"My dear Dick," she said. "There's nobody cares for me so much as you." And the tears stood in her eyes as well.
The young man let go her hand, and stood up. "That's enough, Molly—so long as we understand. Now tell me about the studies. Are you really working?"
"Really working. But, oh, Dick, my trouble is that the harder I work the more I feel as if it isn't there. I do exactly what I am told to do, and it doesn't come off."
"But when you used to sing and dance——"
"Oh, anybody could make people laugh."
The actor groaned. "She says—anybody! And she can do it! And they put her into tragedy!"
"Whenever I try to feel the emotion myself, it vanishes, and I can only feel myself in white satin, with a long train sweeping to the back of the stage, and all the house in love with me."
"This is bad; this is very bad, Molly."
"See, here, Dick, I'm telling you all my troubles. I am studying the part of Desdemona—you know, Desdemona who married a black man. How could she?—and of course he was jealous. I've got to show all kinds of emotion before that beast of a husband kills me."