“I am quite confident of that,” he replied. Then, after a slight hesitancy, “But aren’t you a shade unwise to encourage the admiration of all these young men? That Mr. Kenneth Luke, for instance?”
“Oh, Ken’s all right. He went to Oxford College, so he ought to know how to behave.”
Eliphalet smiled and shook his head dubiously. It seemed to him that her reasoning was not quite conclusive.
To tell the truth, Master Kenneth had been a little too importunate of late, and Mornice had been considering the advisability of “choking him off.” However, since her one scene had to be played with him, she had thought it better to keep on friendly terms.
Eliphalet Cardomay was more than pleased with the notices the press gave him after the first night. “A rendering full of the best traditions of Shakespeare,” said one. “Mr. Cardomay’s beautiful voice was heard to advantage,” said another.
It was gratifying to hear his “beautiful voice” spoken of as though the whole world knew of its existence. He began to regain some of the confidence lost after his last London appearance. He fell to wondering what they would have said had he appeared as Hamlet instead of the Ghost, and concluded, erroneously, the papers would have been equally flattering.
He had never played Hamlet, and the idea of doing so on some future tour possessed him. Little Mornice June should be given the part of Ophelia, and would certainly outshine the neuralgic young lady in her rendering. All she needed was guidance.
Eliphalet had quite made up his mind to engage Mornice on a long contract, not only for her talent, but because he could not endure the thought of losing sight of her. Somehow she filled an empty space in his heart that long had craved for a tenant. It is good for a man to have some interests in life outside his work, and he had none.
There was something in Mornice that awoke a queer familiarity with another episode of his life, but when he tried to place the impression it would not develop. Was it perhaps with scatter-brained little Eunice Terry, whom he had disillusioned about the stage? No! For beyond the “Nice” at the ends of their Christian names there was little enough semblance. Mornice had her head screwed on the right way, whereas Eunice had nearly had hers screwed off.
One morning a rehearsal had been called for some minor alterations, and Eliphalet was sitting with his back against a scene-flat, when he heard Mornice’s voice on the other side.