Miss Van Tuyn had spoken.
“He gets you merely by coming on. That is acting!”
And immediately she was intent on the stage.
When the curtain fell Braybrooke got up resolutely and stood at the back of the box. Craven, too stood up, and they all discussed the play.
“It’s a character study, simply that,” said Miss Van Tuyn. “The persistent lover who can’t leave off—”
“Trying to love!” interposed Lady Sellingworth. “Following the great illusion.”
And they debated whether the great singer was an idealist or merely a sensualist, or perhaps both. Miss Van Tuyn thought he was only the latter, and Braybrooke agreed with her. But Lady Sellingworth said no.
“He is in love with love, I think, and everyone who is in love with love is seeking the flame in the darkness. We wrong many people by dubbing them mere sensualists. The mystery has a driving force which many cannot resist.”
“What mystery, dearest?” said Miss Van Tuyn, not without irony.
But at this moment there was a tap at the door of the box, and Craven opened it to find Mrs. Ackroyde and the young man with the severe eyes waiting outside.