'Hate it?' exclaimed Mr. Penwyn; 'I thought actresses always adored the stage, and looked forward to acquiring the fame of an O'Neil or a Faucit.'
'Do they?' said Justina; 'those I know are like horses in a mill, and go the same round year after year. When I think that I may have to lead that kind of life till I die of old age, I almost feel that I should like to drown myself, if it wasn't wicked; but then I haven't any talent. I suppose it would all seem different if I were clever.'
'Aren't you clever?' asked James, smiling at her simplicity. Although not pretty she was far from unpleasing. He was amused—interested even. But then he was always ready to interest himself in any tolerably attractive young woman.
Maurice Clissold fell away from the actor, and walked beside his friend, overlooking James and Justina from his superior height. There was plenty of space in the wide green lane for four to walk abreast.
'No,' said Justina, confidentially, not wishing her father to hear ungrateful murmurs against the art he respected, 'I believe I'm very stupid. If there is a point to be made I generally miss it—speak too fast, or too slow, or drop my voice at the end of a speech, or raise it too soon. Even in François I didn't get a round the other night. You know François?'
'Haven't the honour of his acquaintance.'
'The page in "Richelieu." He has a grand speech. One is bound to get a tremendous round of applause; but somehow I missed it. Father said he should like to have boxed my ears.'
'He didn't do it, I hope.'
'No, but it was almost as bad. He said it before everybody in the green-room.'