“It is a large subject,” he said, “and I am not sure that we are of one mind. We will not discuss it. At any rate, I am very sorry for Berenice!”
“I do not think,” Matravers said in measured tones, “that you need be sorry for her. With her gifts she will scarcely remain long without an engagement. I trust that she may secure one which will not involve the prostitution of her talent.” Ellison laughed shortly. He had an immense admiration for Matravers, but just at present he was a little out of temper with him.
“You admit her talent, then?” he remarked. “I am glad of that!”
“I am not sure,” Matravers said, “that talent is the proper word to use. One might almost call it genius.”
Ellison was considerably mollified.
“I am glad to hear you say so,” he declared. “At the same time I am afraid her position will be rather an awkward one. She will lose some money by the closing of the theatre, and I don’t exactly see what London house is open for her just at present. These actor-managers are all so clannish, and they have their own women.”
“I am sorry,” Matravers said thoughtfully; “at the same time I cannot believe that she will remain very long undiscovered! Good afternoon! I am forgetting that I have some writing to do.”
Matravers walked slowly back to his rooms, filled with a new and fascinating idea which Ellison’s words had suddenly suggested to him. If it was true that his pen had done her this ill turn, did he not owe her some reparation? It would be a very pleasant way to pay his debt and a very simple one. By the time he had reached his destination the idea had taken definite hold of him.
