“She’s extraordinary, and I mean to get hold of her for Luck’s play. Did you read it?”
“Yes.”
“The play is absolutely dependent on the leading part and I have found it simply impossible to fill. Now, here’s a woman of extraordinary grace and beauty—”
Betty lifted skeptical eyebrows, twisted her limber mouth, but forbore to contradict.
“And with a magical voice—a woman who not only looks the part, but is it. You remember Luck’s heroine?”
Betty flicked off the ash of her cigarette and looked away. “A savage, isn’t she? The man has her tamed, takes her back to London, and there gives her cause for jealousy and she springs on him—yes, I remember. This woman, Jane, is absolutely without education and hasn’t a notion of acting, I suppose.”
Jasper rubbed his hands with increased delight. “Not a notion and she murders the King’s English. But she is Luck’s savage and—in spite of your eyebrows, Betty—she is beautiful. I can school her. It will take money, no end of patience, but I can do it. It’s one of the things I can do. But, of course, there’s the initial difficulty of persuading her to try it.”
“That oughtn’t to be any difficulty at all. Of course she’ll jump at the chance.”
“I’m not so sure. She was ready to throw me out of the kitchen to-night. She is really a virago. Do you know what one of the men said about her?” Jasper laughed and imitated the gentle Western drawl. “Jane’s plumb movin’ to me. She’s about halfway between ‘You go to hell’ and ‘You take me in your arms to rest.’”
Betty smiled. Her smile was vastly more mature than her appearance. It was clever and cynical and cold. The Oriental, looking down at her, lost his merriment.