The first night of the play justified all that Marion and Wimpole had claimed for it, and was a great personal triumph for the new playwright. The audience was the typical first-night audience of the class which Charles Wimpole always commanded. It was brilliant, intelligent, and smart, and it came prepared to be pleased.
From one of the upper stage-boxes Helen and Lady Gower watched the successful progress of the play with an anxiety almost as keen as that of the author. To Helen it seemed as though the giving of these lines to the public—these lines which he had so often read to her, and altered to her liking—was a desecration. It seemed as though she were losing him indeed—as though he now belonged to these strange people, all of whom were laughing and applauding his words, from the German Princess in the Royal box to the straight-backed Tommy in the pit. Instead of the painted scene before her, she saw the birch-trees by the river at home, where he had first read her the speech to which they were now listening so intensely—the speech in which the hero tells the girl he loves her. She remembered that at the time she had thought how wonderful it would be if some day some one made such a speech to her—not Philip—but a man she loved. And now? If Philip would only make that speech to her now!
He came out at last, with Wimpole leading him, and bowed across a glaring barrier of lights at a misty but vociferous audience that was shouting the generous English bravo! and standing up to applaud. He raised his eyes to the box where Helen sat, and saw her staring down at the tumult, with her hands clasped under her chin. Her face was colorless, but lit with the excitement of the moment; and he saw that she was crying.
Lady Gower, from behind her, was clapping her hands delightedly.
“But, my dear Helen,” she remonstrated breathlessly, “you never told me he was so good-looking.”
“Yes,” said Helen, rising abruptly, “he is—very good-looking.”
She crossed the box to where her cloak was hanging, but instead of taking it down buried her face in its folds.
“My dear child!” cried Lady Gower, in dismay. “What is it? The excitement has been too much for you.”
“No, I am just happy,” sobbed Helen. “I am just happy for him.”
“We will go and tell him so then,” said Lady Gower. “I am sure he would like to hear it from you to-night.”