Gloria’s first swift glance was to Brooks. His linked with hers. Her fingers locked and unlocked. Twice she opened her lips without speech, then turned back to Cleeburg.
“Has anything happened? There—there’s been no trouble between you, has there?” was all she said.
“Of course not,” Brooks put in quickly. “I’ve told ’Dolph I’m quitting for good. That’s all there is to it.”
Little ’Dolph did not take his eyes from her. Now it would come—surely. She had been too amazed, too taken back before. He waited for the throbbing voice to answer.
“You—you’re leaving the stage?” it asked too quietly.
“Yes,” Cleeburg plunged in. “He’s quitting us—cold. Get that? He’s leaving us in the lurch. What do you make of it?”
With a look of sudden fear, Brooks sprang up. “See here, ’Dolph—”
[212]
] “John must have some good reason—”
“Do you know what it is?”
She glanced quickly from one to the other. Something in both faces brought her, too, to her feet. “Why should I?”