"Did I ever profess friendship for you?"
She hesitated, and played with her fan. A little wave of colour flowed back into her cheeks.
"You see," he went on, "I was pretty much alone in the world, and had to make my mark in my own way. A few months ago things were very black with me. I shut myself up and worked."
"It must have been hard for you," she said, "to cut yourself off from everything like that."
"It was hard, I'm not going to pretend it wasn't. But I had hope—not very bright, perhaps, but still it was enough to keep me from going under."
"You had faith in yourself and in your own work."
"I had more than that. Can you guess what it was?" Their voices sounded curiously hollow in the empty theatre,—the attendants were already putting up and covering the seats.
"You hoped to get fame and money?"
"Yes, but more than either I wished to win your love. Don't kill my illusion, don't ring down the curtain on my romance, Connie, and leave me in the dark. Everything I did was for you. You inspired whatever was good in 'The Golden Circlet.' The thought of you kept my head above water. I can come to you now without feeling ashamed."
"You might have come before. You need never have been ashamed. I could have helped you, oh, so much!"