Part 45 (1/2)

Mildred had antic.i.p.ated the most repulsive a.s.sociations--men and women of low origin and of vulgar tastes and of vulgarly loose lives. She found herself surrounded by simple, pleasant people, undoubtedly erratic for the most part in all their habits, but without viciousness.

And they were hard workers, all. Ransdell--for Crossley--tolerated no nonsense. His people could live as they pleased, away from the theater, but there they must be prompt and fit. The discipline was as severe as that of a monastery. She saw many signs that all sorts of things of the sort with which she wished to have no contact were going on about her; but as she held slightly--but not at all haughtily--aloof, she would have had to go out of her way to see enough to scandalize her. She soon suspected that she was being treated with extraordinary consideration. This was by Crossley's orders. But the carrying out of their spirit as well as their letter was due to Ransdell. Before the end of that first week she knew that there was the personal element behind his admiration for her voice and her talent for acting, behind his concentrating most of his attention upon her part. He looked his love boldly whenever they were alone; he was always trying to touch her--never in a way that she could have resented, or felt like resenting. He was not unattractive to her, and she was eager to learn all he had to teach, and saw no harm in helping herself by letting him love.

Toward the middle of the second week, when they were alone in her dressing-room, he--with the ingenious lack of abruptness of the experienced man at the game--took her hand, and before she was ready, kissed her. He did not accompany these advances with an outburst of pa.s.sionate words or with any fiery lighting up of the eyes, but calmly, smilingly, as if it were what she was expecting him to do, what he had a right to do.

She did not know quite how to meet this novel attack. She drew her hand away, went on talking about the part--the changes he had suggested in her entrance, as she sang her best solo. He discussed this with her until they rose to leave the theater. He looked smilingly down on her, and said with the flattering air of the satisfied connoisseur:

”Yes, you are charming, Mildred. I can make a great artist and a great success out of you. We need each other.”

”I certainly need you,” said she gratefully. ”How much you've done for me.”

”Only the beginning,” replied he. ”Ah, I have such plans for you--such plans. Crossley doesn't realize how far you can be made to go--with the right training. Without it--” He shook his head laughingly. ”But you shall have it, my dear.” And he laid his hands lightly and caressingly upon her shoulders.

The gesture was apparently a friendly familiarity. To resent it, even to draw away, would put her in the att.i.tude of the woman absurdly exercised about the desirability and sacredness of her own charms.

Still smiling, in that friendly, a.s.sured way, he went on: ”You've been very cold and reserved with me, my dear. Very unappreciative.”

Mildred, red and trembling, hung her head in confusion.

”I've been at the business ten years,” he went on, ”and you're the first woman I've been more than casually interested in. The pretty ones were bores. The homely ones--I can't interest myself in a homely woman, no matter how much talent she has. A woman must first of all satisfy the eye. And you--” He seated himself and drew her toward him. She, cold all over and confused in mind and almost stupefied, resisted with all her strength; but her strength seemed to be oozing away. She said:

”You must not do this. You must not do this. I'm horribly disappointed in you.”

He drew her to his lap and held her there without any apparent tax upon his strength. He kissed her, laughingly pus.h.i.+ng away the arms with which she tried to s.h.i.+eld her face. Suddenly she found strength to wrench herself free and stood at a distance from him. She was panting a little, was pale, was looking at him with cold anger.

”You will please leave this room,” said she.

He lit a cigarette, crossed his legs comfortably, and looked at her with laughing eyes. ”Don't do that,” he said genially. ”Surely my lessons in acting haven't been in vain. That's too obviously a pose.”

She went to the mirror, arranged her hat, and moved toward the door. He rose and barred the way.

”You are as sensible as you are sweet and lovely,” said he. ”Why should you insist on our being bad friends?”

”If you don't stand aside, I'll call out to the watchman.”

”I'd never have thought you were dishonest. In fact, I don't believe it yet. You don't look like one of those ladies who wish to take everything and give nothing.” His tone and manner were most attractive. Besides, she could not forget all he had done for her--and all he could do for her. Said she:

”Mr. Ransdell, if I've done anything to cause you to misunderstand, it was unconscious. And I'm sorry. But I--”

”Be honest,” interrupted he. ”Haven't I made it plain that I was fascinated by you?”

She could not deny it.

”Haven't I been showing you that I was willing to do everything I could for you?”

”I thought you were concerned only about the success of the piece.”

”The piece be jiggered,” said he. ”You don't imagine YOU are necessary to its success, do you? You, a raw, untrained girl. Don't your good sense tell you I could find a dozen who would do, let us say, ALMOST as well?”

”I understand that,” murmured she.

”Perhaps you do, but I doubt it,” rejoined he. ”Vanity's a fast growing weed. However, I rather expected that you would remain sane and reasonably humble until you'd had a real success. But it seems not.

Now tell me, why should I give my time and my talent to training you--to putting you in the way of quick and big success?”