Part 26 (1/2)
”_I_ didn't forget him though,” said Mrs. Harley. ”I was trying all the time to play up to him--and to Mrs. Maxwell.”
The actor laughed his deep, mellow, hollow laugh, which was a fine work of art in itself, and said: ”Mrs. Maxwell, you must let me present the other _dramatis personae_ to you,” and he introduced the whole cast of the play, one after another. Each said something of the Salome, how grand it was, how impa.s.sioned, how powerful. Maxwell stood by, listening, with his eyes on his wife's face, trying to read her thought.
They were silent most of the way home, and she only talked of indifferent things. When the door of their apartment shut them in with themselves alone, she broke out: ”Horrible, horrible, horrible! Well, the play is ruined, ruined! We might as well die; or _I_ might! I suppose _you_ really liked it!”
Maxwell turned white with anger. ”I didn't try to make her _think_ I did, anyway. But I knew how you really felt, and I don't believe you deceived her very much, either. All the same I was ashamed to see you try.”
”Don't talk to me--don't speak! She knew from every syllable I uttered that I perfectly loathed it, and I know that she tried to make it as hateful to me all the way through as she could. She played it _at_ me, and she knew it _was_ me. It was as if she kept saying all the time, 'How do you like my translation of your Boston girl into Alabama, or Mississippi, or Arkansas, or wherever I came from? This is the way you would have acted, if you were _me_!' Yes, that is the hideous part of it. Her nature has _come off_ on the character, and I shall never see, or hear, or think, or dream Salome, after this, without having Yolande Havisham before me. She's spoiled the sweetest thing in my life. She's made me hate myself; she's made me hate _you_! Will you go out somewhere and get your lunch? I don't want anything myself, and just now I can't bear to look at you. Oh, you're not to blame, that I know of, if that's what you mean. Only go!”
”I can go out for lunch, certainly,” said Maxwell ”Perhaps you would rather I stayed out for dinner, too?”
”Don't be cruel, dearest. I am trying to control myself--”
”I shouldn't have thought it. You're not succeeding.”
”No, not so well as you, if you hated this woman's Salome as much as I did. If it's always been as bad as it was to-day you've controlled yourself wonderfully well never to give me any hint of it, or prepare me for it in the least.”
”How could I prepare you? You would have come to it with your own prepossessions, no matter what I said.”
”Was that why you said nothing?”
”You would have hated it if she had played it with angelic perfection, because you hated her.”
”Perhaps you think she really did play it with angelic perfection! Well, you needn't come back to dinner.”
Louise pa.s.sed into their room, to lay off her hat and sack.
”I will not come back at all, if you prefer,” Maxwell called after her.
”I have no preferences in the matter,” she mocked back.
XXIV.
Maxwell and Louise had torn at each other's hearts till they were bleeding, and he wished to come back at once and she wished him to come, that they might hurt themselves still more savagely; but when this desire pa.s.sed, they longed to meet and bind up one another's wounds.
This better feeling brought them together before night-fall, when Maxwell returned, and Louise, at the sound of his latch-key in the door, ran to let him in.
”Mr. G.o.dolphin is here,” she said, in a loud, cheery voice, and he divined that he owed something of his eager welcome to her wish to keep him from resuming the quarrel unwittingly. ”He has just come to talk over the rehearsal with you, and I wouldn't let him go. I was sure you would be back soon.”
She put her finger to her lip, with whatever warning intention, and followed her husband into the presence of the actor, and almost into his arms, so rapturous was the meeting between them.
”Well,” cried G.o.dolphin, ”I couldn't help looking in a moment to talk with you and Mrs. Maxwell about our Salome. I feel that she will make the fortune of the piece--of any piece. Doesn't Miss Havisham's rendition grow upon you? It's magnificent. It's on the grand scale. It's immense. The more I think about it, the more I'm impressed with it.
She'll carry the house by storm. I've never seen anything like it; and I'm glad to find that Mrs. Maxwell feels just as I do about it.” Maxwell looked at his wife, who returned his glance with a guiltless eye. ”I was afraid she might feel the loss of things that certainly _are_ lost in it. I don't say that Miss Havisham's Salome, superb as it is, is _your_ Salome--or Mrs. Maxwell's. I've always fancied that Mrs. Maxwell had a great deal to do with that character, and--I don't know why--I've always thought of her when I've thought of _it_; but at the same time it's a splendid Salome. She makes it Southern, almost tropical. It isn't the Boston Salome. You may say that it is wanting in delicacy and the nice shades; but it's full of pa.s.sion; there's nothing caviare to the general in it. The average audience will understand just what the girl that Miss Havisham gives is after, and she gives her so abundantly that there's no more doubt of the why than there is of the how. Sometimes I used to think the house couldn't follow Miss Pettrell in her subtle touches, but the house, to the topmost tier of the gallery, will get Miss Havisham's intention.”
G.o.dolphin was standing while he said all this, and Maxwell now asked: ”Won't you sit down?”
The actor had his overcoat on his arm, and his hat in one hand. He tapped at his boot with the umbrella he held in the other. ”No, I don't believe I will, thank you. The fact is, I just dropped in a moment to rea.s.sure you if you had misgivings about the Salome, and to give you my point of view.”