“I may give it to Frank Donnell. There may not be another Odell picture,” said Smull, smiling fixedly.
Creevy said nothing.
“Usually,” added Smull, “I make up my mind at my own convenience and to please myself,—not others.”
He got up from the rickety chair, walked to the outer door of the dressing rooms, and sent word to Eris that his car was waiting to take her to luncheon.
She appeared presently without her make-up, Creevy being uncertain that he wanted her during the afternoon, but insisting that she “stick around.”
As they went down the steps to the car—a glittering affair with two men on the box—Smull took the girl familiarly by the arm.
“I want to talk over the next picture with you this evening,” he said. “I’m asking Frank Donnell to dine with me at my rooms. Will you come?”
She halted at the open door of the car and gave him a surprised and happy look.
“Frank Donnell? I’d love to come. But, Mr. Smull!—you don’t mean that Mr. Donnell is to direct me!”