“Do you mean to say you don’t want to do this sort of thing—that you consider it beneath your talent?”
“It doesn’t interest me.” She spoke with as much dignity as she could muster. For a moment he looked troubled, then his irresistible smile came.
“Never mind, I understand,” he said. “Ten years ago I intended to be a modern Shakespeare—and just see the awful end to which I’ve come.”
Just then the curtain went up, and she did not notice that he had not returned her sketches.
Up to this time Gloria had been the gayest person there—so gay that Ruth thought that she had forgotten her existence. She was in the chair in front of Ruth, and had apparently been absorbed in the play and the conversation of the people with her. Suddenly she rose and left the box, pausing just long enough to whisper in Ruth’s ear, “I’m going home; Billie will explain.”
The others in the box didn’t seem to notice. Perhaps they thought Gloria had gone back stage to see some friend and would return. It was only when the final curtain fell and Terry came back to ask them to go to supper that her absence was explained.
“Where’s Gloria?” he asked.
“Gone home,” said Billie. “She asked me to explain to you that she had to go.”
“But why?” asked Terry.
“Because she wanted to—you know Gloria—sudden fit of depression, because she isn’t working and wants to work. Why don’t you write a play for her, Terry?”