"That would not be fair," she answered, quickly—"neither to them nor to you. No, I am an actress, and this is a part of my life. We are none of us exempt from the universal curse."
"Royleston is our curse. Please let me kick him out the stage-door—he is an insufferable ass, and a bad actor besides."
"He is an ass, but he can act. No, it's too late to change him now. Wait; be patient. He'll pull up and surprise you at the final rehearsal."
At four o'clock they were spinning up Fifth Avenue, which resounded with the hoof-strokes of stately horses, and glittered with the light of varnished leather. The rehearsal was put far behind them. The day was glorious November, and the air sparkling without being chill. A sudden exaltation seized Helen. "It certainly is a beautiful world—don't you think so?" she asked.
"I do now; I didn't two weeks ago," he replied, soberly.
"What has brought the change?"
"You have." He looked at her steadily.
She chose to be evasive. "I had a friend some years ago who was in the deeps of despair because no one would publish her book. Once she had secured the promise of a real publisher that he would take it she was radiant. She thought the firm had been wondrously kind. They made thirty thousand dollars from the sale of her book. I am selfish—don't you think I'm not—I'm going to make fame and lots of money on your play."
"I hope you may, for am I not to share in all your gold and glory? I have greater need of both than you. You already have all that mortal could desire. I don't believe I've told you what I called you before I met you—have I?"
"No; what was it?" Her eyes widened with interest.