He tried to make himself believe that it was just as it had been; that Bessie was the same, the meaning of New York and the fortune that had come to him. How could she sing so, if it were not true?
“The formal try-out is two weeks from to-day,” she added. “The rest is done. It’s the chance for life—one of the leads with the King Follies for next season. They’ve already heard me. I need to do no more, than has been done?”
“Just singing?”
“There are many lines and some dancing—oh, it’s a chance to storm the piece—if I can.”
She enlarged and detailed the promise; Bellair forgot many things he had to say.
“Is that all you want, Bessie?”
“What?”
“This chance.”
Her brows knit with irritation. It was her high tide, and he did not seem able to rise with it. Still she dared not be angry with him.
“Don’t you see—it’s everything?”