“My father and my mother were; but I lost them both in earliest childhood, and all my life has been passed in a farmhouse amid middle-class poverty.”
“But your friends? Pardon me if I am impertinent; I do not mean to be.”
“I know that you do not,” she said, simply. “My mother had changed her name, so that no one knew me. The lawyer of the place was appointed my guardian; he and his wife were very kind to me, even when—” She paused, then went on again. “I was a great deal with them and their family, in fact, we grew up together. They are all in the world now, most of them married. The girls live abroad, too far for me to visit them.”
“Have you made up your mind to become an actress?”
“It is the only thing I am fit for. I can sing a little; the organist at Idleminster Cathedral was a good musician, and he trained my voice. I used to sing the solo in the anthems and oratorios on special occasions—hidden behind a screen, of course. And I have had lessons in elocution and declamation from an actor. He knew Shakespeare and most of the French and English dramatists by heart. I used to listen to him for hours.”
“What was his name?”
“Gray Leighton.”
He started violently with excitement.
“Gray Leighton. You knew him well. I have been trying to find him for four years. You are fortunate to have had lessons from one of the most gifted actors of the day. Did you know his history?”
“No. He was crippled, and could not stand for more than a few minutes at a time. He came to Idleminster about four years ago, and lived very quietly, making no friends nor ever reciting in public. I got to know him through his little boy. The child was very lovely. I used to play with him, teach him music, and take him out. His father would always trust Bertie with me.”