‘Oh yes,’ cried Madeline, smiling. ‘Mr. Forster and I are old, old friends.’
At this statement even the new-comer himself evinced some surprise; but Madeline continued—
‘When I was only a very little girl, Mr. Forster, I remember how you came to see my guardian one day when he was sick, and how, when you went away, he cried and told me how good you were. You came often after that, and we used to talk of you together. And the other night at the theatre, when I saw your face in the box, I felt so glad, and I said to myself, “I won’t be afraid now, for there are at least two kind faces in front—one my dear guardian’s, the other the face of the best friend he ever had in the world.”’
Under this simple praise Forster looked a little uncomfortable.
‘How is White?’ he inquired nervously, as if for want of something better to say.
Madeline did not immediately reply, so Serena answered for her.
‘At the present moment, my dear Forster, our friend White is the happiest fellow in all the world, or shall I rather say, in all Bohemia. A hundred successful original plays, a thousand successful adaptations, could not have given him half the pleasure that he feels at the triumph of his charming ward. And well may he be proud. He has hatched at his lonely hearth a phoenix, who rises out of the ashes of our drama, to glorify the stage.’
‘Ah, but you spoil me,’ said Madeline, well pleased, nevertheless. ‘It is so easy to act; and, besides, who but my dear guardian has taught me the little I know?’
‘For you it is easy,’ returned Serena, gallantly; ‘ah yes—and it is easy for a flower to look beautiful or for a lark to sing a splendid song. That is all the difference between genius and talent. All you have to do is to be natural, to be your charming self, and the art comes of itself, like the perfume from a rose.’
Madeline looked at Forster and laughed.