“I’ve never been able to like her, ’Dolph. I’ve tried to because you seemed to, and you know how absolutely I depend on your judgment. But I can’t, that’s all.” She looked away and the suggestion of a sob sounded in the words.
Cleeburg’s cigar revolved silently for a few moments, then he leaned forward. “What are we going to do about it?”
She turned to him, rested her white tapering hand pleadingly on his arm. “Get rid of her, ’Dolph.”
“Get rid of her? Chuck her—just like that?” He snapped his fingers.
“You can find some way that won’t hurt her feelings.”
“Any way would be treating her rough.”
“She’ll have no difficulty getting another engagement.”
Cleeburg had been watching her over his cigar, round eyes studying her as they were in the habit of doing at rehearsal. Now he snapped the weed into the other corner of his mouth and smiled benignly. “That’s exactly why I ain’t letting her go.”
[109]
] Jane Goring’s eyes met his with a delicate film of tears veiling them. “Don’t you want to please me?”
“I want to please the public,” said Cleeburg curtly, “and they like her. Say—what’s got into you, Jane, anyhow?”