Two hours later she left his office, a shadow across her eyes, her face drawn and a bit haggard. The thing was not so easy as she had anticipated—impossible, in fact, in New York as matters now stood. They had thrashed it out—viewed it from every conceivable angle—to reach a conclusion that placed the final decision [113] ]entirely in Bob McNaughton’s hands. Unless Goring were willing to leave the state long enough to establish a residence, Bob was the one who must sue. He must be located, which would involve no great difficulty, and then, granted his consent could be gained, it would take the red tape of the law an indefinite time to unwind.
What worried her was the fear that Bob might take this occasion to be nasty. The long silence since he had gone West made it difficult to gauge his attitude toward her. More than likely he would refuse and cause her no end of trouble.
When she received word from her attorney that, through his former paper, Bob had been located with the Graystone Photoplay Company in Los Angeles, she decided to write instead of trusting to the cold terms of a legal request.
Very carefully she worded the letter, making it most friendly but with the impersonal friendliness of those whose lives have never intimately touched. Since she had not heard from him in over two years, she wrote, she was quite sure he had by this time come to regard her as a sort of mythical being. Their separation had become so complete that a request she was about to make would, she knew, be nothing short of welcome to him. She wanted him to have his freedom. Herself—she no longer wanted to feel bound. She would always think of him as the best friend she ever had, but so many years had elapsed since their relationship had been that of husband and wife that it was rather a farce to keep up the pose any longer. She was sure he would agree in this. Knowing the New York laws he must realize that the move [114] ]would have to come from him. California, she understood, was more lenient, and since he was now a resident, it would be practically easy. She assumed that by this time his health had been entirely restored and wished him every good wish in the world.
Before sending off the letter she gave it to her attorney. Stamped with his approval but with no slight misgivings on her part, it was registered and posted; then tossed carelessly into a bag with thousands of others—tear-stained, anxious, pleading, desperate, breathless, threatening, thumb-marked, hopeless—all jumbled as human emotions are jumbled together in this puzzling world. With these it was flung into a mass of other bags similarly laden and started on its way across the country.
Meanwhile instead of resuming their discussion, ’Dolph Cleeburg had diplomatically avoided seeing his star. For several days he stayed away from the theater and Goring was forced at every performance to endure the girl’s entrance—the applause that apparently had become a habit.
The climax came when one of the Sunday papers featured the young actress’s picture on the same page as the star’s. That was the proverbial straw.
Jane Goring scorned any further attempt to bring Cleeburg round to her way of thinking. If he was afraid to see her, was determined to keep Cromwell in the cast—very well, she would read him a lesson. She would prove to him who was the motive power that kept his play going. She would show him in whose hands lay his success or failure. Incidentally she would resort to the very feminine ruse of playing on his sympathy.
[115]
] At seven-thirty Monday evening she sent word to the theater that she was ill and could not appear.
As she had anticipated, the stage manager phoned wildly, begging for a word with her. The situation was terrible! Terrible! She must come! They were sold out!