Hal knew that Lorraine, after a nervous breakdown, had gone somewhere into the country for a week or so, and that Alymer Hermon had run down later to see how she was getting on, and if he could do anything for her, but of the almost tragic circumstances that led up to his action she knew nothing, and imagined the merest generous attention.
She saw also the preoccupied, aged look growing on Dudley’s face, and knew that the shadow was over him too.
Ethel saw the change creeping over Basil as no one else saw it, and knew that not even the far future could shed a single gleam for her upon the darkness coming.
Yet—for life is oversad to dwell upon rayless darkness even in books—bright, enduring, beautiful sunshine was wrapped up in those black clouds to flood the little world with joy at the appointed hour.
It was Lorraine’s life that events moved first. After Hal left her, she spent a wretched, restless, brain-racking afternoon, and was only just able to struggle through her part at night.
And afterwards she became suddenly sickened with the need to struggle. She was not extravagant by nature, and had saved enough money from her enormous salaries to live very comfortably if she chose.
A nausea of the theatrical world and its incessant demands began to obsess her. She felt that from the first day she stood in a manager’s office, seeking the chance to start, it had given her everything except happiness.
Money, success, position, jewels, fine clothes, admirers, friends, adventures, gaieties—all these had come, if by slow degrees, but not one single gift had contained the kernel of happiness.
Perhaps it was her own fault. Perhaps the trouble lay in the wrong start she had made and never been able to retrieve. But at least there was time to try another plan yet.
Finally, feeling the nerve strain of recent events was seriously affecting her health, she decided to arrange a week’s holiday to think the matter out.