“Why did you do this, Sheila? Why, why—in God’s name, why?”
Sheila had no answer. He might as well have shouted at her: “Why does the earth roll toward the east? Why does gravity haul the worlds together and keep them apart? Why are flowers? or June? what’s the reason for June?”
Sheila knew why no more than the rose knows why.
At length Reben’s business instinct came to the rescue of his heartbreak. He thought of his investment, of his contracts, of his hoped-for profits. His experience as a manager had taught him to be another Job. He ignored her challenge, and groaned, “How are we going to keep this crime a secret?”
Sheila, seeing that he had surrendered, forgot her anger. “Have we got to?”
“Of course we have. You know it won’t help you any to be known as a married woman. O Lord! what fools these mortals be! We’ve got to keep it dark at least till the play gets over in New York. If it’s a hit it won’t matter so much; if it’s a flivver, it will matter still less.”
He was heartsick at her folly and her double-dealing. Such things and worse had happened to him and to other managers. They force managers to be cynical and to drive hard bargains while they can. Like captains of ships, they are always at the ultimate mercy of any member of the crew. But they must make voyages somehow.
Feeling the uselessness of wasting reproaches, Reben left Sheila and groped through the dark house to the lobby. There he found a most interesting spectacle—a line at the box-office. It was a convincing argument. Sheila had draught. Even with a poor play in an unready condition, she drew the people to the box-office. He must make the most of her treason.
But his heart was sick. He was managing a married star. This was double trouble with half the fun.