“Oh yes, it’s me—and I ought to be, but I was detained, and that’s why—”
“Well, you better hurry up or you’ll keep folks waitin’. My wife’s there this afternoon. I seen you myself last night.”
“Did you? Oh, thank you so much! Good-by!”
As Winfield’s car slid forward they heard the policeman’s voice: “Better go kind o’ slow crossing Fifth Street. McGonigle is stricter ’n I am.”
Winfield was greatly impressed by the fame of his passenger. He carried Calphurnia; no harm could come to him. They crossed Fifth Street at such a pace that the car-tracks sent Sheila aloft. As she came down she remembered Officer McGonigle. She saw that he or a vague film of him was saluting her with admiring awe. The grinding toil of the stock actress has its perquisites, after all.
She made Winfield let her out at the alley and ran with all her might. Once more she was met at the stage door by the anxious Eldon. But now she resented his presence. His solicitude resembled espionage. But it was not he that had changed.
Pennock was in a furious mood and scolded Sheila roundly when she helped her into her costume at a speed a fireman would have envied. As she made up her face while Pennock concocted her hair, Sheila was studying some new lines that Vickery had determined to try out that afternoon.
The performance went excellently well. Sheila was refreshed by her sleep and the forced ventilation her soul had had. She dined with Vickery and Winfield. Vickery was aflame with new ideas that had come to him in Winfield’s car. He had dropped out, not to leave them alone, but to be alone with his precious thoughts.
Sheila’s ambitions, however, were asleep. She was more interested in the silent admiration of Winfield. The light on his glasses kept her from seeing his eyes, but she felt that they were soft upon her, because his voice was gentle when he spoke the few words he said.