“Perhaps it would be a mistake, since what I have to offer is only a single performance. Naturally, if your success merited it, I should look after your future.”
In her excitement Eunice rose and paced up and down.
“Please, please let me do it. I don’t really want to take the other engagement—not a bit, I don’t. What was it you thought of me for?”
“A special matinée in three weeks’ time. Selections from my favourite plays. I should want you for the Trial Scene in ‘The Merchant of Venice.’ For—for Portia, in fact.”
“Portia!” repeated Eunice. “Is it a good part?”
“It has made many reputations,” he gravely answered, without a shade of a smile.
“I’ll accept. I’ll tell Mr. Lennox at once. Oh, thank you ever so much.”
“There, there,” said Eliphalet, patting her shoulder with a kindly hand. “Don’t be too grateful. One never knows!”
Sydney Lennox played a losing hand rather creditably. He even refrained from expressing his views on the reason for Eliphalet’s action. Possibly he thought that to do so would have reflected but little glamour on his own personality.
At the rehearsals everybody remarked to everybody else on the extraordinary lack of guidance Eliphalet gave to the youthful Portia.