Wynne was extraordinarily full of himself in the days which followed. Day and night he worked with feverish energy on schemes for the play. He went out and came in at all hours. In his excitement he entirely ignored Eve’s presence, except when he appealed to her on some delicate point dealing with the attitude of the women characters. Having secured what he wanted he would wave aside further discussion and plunge afresh into his thought-packed aloneness.
Once he jerked out the information that he was to receive a hundred pounds for the production and ten per cent. profits during the run of the piece.
“I’ve engaged the cast and we shall arrange about the theatre in a day or two. Here, read that speech aloud—I want to hear what it sounds like in a woman’s voice. Yes, that’s it. Thanks! That’s all I want to know. You read it quite right. I believe you could have acted! Is there something to eat ready? I’m going out in ten minutes.”
“It won’t be long.”
“Quick as you can, then.”
As she laid the cloth, Eve ventured to say: “Don’t you think we might have a maid to do the grubby work? It would give me more time to help you.”
He seemed absorbed.
“Yes, all right. Some day. You do everything I want, though.”
“Yes, but—”
“Is that lunch ready?”