“And then, at last it was over, and I realised I had to say something. They were both staring at me, hope shining clear in the girl’s eyes and pride in the man’s.
“ ‘She’s great, isn’t she, Mr. Trayne?’ he said. ‘I’ve not had the privilege of seeing you and Miss Travers in the part—but I feel that now—why,’ he gave a little shaky laugh, ‘that it’s hardly necessary.’
“You see,” said the Actor slowly, “that was the devil of it all. They were both so utterly certain, especially the man. The difficulty had been to get me there; after that it had been easy. I glanced at the poor fellow in the bed, and his thoughts were plain to read. No more grinding poverty, no more unfurnished bed-sitting rooms, and—fame for the woman he loved! And then he spoke again.
“ ‘I’m such a hopeless crock, Mr. Trayne, and she’—he took one of her hands in both his own—‘she’s had to do all the work. Beastly, grinding work in an office, when she was capable of this.’
“The girl bent over him, and I looked away. It seemed to me that the ground on which I stood was holy.”
The Actor gave a short laugh which deceived no one. “I suppose I was an ass,” he went on, “but I’d do it again to-day. ‘It was wonderful,’ I said, ‘quite wonderful.’ And because I’m an actor they believed me. Not that he, at any rate, required much convincing—he only wanted his knowledge confirmed. Of course, when I spoke I didn’t realise what I was letting myself in for. I should have done, I suppose, but—I wasn’t left long in doubt. If she was wonderful—and had not I, Herbert Trayne, said so—what about a job? At once . . . With my backing it was easy. . . . Which was all quite true except for the one vital fact of my having lied. But, hang it, you fellows!” he exploded, “could you have told ’em it was the most appalling exhibition of utter futility you’d ever witnessed?”
“No, I couldn’t,” said the Soldier. “What happened?
“I can see them now,” continued the Actor. “He was holding her hand, and looking up into her face—as a dog looks at the being it adores. And she was smiling a little, and crying a little—tears of pure joy. The strain was over, the lunches had not been missed in vain. And I stood there like a dumb idiot racking my brains for something to say. They thought I was wondering what job to offer her; they were right, I was.” The Actor laughed shortly.
“But I’d gone into the morass, and there was nothing for it but to blunder in deeper. The one vital essential was that in no circumstances must the poor child ever be allowed to act. The other was money—and at once. So I offered her then and there a job as Molly Travers’ understudy at five pounds a week.”
“Great Scott!” The Doctor sat up with a jerk. “Understudy Molly?”