“I have seldom seen a newly-married woman so keenly alive to the defects of her husband’s character.”
“Reggie’s not a bad boy really,” answered his wife, shrugging her shoulders, “but he wants licking into shape.”
“I wonder why you married him?” asked the other, reflectively, knocking off the ash of her cigarette.
Lauria looked at her sharply, hesitating, then made up her mind to speak openly.
“You seem a good sort and a woman of the world; and, after all, I’m married, and you’ll just have to make the best of me. Reggie’s good-looking, isn’t he?” She glanced at a photograph which stood on the chimneypiece. “And I like him. You know, I’ve been on the stage eight years; I went on when I was sixteen. How much does that make me!”
“Twenty-seven, I should say,” answered Miss Ley with deliberation.
Lauria smiled good-naturedly.
“Nasty people say I’m twenty-eight; but, anyhow, I’m sick to death of the stage, and I want to get off it.”
“I thought you were going to play Juliet to Reggie’s Romeo.”
“Yes, I can see myself! For one thing, I’m quite sure Reggie can’t act for nuts, and when they start they all want to play Hamlet. Why, I never knew a super who carried a banner in a panto who didn’t think that if he got his opportunity he’d be another Irving. Oh, I’ve heard it so often! Every girl I know has come to me and said: “Lauria, I feel I’ve got it in me, and I only want a chance.” I’m sick of the whole thing. I don’t want to go traipsing about the province’s, working like a nigger all the week, and travelling on Sundays, living in dingy apartments, and all the rest of it. I just let Reggie gas away, and it keeps him out of mischief to learn plays. I thought it would take his mother three months to come round, and by that time he’ll be sick of it. I like Reggie, and when I’ve had him in hand for a few months I shall make a decent boy of him; but I don’t pretend for a moment I’d have married him if I hadn’t known that his mother had money.”