Part 23 (2/2)
”I think, Cuthbert Grahame, it's possible that you'll shortly be revenged; if you knew just how things are I fancy you'd be of opinion that you're revenged already. If you'd been even a shadowy semblance of the father you once professed to be, I--I shouldn't be wondering where I'm to get my dinner from.”
She examined the physiognomy of the man in front of her as if, instead of being the most familiar of faces, she saw it now for the first time. Going back to her seat at the table, she was examining the drawings which had accompanied the returned MS., as if desirous of learning what improvement she could make in them, when there came a tap at the door.
”Come in.” Mr. Talfourd entered. In a moment she was in his arms. ”Harry!”
”Meg!--more roses for you.” He handed her the La France roses which had been presented to him by Mrs. Lamb. ”What are you doing?”
She was eyeing the roses, without any great show of enthusiasm, which was possibly lacking because she knew from whom they had originally come.
”Harry, I've more bad news for you--I never seem to have anything else. The story's back from the _Searchlight_.”
”What does it matter?”
”I don't like to hear you talk like that, because, you see, we both know that it matters, dear. Harry, do you think that it may have been returned because my drawings aren't up to the mark--honestly?”
”Honestly, I am certain it has not. Your drawings are at least as good as my story. I have never met any one who can ill.u.s.trate me as well as you do.”
”You mean that? If I weren't Margaret Wallace would you say so still?”
”I should. I should congratulate myself on having met some one who could ill.u.s.trate me as I like to be ill.u.s.trated. You misunderstood me just now. I said what does it matter, because it doesn't matter, in view of something of much greater importance which I have to say to you.”
”Harry! what is it?”
”I hardly know how to begin, it's such a queer position. It's this--in a way, my play's accepted.”
”'The Gordian Knot'?--by Mr. Winton?”
”No, not by Winton, by Mrs. Lamb.”
”Mrs. Lamb?--Harry!” He told her how the play had come into Mrs.
Lamb's hands, and how that lady had expressed her willingness to give it immediate production, on the understanding that she was to create Lady Glover. ”But I didn't know she could act. Why should she want to anyhow?--she a rich woman!--especially such a part! Lady Glover's a horrible creature! I suppose you think she'd make a mess of it--and of course she would. She must be a very conceited person.”
”Sweetheart, shall I tell you, quite frankly, what I really think?”
”You hadn't better tell me anything else.”
”Then I'll make you my father confessor. I've a strong feeling, amounting to a positive conviction, that she'd make a magnificent Lady Glover. That's one reason why I hesitate.”
”Now I don't understand. If she makes a success of the part, what else do you want?”
”I'll endeavour to explain. For one thing, I think it possible that she'll make it the part of the play, and so put Winton in the shade entirely. In the theatre he proposes to manage I'm certain he's no intention to be overshadowed by any one. Not that, in such a matter, I'm likely to be too sensitive about his feelings--but there it is. What, from my point of view, would be more serious, is that it is extremely probable that, by her rendition of Lady Glover, she'll warp the play out of what I intended to be its setting. As she was talking just now it dawned upon me that, in her hands, the play might become transformed--something altogether different to what I meant it to be.”
”But if it's a success?”
”Meg, I find it difficult to put into words just what's in my mind. Of course if it's successful it will mean----”
”It will mean everything.”
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