Sheila’s presence at the Odeon was due to the fact that when Eldon asked Reben to release him so that he might play in “Clipped Wings,” with Sheila as star and Bret Winfield as the angel, Reben declined with violence.
When Eldon told him of the play he demanded the privilege of producing it. He ridiculed Bret as a theatrical manager and easily persuaded him to retire to his weighing-machines. Reben dug out the yellowed contract with Sheila, had it freshly typed, and sent it to her, and she signed it with all the woman’s terror at putting her signature to a mortgage.
One matinée day, as Sheila left the stage door, she met Dulcie coming in to make ready for the afternoon’s performance.
Dulcie clutched her with overacted enthusiasm and said: “Oh, my dear, it’s so nice that you’re coming back on the stage, after all these years. Too bad you can’t have your old theater, isn’t it? We’re doomed to stay here forever, it seems. But—oh, my dear!—you mustn’t work so hard. You look all worn out. Are you ill?”
Sheila retreated in as good order as possible, breathing resolutions to oust Dulcie from the star dressing-room and quench her name in the electric lights. That vow sustained her through many a weak hour.
But at times she was not sure of even that success. At times she was sure of failure and the odious humiliation of returning to Blithevale like a prodigal wife fed on husks of criticism.
Bret was called back to his factory by his business and by his request. He did not want to impede Sheila in any way. He had gone through rehearsals and try-outs with her once, and, as he said, once was plenty.
Sheila wept at his desertion and called herself names. She wept for her children and called herself worse names. She wept on Mrs. Vining at various opportunities when she was not rehearsing.
At length the old lady’s patience gave out and she stormed, “I warned you not to marry.”
“You warned me not to marry in the profession, and I didn’t.”