“I explained, of course,” went on the Actor, “that there was an understudy already, and that to save unpleasantness it would be better if she didn’t come to the theatre, unless I sent for her. That, of course, it was more than likely that Miss Travers wouldn’t be ill during the run of the play, and that in those circumstances I didn’t want to offend the present understudy. And when another play came along, we must see what we could do. That, thank Heaven, I knew was some way off yet! It gave me breathing space.
“I gave her a week’s salary in advance, and I got away—somehow. I think they were both a little dazed with the wonder of it, and they wanted to be alone. I heard his voice—weak and quavering—as I shut the door.
“ ‘Oh! my very dear girl,’ he was whispering—and she was on her knees beside the bed. And I blundered my way downstairs, cursing myself for a sentimental fool. There’s whisky on the table, you fellows. Help yourselves.”
But no one moved, and the Actor lit another cigarette.
“I saw her occasionally during the next two or three months,” he continued, “though I never went to their rooms again. They had moved—I knew that—because I used to post the cheque every week. But the few times I did see her, I gathered that her husband was not getting any better. And one day I insisted on Lawrence, the specialist, going to see him. I couldn’t have one of my company being worried, I told her, over things of that sort. I can see her face now as I said ‘one of my company.’ I don’t know what Lawrence said to her, but he rang me up at the theatre that night, and he did not mince his words to me.
“ ‘I give him a month,’ he said. ‘It’s galloping consumption.’
“It was just about a month later that the thing happened which I had been dreading. Molly went down with ’flu. Her understudy—the real one—was Violet Dorman, who was unknown then. And, of course it was her chance.”
“One moment,” interrupted the Barrister. “Did anyone at the theatre know about this girl?”
“Good God! no,” cried the Actor. “Not a soul. In this censorious world actions such as mine in that case are apt to be misconstrued, which alone was sufficient to make me keep it dark. No one knew.
“The first night—all was well. Molly went down in the afternoon, and it didn’t come out in any of the evening papers. Violet acted magnificently. She wasn’t Molly, of course—she isn’t now. But it was her chance, and she took it—and took it well. Next morning the papers, naturally, had it in. ‘Temporary indisposition of Miss Molly Travers. Part filled at a moment’s notice with great credit by Miss Violet Dorman.’ She had a press agent and he boomed her for all he was worth. And I read the papers and cursed. Not that I grudged her her success in the slightest, but I was thinking of the afternoon. It was matinée day and the girl must read it in the papers.