“I hope you weren’t too good, dear.”
“I was rotten.”
Her smile said she knew he couldn’t be that, but the lips told him:—
“That’s good. A bad dress rehearsal is sure to mean a great opening.” A sudden longing, uncontrolled, held her eyes. “How I’d love to see it!”
He bent down, lifted one of the white hands on the coverlet, pressing it against his lips.
“I don’t know how I can go through without you,” came in spite of him.
Her eyes clouded.
“You must, dear! You mustn’t even think of me.”
“It’s too much to ask,” the broken voice plunged on. “To go out and face that crowd with you—here! I can’t do it—I can’t!”
“You must do it, my love.” The spirit so much stronger than the body shone from her eyes. “I’ll be thinking of you and praying for you. I’ll be with you all through the performance. I’ll follow each line—every tiny bit of business. But you must put me out of your mind. Only your part must count—only your success.”