She turned and looked at him in the heavy dimness.
"Couldn't it?"
"You didn't write the libretto. You didn't compose the music."
"And yet," she said, in a low tense voice, "it would be my failure if the opera failed, because but for me it never would have been written, never have been produced out here. Alston, it's a great responsibility. And I never really understood how great till I saw Claude go across the stage just now. He looked so—he looked—"
She broke off.
"Whatever is it, Mrs. Charmian?"
"He looked like a victim, I thought."
"Everyone does in that light unless—there's Crayford!"
At this moment Mr. Crayford came upon the stage from the side on which Claude had just vanished. He had a soft hat on the back of his head, and a cigar in his mouth.
"He doesn't!" whispered Charmian.