"HE VENTURED TO GLANCE OUT."
"HE VENTURED TO GLANCE OUT."
ANNESLEY walked past the main entrance to the Century Theatre in the curious condition of one who is able partly to regard himself from the outside. The boards were placarded with the announcement of a new play, to be produced that day week, "The Golden Circlet," by Conrad Howe. Now Annesley and Conrad Howe were the same person; but it was difficult to convince the former, who had worked so deadly hard and failed so often, that the latter was now within sight of what might prove a great success. Annesley saw people stop to look at the announcement and read his other name, with a feeling that he was almost guilty of a serious misdemeanour; he was taking them, as it were, at a disadvantage; he was almost inclined to tap one elderly gentleman on the shoulder and assure him that no harm was intended to him or any one else.
The secret of the authorship of "The Golden Circlet" had been well kept. Only three people were in the know, and not one of these was a woman. Annesley therefore felt safe. He had assumed the other name because his own had brought him no luck; he imagined people shrugging shoulders and wagging wise heads; he could hear the murmur,—"What! Annesley still writing plays? If he hadn't wasted his time over that, he might have had some money left. What a fool the man is!" Annesley had therefore put down the pen and Conrad Howe had taken it up. Moreover, Conrad Howe had actually written a play which seemed to have in it the elements of popularity; hence newspaper paragraphs, discussions as to identity, and finally the fixing of the first night and the appearance of the posters.
"The Golden Circlet" represented six months' grinding work. He had practically shut himself away from the world. He had declined invitations, paid no calls, risked everything on a last throw. When the thing was finished it seemed like coming into fresh air again; he remembered people whose names he had almost forgotten, and above all a girl whom he had told himself it might be wiser to forget; and, while his passionate working fit was on, he had almost succeeded, seeing her only as a possibility at the beginning of success. It is wonderful what hard work may do for a man, for a time. But when the pause comes human nature must always have its backward glance, its old heart searchings, its reviving pains.
Annesley, then, stood watching the entrance to the Century Theatre, and, as he stood there, suddenly his heart commenced a wild stampede. He slipped into the doorway of a shop just in time to escape the eyes of a girl who was walking quickly up the Strand. He waited for a moment; she did not pass. After a time he ventured to glance out; she had left the theatre, and was disappearing in the crowd.
His first impulse was to overtake her and make a clean breast of everything, but a moment's reflection convinced him that, having restrained himself so far, it would be folly to make a doubtful step then. Connie Bolitho had probably no idea that Conrad Howe was a cloak for Herbert Annesley, and he saw an opportunity for a little comedy not to be neglected. Since his position had grown stronger he felt free to indulge his humours; a year before life had seemed all tragedy, with a diminishing banking account, and a sheaf of unpaid bills. He walked carelessly up to the box-office.
"Did a lady take seats a moment ago; a lady with a red hat and fur-trimmed cloak?"