as to forget the dinner-hour. Sandwiches, ladies and gentlemen. Ham, beef, tongue, pâté de foie gras, potted shrimps, and cetera. Juice of the grape.’ He pointed to the basket, which his attendant had already laid upon the stage. ‘Fizzy, Pommery-Gréno, and no less, upon my sacred word of honour!’ He groped in his pockets. ‘Champagne-opener, to be carefully returned to bearer. Ah, sir,’ he added feelingly to Paul, ‘when I forswore the varnish, I little thought it would rise to this quality. And, ladies and gentlemen,’ he continued aloud, ‘I was to request that you would unite in lending your highly superior aid to the neophyte.’
‘Our compliments to the governor,’ said the leading comedian, who had seized the nippers and was already hard at work. ‘We bestow on him unanimously the order of the golden brick.’
Darco’s health was toasted, and the company went to rehearsal again, each with a champagne-glass in one hand and a sandwich in the other, and worked banqueting. Paul drank a glass of wine, and the coming night looked less terrible.
‘We’ve two hours clear,’ said Miss Belmont ‘Now see if we don’t make something of you in that time.’
Paul began to take up his cue with spirit, as often as not without the book, and to take his proper places without prompting. They worked their way on again to the final scene.