“No, I didn’t think him very good, last night. Nervous.—And perhaps the play did seem rather thin.... But it’ll do better in New York. More civilized people, there.”
Olive lifted her breakfast tray to the bedside table and thought. Then her patience snapped, before the girl’s sunny and motionless certitude. She said, “New York! Do you think Mark will risk bringing this poor ghost of a thing to New York? Hardly! He told me last night it will be played in Philadelphia and Baltimore, then he’ll discard it.—You’re silly, dearest! The play’s wretched and Rand’s no better than a hundred other young leading men I’ve seen. He appeals to you for some reason or other. He seems very, very feeble to me. He has no virility, no—”
The silver girdle broke between the tawny hands. Margot’s face rippled. She said loudly, “This is all Gurdy! He doesn’t like the play! He’s made dad dislike it. He—”
Olive cut in, “I shan’t listen to that! That’s mere ill temper and untrue. The play is a waste of Mark’s time and of his money.—Between your very exaggerated loyalty to Ronny Dufford and your liking for this doll of an actor you’ve probably cost Mark three or four thousand pounds. He produced this play entirely to please you. Don’t tease him any farther. Don’t try to make him bring this nonsense to New York. You’ve a dreadful power over Mark. Don’t trade on it! You’re behaving like a spoiled child. You disappoint me!”
The black eyes widened. Margot pushed herself back from the bed with both hands, staring. She said, “I—I dare say.... Sorry.”
“You should be!... He’s done everything he can to keep you amused. He isn’t a millionaire. You’ve been treated like a mistress of extravagant tastes, not like a daughter! There is such a thing as gratitude. He’s humoured you in regard to this silly play and in regard to Rand. Gurdy and Mr. Russell tell me that Cora Boyle can make herself a disgusting nuisance now that the play’s a failure. You’ve pushed Mark into this very bad bargain. Don’t make it worse by whimpering, now, and don’t—”
“Oh, please!”
“Then please bite on the bullet and let’s hear no more of this. When Mark tells you he’ll drop the play, don’t tease him.”
Margot said, “Poor Ronny Dufford! I thought—”
“I’m sorry Ronny’s broke. It’s the destiny of younger sons whose fathers had a taste for baccarat. I shall start for Japan as soon as I’ve seen the Walling opened. I shan’t go in a very easy frame of mind if I feel that you’ve constituted yourself a charitable committee of one with Mark as treasurer.”