Neither spoke. Little ’Dolph’s face seemed to sag. The skin fell heavily round the jaws. The eyes had a vague, helpless look. He took out his handkerchief, folded it carefully and put it back in his pocket. He got up, changed the position of a chair, came back to the desk.
“’Dolph, what are you going to do?” Brooks brought out at last.
“Just tell her,” he repeated.
The door opened and Gloria came in, dressed for the street.
“I’ve been waiting for you to take me to dinner,” she told Cleeburg. “What’s kept you, dear?”
He got up, pushed his chair in her direction.
“News,” came uncertainly after a second’s pause. “Rotten news. John’s leaving us.”
The bomb was flung. He stood peering into her face, waiting for its answer rather than that of her lips.
[211]
] There would be surprise—there must be that! And after the first start of amazement, a protest. And indignation! The outburst of the actress about to lose the support on which she depends. His hands clenched. That she might not see, he clasped them behind him. God, let her know the anxiety natural under the circumstances! Let her rise up determined to hold this man to his business contract! Let her threaten with all the impersonal fury he himself had shown! Let her prove that to her John Brooks was merely part of her professional life! That as such she would not let him go!
He waited while his silent lips moved in prayer.