“Will you let me take you home when you are ready?” he asked, very low. “I’ll tell you—then.”
She nodded and turned away. He had seen her eyes—they plainly showed that they had been wet with tears.
He shook hands with Cary Ray, who smiled at him, and spoke rather deliriously. “We put it over, didn’t we? You don’t have to tell me. I can read the human countenance. Are you going to start across to-night—or will morning do?”
“You gripped us all, Cary. Don’t expect me to talk about it—just yet.”
“All right—that’s enough. Here’s the girl who did the trick.” And he put out his hands to Fanny Fitch.
Only Nan could have told how Fanny had done it, but somehow already she had managed to get rid of so much of her make-up as was intended to reach across the footlights, and that which remained was not so perceptible that it made her look the painted lady. She was a siren now, was Fanny, and a dangerously happy one. The effect of her had become that of a radiant girl who enjoys a well-earned triumph, of which the great masses of orchids and roses she was now carrying were the fitting sign.
“You scored a great success,” said Robert Black. He was not afraid now to look at Fanny at close range; there had been one moment in the play when he had thought he might well be afraid, realizing acutely that he was only human, after all, and had no stronger defenses than other men. His glance met hers coolly. “I congratulate you very heartily.”
“Oh, I’m glad you liked me,” she answered, and her voice was thrillingly low. “It means so much to me—to please you! I was afraid I could never do that—your discrimination is so fine. You would have known if I had not really felt the part. I did—it seemed to me I simply lived in that French actress’s body. It was a tremendous experience really. I can never, never forget it.”
“Wasn’t she glorious?” Cary’s tense voice broke in. He had not moved away. “I believe I must have written the thing for her without ever having seen her. But I’ve seen her now!” His fiery gaze devoured her, his thin cheek flushed more deeply than before. Suddenly Black was acutely aware of a new source of anxiety for Cary. What would Fanny Fitch do with him, he wondered. “Listen,” Cary went on hurriedly. “I’m going to have a bit of a supper over at the hotel—this event has got to be celebrated somehow. I’ve had Tom telephone over, and they’ll get a few eats and things together for us in a hurry. Anyhow, we can work off a little of the high pressure that way—and it’s got to be worked off, or a maniac like me can’t keep his head till morning. You’ll join us, of course, Mr. Black?”
“I’ll go over, and take your sister, but I can’t stay. You won’t need me—and I haven’t been an actor, so I’m naturally not in on it. Thank you just the same, Cary.”