“It’s rather a shame, though, miss, that Mr. Haviland is so strict. Why, you could have this room crammed full of flowers every show if he would let Jones take them in, not to mention boxes of chocolates and all manner of nice things. I don’t think as it’s right to deny an actress her perks. I should kick agen it if I was you, miss, that I would.”
“But how could I possibly accept presents from people I don’t even know?” said the girl with wide-open eyes. “Surely Mrs. Potter Wemyss never did!”
“Oh well, Mrs. Potter Wemyss is Mrs. Potter Wemyss. She’s got a great strapping husband six foot one in his stocking-feet, and they do say as he knows how to strike out with his fists. It wouldn’t do for young men to be sending her flowers and billydoos. But you are quite another matter, miss, you are ‘free and unfettered,’ as it says in the play.”
Celia smilingly shook her head, and rising, surveyed herself in the long pier-glass. It was certainly a picturesque figure which met her gaze. Her dress with its long train of bejewelled cloth, fell in stately folds around her form, glittering and scintillating with every fresh ray of light. A silver belt of cunningly chased design adorned her waist, whilst her peculiar head-dress—a quaint kind of cap—set off to the best advantage the rich colouring of her hair.
As she turned away, satisfied with the result of her dresser’s labours, she heard a foot-fall in the stone passage. Then, without knocking, and in evident agitation, Grace Haviland stumbled into the room. She was breathless and excited, and dropped on to a chair with an air of exhaustion. Clutched in her grasp were two of the evening papers and an unopened telegram. Instantly Celia divined that something had happened.
“What is it, Grace?” she asked, with apprehension. “Is anything wrong?”
Miss Haviland nodded, but for the moment was unable to speak.
“This telegram came directly you were gone,” she panted, as soon as she had recovered her breath. “I wouldn’t have troubled about it, only there was something in the evening paper which told me it was of importance. I thought you ought to know at once, so that’s why I’ve rushed here. I have not seen Guy yet: I think he is with Mr. Calhoun at the wings. Perhaps they will be angry when they know I’ve told you, but I thought it cruel not to let you know.”
Celia took the telegram, and tore it open. Then she uttered a little cry.
“Mr. Karne met with a serious accident. Come at once.—Higgins.”