She is divorced from their father,"
she went on coolly, "and he is married to the leading
lady. Candidly," she added, looking at him with a courageous
smile, "prejudice apart, is it not magnificent material?"
A storm of words trembled upon the verge of his lips,
but his diplomacy instinctively sealed them up. "You
can never use it," he said instead.
"Perfectly! I am not quite sure about the form--whether
I shall write as one of them, or as myself, telling the
story of my experience. But I never dreamed of having
such an opportunity. If I didn't mean to write a word I
should be glad of it--a look into another world, with
its own customs and language and ethics and pleasures
and pains. _Quelle chance!_
"And then," she went on, as if to herself, "to be of the
life, the strange, unreal, painted, lime-lighted life
that goes on behind the curtain! That is something--to
act one's part in it, to know that one's own secret role
is a thousand times more difficult than any in the
_repertoire_. Can't you understand?" she appealed. "You
are horribly unresponsive. We won't talk of it any longer."
she added, with a little offended air. "How is Janet?"
"We must talk of it, Elfrida," Cardiff answered.
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