Part 20 (1/2)

White and gold were the decorations of Martha's apartment in the Webster--all white and gold except the dainty bedroom, which was in pink. Visitors, however, saw only the white and gold of the parlor and the drawing-room, with perhaps an occasional glimpse into the dark-oak dining-room.

The first streaks of early dawn, penetrating the crevices behind the heavy, drawn curtains, cast a few shadows, and in the dim light one might have seen a dozen baskets of flowers, mostly orchids and roses, ranged about the drawing-room.

It must have been almost nine o'clock when Lizzie, entering from the maid's room, drew the curtains and flooded the white and gold parlor with rich, warm sun-light. The curtains of the bedroom were still drawn, but evidently Martha was wide awake, for a voice called from the inner room.

”Is that you, Lizzie?”

”Yes, Miss Martha,” replied the maid. ”It's 'most nine o'clock. Shall I get you the papers?”

Martha, hastily throwing on a pink dressing-gown, entered the parlor.

Her eyes were still heavy, and her face was drawn and troubled.

”I've had a wretched night,” she said, dropping into a great arm-chair.

”I couldn't sleep. After that terrible ordeal--”

”Terrible?” repeated Lizzie, aghast. ”Lord, Miss, I heard all the stage hands say the show was great. The actors are the only ones I heard roast it at all.”

”I'm afraid I made a terrible mistake,” sighed Martha. ”I tried to do things too quickly. I was ambitious, but I forgot that the race is not always to the swift. I should have spent years and years in preparation before attempting last night. Of course I was misled by the management, who made me believe I was being promoted because of my ability.”

”And wasn't that the truth?” demanded Lizzie.

Martha smiled wanly. ”I can't explain now,” she said. ”I know I never realized until after last night what an absolute failure I had been.”

”Oh, don't say that, Miss Martha,” protested Lizzie. ”Look at the applause you got, and all these flowers.”

”Applause and flowers--that's all failures ever get,” and Martha shook her head wearily. ”The end of my dreams has come. I shall close the theater to-night.”

”Lord, Miss Martha,” cried Lizzie, ”don't be hasty. Ah,” as a knock sounded on the door, ”there are the papers. Shall I open them up for you?”

”I can find the notices easily enough,” said Martha, taking the papers.

”I am sure the horrid headlines will stare me in the face. Mr. Clayton tried to encourage me last night, but I am sure the verdict will be against me.”

”I wouldn't bother with the papers if I felt that way, Miss Martha. Lots of the actors at Mrs. Anderson's said they never read no criticisms, but once in a great while when an actor got a good line, I always noticed he'd find a way to read it aloud at the supper table.”

”By the way, Lizzie,” said Martha, suddenly, ”is Mrs. Anderson's full now, do you suppose?”

”It wasn't yesterday.”

”Do you suppose I could get my old room again?”

”Your old room?” cried the amazed Lizzie. ”Why, that's no place for a real actress.”

Martha sighed again and tried to smile. ”But I'm not a real actress and I must find a cheaper place. Pack up to-day. Better 'phone the hotel office at once that we shall leave in an hour.”

Lizzie went to the 'phone while Martha opened the newspapers. She turned the pages idly until she found the headlines she sought, and for a moment read in silence. Suddenly she sprang to her feet and threw the papers on the floor.

”Infamous,” she cried bitterly. ”Why need they be so cruel? I won't read another line.”

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Pinkie, resplendent in a new tailor-made gown, brilliantly red, burst into the room.