He was silent, pressing the little hand between his warm palms as if to send the vitality from his veins into [227] ]hers. But the only vitalized part of her was the feverishly bright look of eyes that drew his.
“Frank—”
“Yes, darling—”
“You know how I always loved the stage—how I always wanted to be a great actress.”
“I know, my Elaine.”
The big burning eyes traveled into the past. Haltingly, with breath uneven and the words only faintly spoken, she drifted on the tide of memory back toward that horizon of hope so many see but never reach.
“Frank—do you remember in the old stock days when we first met—how jealous I was of you?”
“Nonsense! You were just ambitious.”
“No—jealous! Don’t you remember the time I wouldn’t speak to you for a week—because you walked off with the big scene?”
“Mine was the better part.”