"And you mean that there is this mystical kindness for Mr. Maxwell's play in the prophecies that all read so much alike to me?"
"Yes, I do," said the manager, laughing. "They like him because he's new and young, and is making his way single-handed."
"Well," said Louise, "those seem good grounds for preference to me, too;" and she thought how nearly they had been her own grounds for liking Maxwell.
Grayson went with them to the stage and found her the best place to sit and see the rehearsal. He made some one get chairs, and he sat with her chatting while men in high hats and overcoats and women in bonnets and fur-edged butterfly-capes came in one after another. Godolphin arrived among the first, with an ulster which came down to where his pantaloons were turned up above his overshoes. He caught sight of Louise, and approached her with outstretched hand, and Grayson gave up his chair to the actor. Godolphin was very cordial, deferentially cordial, with a delicate vein of reminiscent comradery running through his manner. She spoke to him of having at last got his ideal for Salome, and he said, with a slight sigh and a sort of melancholy absence: "Yes, Miss Havisham will do it magnificently." Then he asked, with a look of latent significance:
"Have you ever seen her?"
Louise laughed for as darkling a reason. "Only in real life. You know we live just over and under each other."
"Ah, true. But I meant, on the stage. She's a great artist. You know she's the one I wanted for Salome from the start."
"Then you ought to be very happy in getting her at last."
"She will do everything for the play," sighed Godolphin. "She'll make up for all my shortcomings."
"You won't persuade us that you have any shortcomings, Mr. Godolphin," said Louise. "You are Haxard, and Haxard is the play. You can't think, Mr. Godolphin, how deeply grateful we both are to you for your confidence in my husband's work, your sacrifices—"