“Her mother would have grasped it in a minute. Isn’t it funny that the children of great actors are always damned fools?”
The whole company overheard and Winfield rose to his feet in a fury. But he heard Sheila say to Eldon, for Batterson’s benefit:
“Why, I didn’t know that Mr. Batterson’s parents were great actors, did you?”
Batterson caught this as Sheila intended, and he flew into one of the passions that were to be expected about this time. He slammed the manuscript on the table and made the usual bluff of walking out. Sheila did not follow. She sank into a chair and made signals to the invisible Bret not to interfere, as she knew he was about to do.
He understood her meaning and restrained his impulse to climb over the footlights once more.
Batterson fought it out with himself, then came back, and with a sigh of heavenly resignation resumed the rehearsal. The company was refreshed by the divertisement and Sheila and Batterson were as amiable as two warriors after a truce. The embrace was speedily agreed upon.
Sheila met Bret at luncheon, and now she had him on her hands. He was ursine with clumsy wrath.
“To think that my wife-to-be must stand up there and let a mucker like that stage-manager swear at her! Good Lord! I’ll break his head!”
Sheila wondered how long she would be able to endure these alternating currents, but she put off despair and cooed:
“Now, honey, you can’t go around breaking all the heads in town. You mustn’t think anything of it. Poor old Batty is excited, and so are we all. It’s just a business dispute. It’s always this way when the production is near.”