"I'm not disturbed. You are here."
"Ah," said Mabel, "now you're very nice! But let's be frank. You were thinking about another drama, in real life, that touches you close. I see one comfort; there's no Lady Macbeth in the piece."
Marston agreed and mused. The light was good, and touched Mabel's face and neck where the small pearls shone. He saw Flora's face in profile, her shoulders, and the flowing curve of her arm. He liked the fine poise of her head. She looked proud and somehow vivid; one got a hint of her fearless, impulsive character. Her hair and eyes were brown and she wore a corn-yellow dress. Mabel's skin was white and red, and her dull-blue clothes matched the color of her eyes. She was calm, steadfast, and sometimes reserved, a contrast to Flora, although in ways they were alike. Both were honest and hated what was mean. Marston felt comforted. There was no Lady Macbeth in the piece.
Moreover, a glance along the rows of people was calming. There were business men with shining, bald heads, and some younger whose clothes were cut in the latest mode. Women of different ages, for the most part fashionably dressed, sat among the others, but all wore the conventional English stamp. There was nothing extravagant about them; Marston thought they sat contentedly by modern hearths. They were not the people to follow wandering fires. Perhaps he was something of a romantic fool; but when one had been in Africa and the swamps beside the Caribbean—
The play went on. He saw Macbeth's ambitions realized. The witches' promises were fulfilled, but with fulfillment came retribution that had looked impossible. This was the touch that fixed Marston's thought. Macbeth was cheated, but he must pay; the powers of evil lied. One wondered whether it was always like that.
When the curtain fell and the lights went up shortly before the end, Marston remarked: "After all there were the witches. Lady Macbeth was, so to speak, unnecessary."
Mabel had indulged him before; indeed, his mood had chimed with hers, but she thought he had followed this line far enough. His illness had left a mark, and he sometimes brooded. She laughed when Flora turned.
"Bob's getting to be a dramatic critic and something of a philosopher," she said. "Perhaps he'll tell you how he would improve the play."
"You know what I mean," Marston replied good-humoredly. "Aren't a man's greed and ambition enough to drive him on, without an outside tempter?"
"Without a bad woman to urge him?" Flora suggested.