In the outer lobby of his office he found a visitor waiting for him, and gave her a curt and steely good morning.
“I want to see you, Mr. Knebworth,” said Stella Mendoza, with a smile at the leading man who had followed Knebworth into his office.
“You want to see me, do you? Why, you can see me now. What do you want?”
She was pulling at a lace handkerchief with a pretty air of penitence and confusion. Jack was not impressed. He himself had taught her all that handkerchief stuff.
“I’ve been very silly, Mr. Knebworth, and I’ve come to ask your pardon. Of course, it was wrong to keep the boys and girls waiting, and I really am sorry. Shall I come in the morning? Or I can start to-day?”
A faint smile trembled at the corner of the director’s big mouth.
“You needn’t come in the morning and you needn’t stay to-day, Stella,” he said. “Your substitute has done remarkably well, and I don’t feel inclined to retake the picture.”
She flashed an angry glance at him, a glance at total variance with her softer attitude.
“I’ve got a contract: I suppose you know that, Mr. Knebworth?” she said shrilly.
“I’d ever so much rather play opposite Miss Mendoza,” murmured a gentle voice. It was the youthful Reggie Connolly, he of the sleek hair. “It’s not easy to play opposite Miss—I don’t even know her name. She’s so—well, she lacks the artistry, Mr. Knebworth.”