To her intense amazement Sheila was flattered by this overweening tyranny. She rejoiced at her lover’s wealth of jealousy, the one supreme proof of true love in a woman’s mind, a proof that is weightier than any tribute of praise or jewelry or toil or sacrifice.
She said she would see if the embrace could be omitted. The next day Reben sat in the orchestra and she went down to sit at his side. She did not mention Winfield’s part in the matter, of course, but craftily insinuated:
“Do you know something? I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s a mistake to have that embrace in the second act. It seems to me to—er—to anticipate the climax.”
Reben, all unsuspecting, leaped into the snare:
“That’s so! I always say that once the hero and heroine clinch, the play’s over. We’ll just cut it there, and save it to the end of the last act.”
Sheila, flushed with her victory, pressed further:
“And that’s another point. Wouldn’t it be more—er—artistic if you didn’t show the embrace even then—just have the lovers start toward each other and ring down so that the curtain drops before they embrace? It would be novel, and it would leave something to the audience’s imagination.”
Reben was skeptical of this: “We might try it in one of the tank towns, but I’m afraid the people will be sore if they don’t see the lovers brought together for at least one good clutch. Nothing like trying things out, though.”
Sheila was tempted to ask him not to tell Batterson that it was her idea. The fear was unnecessary. Any advice that Reben accepted became at once his own idea. He advanced to the orchestra rail and told Batterson to “cut out both clutches.”
Batterson consented with ill grace and Eldon looked so crestfallen, so humiliated, that Sheila hastened to reassure him that it was nothing personal. But he was not convinced.