When at last he had bargained Sheila to the wall he made her a present of better terms than she had accepted—as if he were tossing her a handsome diamond.
Sheila embraced him and called him an angel. He belonged, indeed, to the same race as the only original angels.
She signed the contract with exclamations of gratitude. With his copy in his pocket he put out both hands and wished her all the glory he planned for her. Then he told her to get ready to leave within a week for New York and rehearsals.
He had brought to Chicago a young woman stage-named Dulcie Ormerod to replace her. He wanted Dulcie to play the part at least a week so that the company could be advertised as “exactly the same that appeared in Chicago.”
When he had gone Sheila fell from the clouds—at least she struck a hole in the air and sank suddenly nearer to the earth. She cried, “Oh, Aunt John, I forgot to ask if he wanted you in the new play!”
“No, he doesn’t, dearie. He told me how sorry he was that there was no part for me while you were signing the contract.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry! I won’t leave you!”
“Of course you will, my child. You can’t go on forever chained to my old slow heels. Besides, I’m too tired to learn a new part this season. I’ll jog on out to the Coast with this company. I think California will be good for me.”
A little later Sheila remembered Floyd Eldon. She gasped as if she had been stabbed.
“Why, what’s wrong now, honey?” cried Mrs. Vining.