He wanted to do Atland. But we all backed out simultaneously, and went back to the play as it stood."
"G.o.dolphin saw he couldn"t make enough of Atland," said the manager, as if he were saying it to himself. "Well, you may be sure he feels now that the character which most appeals to the public in the play is Salome."
"He felt that before."
"And he was right. Now, I will tell you what you have got to do. You have either got to separate the love-business from the rest of the play and develop it into a comedy by itself--"
"That would mean a great deal of work, and I am rather sick of the whole thing."
"Or," the manager went on without minding Maxwell, "you have got to cut the part of Salome, and subordinate it entirely to Haxard"--Maxwell made a movement of impatience and refusal, and the manager finished--"or else you have got to treat it frankly as the leading part in the piece, and get it into the hands of some leading actress."
"Do you mean," the author asked, "that you--or any manager--would take it if that were done?"
Grayson looked a little unhappy. "No, that isn"t what I mean, exactly. I mean that as it stands, no manager would risk it, and that as soon as an actor had read it, he would see, as G.o.dolphin must have seen from the start, that Haxard was a subordinate part. What you want to do is to get it in the hands of some woman who wants to star, and would take the road with it." The manager expatiated at some length on the point, and then he stopped, and sat silent, as if he had done with the subject.
Maxwell perceived that the time had come for him to get up and go away.
"I"m greatly obliged to you for all your kindness, Mr. Grayson, and I won"t abuse your patience any further. You"ve been awfully good to me, and--" He faltered, in a dejection which he could not control. Against all reason, he had hoped that the manager would have taken his piece just as it stood, and apparently he would not have taken it in any event.
"You mustn"t speak of that," said the manager. "I wish you would let me see anything else you do. There"s a great deal that"s good in this piece, and I believe that a woman who would make it her battle-horse could make it go."
Maxwell asked, with melancholy scorn, "But you don"t happen to know any leading lady who is looking round for a battle-horse?"
The manager seemed trying to think. "Yes, I do. You wouldn"t like her altogether, and I don"t say she would be the ideal Salome, but she would be, in her way, effective; and I know that she wants very much to get a play. She hasn"t been doing anything for a year or two but getting married and divorced, but she made a very good start. She used to call herself Yolande Havisham; I don"t suppose it was her name; and she had a good deal of success in the West; I don"t think she"s ever appeared in New York. I believe she was of quite a good Southern family; the Southerners all are; and I hear she has money."
"G.o.dolphin mentioned a Southern girl for the part," said Maxwell. "I wonder if--"
"Very likely it"s the same one. She does emotional leads. She and G.o.dolphin played together in California, I believe. I was trying to think of her married name--or her unmarried name--"
Some one knocked at the door, and the young man put his head in, with what Maxwell fancied a preconcerted effect, and gave the manager a card.
He said, "All right; bring him round," and he added to Maxwell, "Shall I send your play--"
"No, no, I will take it," and Maxwell carried it away with a heavier heart than he had even when he got it back from G.o.dolphin. He did not know how to begin again, and he had to go home and take counsel with his wife as to the next step.
He could not bear to tell her of his disappointment, and it was harder still to tell her of the kind of hope the manager had held out to him.
He revolved a compromise in his mind, and when they sat down together he did not mean to conceal anything, but only to postpone something; he did not clearly know why. He told her the alternatives the manager had suggested, and she agreed with him they were all impossible.
"Besides," she said, "he doesn"t promise to take the play, even if you do everything to a "t." Did he ask you to lunch again?"
"No, that seemed altogether a thing of the past."
"Well, let us have ours, and then we can go into the Park, and forget all about it for a while, and perhaps something new will suggest itself."
That was what they did, but nothing new suggested itself. They came home fretted with their futile talk. There seemed nothing for Maxwell to do but to begin the next day with some other manager.
They found a note from Grayson waiting Maxwell. "Well, you open it," he said, listlessly, to his wife, and in fact he felt himself at that moment physically unable to cope with the task, and he dreaded any fluctuation of emotion that would follow, even if it were a joyous one.
"What does this mean, Brice?" demanded his wife, with a terrible provisionality in her tone, as she stretched out the letter to him, and stood before him where he lounged in the cushioned window-seat.
Grayson had written: "If you care to submit your play to Yolande Havisham, you can easily do so. I find that her address is the same as yours. Her name is Harley. But I was mistaken about the divorce. It was a death."
Maxwell lay stupidly holding the note before him.
"Will you tell me what it means?" his wife repeated. "Or why you didn"t tell me before, if you meant to give your play to that creature?"
"I don"t mean to give it to her," said Maxwell, doggedly. "I never did, for an instant. As for not telling you that Grayson had suggested it--well, perhaps I wished to spare myself a scene like the present."
"Do you think I will believe you?"
"I don"t think you will insult me. Why shouldn"t you believe I am telling you the truth?"
"Because--because you didn"t tell me at once."
"That is nonsense, and you know it. If I wanted to keep this from you, it was to spare you the annoyance I can"t help now, and because the thing was settled in my mind as soon as Grayson proposed it."
"Then, why has he written to you about it?"
"I suppose I didn"t say it was settled."
"Suppose? Don"t you _know_ whether you did?"
"Come, now, Louise! I am not on the witness-stand, and I won"t be cross-questioned. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. What is the matter with you? Am I to blame because a man who doesn"t imagine your dislike of a woman that you never spoke to suggests her taking part in a play that she probably wouldn"t look at? You"re preposterous! Try to have a little common-sense!" These appeals seemed to have a certain effect with his wife; she looked daunted; but Maxwell had the misfortune to add, "One would think you were jealous of the woman."
"_Now_ you are insulting _me_!" she cried. "But it"s a part of the vulgarity of the whole business. Actors, authors, managers, you"re all alike."
Maxwell got very pale. "Look out, Louise!" he warned her.
"I _won"t_ look out. If you had any delicacy, the least delicacy in the world, you could imagine how a woman who had given the most sacred feelings of her nature to you for your selfish art would loathe to be represented by such a creature as that, and still not be jealous of her, as you call it! But I am justly punished! I might have expected it."
The maid appeared at the door and said something, which neither of them could make out at once, but which proved to be the question whether Mrs.
Maxwell had ordered the dinner.
"No, I will go--I was just going out for it," said Louise. She had in fact not taken off her hat or gloves since she came in from her walk, and she now turned and swept out of the room without looking at her husband. He longed to detain her, to speak some kindly or clarifying word, to set himself right with her, to set her right with herself; but the rage was so hot in his heart that he could not. She came back to the door a moment, and looked in. "_I_ will do _my_ duty."
"It"s rather late," he sneered, "but if you"re very conscientious, I dare say we shall have dinner at the usual time."
He did not leave the window-seat, and it was as if the door had only just clashed to after her when there came a repeated and violent ringing at the bell, so that he jumped up himself, to answer it, without waiting for the maid.
"Your wife--your wife!" panted the bell-boy, who stood there. "She"s hurt herself, and she"s fainted."
"My wife? Where--how?" He ran down stairs after the boy, and in the hallway on the ground floor he found Louise stretched upon the marble pavement, with her head in the lap of a woman, who was chafing her hands. He needed no look at this woman"s face to be sure that it was the woman of his wife"s abhorrence, and he felt quite as sure that it was the actress Yolande Havisham, from the effective drama of her self-possession.
"Don"t be frightened. Your wife turned her foot on the steps here. I was coming into the house, and caught her from falling. It"s only a swoon." She spoke with the pseudo-English accent of the stage, but with a Southern slip upon the vowels here and there. "Get some water, please."
The hall-boy came running up the back stairs with some that he had gone to get, and the woman bade Maxwell sprinkle his wife"s face. But he said: "No--you," and he stooped and took his wife"s head into his own hands, so that she might not come to in the lap of Mrs. Harley; in the midst of his dismay he reflected how much she would hate that. He could hardly keep himself from being repellant and resentful towards the woman. In his remorse for quarrelling with Louise, it was the least reparation he could offer her. Mrs. Harley, if it were she, seemed not to notice his rudeness. She sprinkled Louise"s face, and wiped her forehead with the handkerchief she dipped in the water; but this did not bring her out of her faint, and Maxwell began to think she was dead, and to feel that he was a murderer. With a strange aesthetic vigilance he took note of his sensations for use in revising Haxard.
The janitor of the building had somehow arrived, and Mrs. Harley said: "I will go for a doctor, if you can get her up to your apartment;" and she left Louise with the two men.
The janitor, a burly Irishman, lifted her in his arms, and carried her up the three flights of steps; Maxwell followed, haggardly, helplessly.