"But never on the screen," he returned.
"And what if you don't like her?"
"My consolation will be that she is only a shadow, a make-believe."
"You are different," she told him, "and it's not because you lack imagination. Most everyone does not disassociate a film player from her shadow. They think of her always as the type or character in which they admire her most. To them she is always the same, always perfect, a picture, a memory. How disappointed those dream lovers would be if they could suddenly be brought face to face with the player as she really is, with her little vanities and human frailties."
"Disappointed or disillusioned, which?" he asked.
"You are right," she replied, "they would be disillusioned rather than disappointed. There is a difference. For instance, I would be disappointed rather than disillusioned in Reggie if he should blunder and miss his opportunity of becoming mayor of Los Angeles."
Her words struck him like a blow. They brought to him the realization again that she faced a disillusionment of which she had no warning. How could he save her from it? Would she go on believing in Gibson? It would be like her to defend him until the last, to go with him to a place where his disgrace was not known and begin life all over again.
"Suppose," he said, watching her intently, "that it was not disappointment but disillusionment."
"You mean—in Reggie?" she asked, apparently unable to comprehend what he had said.
Unable to speak the word, he nodded. She laughed lightly and he forced himself to smile.