What she said as she turned back to him was merely a veil drawn across thought to hide its nakedness.
She went over, laid a hand on his shoulder and looked [214] ]into the poor haggard face that had not learned, as have women, to conceal its suffering. Her own was as white.
“’Dolph, dear—whatever John has told you, I want you to believe that he’s never, by so much as a word, been disloyal to you.”
He patted her hand and tried to smile.
“I know that, kiddo. It’s all right. Honest it is.”
“Don’t blame him. We’ve been together so much. The theater is so different from any other kind of life. It’s so—so intimate.”
“’Dolph has been one hundred per cent there.” Brooks squared his shoulders as he spoke and went toward the door. “Another man would have put a bullet through my head.”
“You—you’ll go on being his friend, ’Dolph?”
“Don’t worry, kiddo.”
“You and I will have each other.” Her voice broke.