“Don’t say it!” She rose to her knees again and put up her hands. “I could never forgive you if you said that now—and our honeymoon just begun.”
“Honeymoon!” he laughed. “Look at this.” He held up his right hand. Grease-paint from Eldon’s jaw was on his knuckles. He put his finger on her cheek and it was covered with the same unction. Then he rubbed the odious ointment from his hands. She blushed under her rouge.
“I know it’s been a pitiful honeymoon. But I couldn’t help it, Bret. I did what I could. It has been harder for me than for you, and I’m just worn out. There’s no joy in the world for me. The success is nothing.”
“He loves you, I tell you, and you let him make love to you.”
“Of course, honey; it’s in the play; it’s in the play!”
“Not love like that. Why, everybody in the audience was saying it was real. All the people round me were saying you two were in love with each other.”
“That’s what we were working for, isn’t it?”
“Oh, not the characters, but you two; you and Eldon. Couldn’t I see how he looked at you, how you looked at him, how you—you crushed him in your arms?”
“How else could we show that the characters were madly in love with each other, dear?”
“But you didn’t have to play it so earnestly.”