“Horribly—I—perhaps by myself I could, but with the greatest actor of the day, it would be such a terrible ordeal—”
“No worse than with Gray Leighton. Come and rehearse with me.”
Trembling, she placed her one hand on his arm and he led her through the conservatory, across the hall, into the library.
“Do not be so frightened, child. You are positively shaking,” he said, putting one hand on her shoulder. “Imagine that you are in Leighton’s library in Idleminster and that I am he. You know Beatrice’s lines in Much Ado? Yes, I am sure of your memory. Take me up in the Church Scene, Act IV. Exeunt Friar, Hero and Leonato. Beatrice and Benedict are alone.”
He went back a few steps to give her time to pull herself together, then approached her with:
“‘Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?’”
For one instant only she hesitated, the remembrance of the scene with its dawning of passion under cover of the exquisite badinage sending a flood of colour to her face.
Then she gave her answer—
“‘Yea, and I will weep awhile longer,’” with trembling excitement, giving the sound of indignant tears in the rich but wondrously sweet tone, trained to perfection by Gray Leighton’s sensitive ear.
The scene went on to its end without a break.