“And, my boy, we can’t afford to let it fail because of this—this misfortune that has come to you. It’s on your shoulders. We must come through, Frank. We can’t stand a failure.” His anxiety was all too evident.
“I won’t. I depend upon you, my boy, that’s all. And so does to-night’s success. Let me run you home.”
“Thanks—no. I’d rather walk it. Want to be alone—you understand—pardon!”
And he had stumbled out of the stage door into the new gray day.
Now as he paced up and down, he wondered whether it would be humanly possible to keep faith with the man who was giving him the opportunity to blazon his name to the world. Could he go through with it? Could he be depended upon?
The nurse appeared in the doorway and beckoned to him. From the pillow a pair of eyes, so large and dark that there seemed no other feature in the small face, fastened on the door as he entered. He dropped on his knees, laid his head beside hers. One hand strayed up and stroked his thick brown hair.
He answered with another question of greater moment.
“Much. They gave me something to make me sleep. I must have slept a long time. Is it morning?”
“How did the rehearsal go?” she repeated.
“Fine. Kane thinks it will be a knock-out.”
He turned his face from hers for an instant of silence.
The nurse moved about the room, lifting the blinds to the sunlight, preparing it for the day. Then she came over to the bed.
“As soon as I have Mrs. Moore fixed up, I’ll let you come back,” she said.
“You’ll let him tell me all about it, won’t you?” pleaded the voice from the pillow. “I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t.”
“Until he’s ready to go to the theater. Please—please!”
The big dark eyes followed him out of the room.
He stripped off his clothes, took a cold shower and in clean linens tried to persuade himself that he felt relaxed. He telephoned the doctor for a report on last night’s visit and was told Mrs. Moore was about the same. If she had gained some sleep that was decidedly in her favor. The doctor would be over at five and as Mr. Moore had requested, would make arrangements to stay until his return from the theater.
The small face on the pillow was lifted eagerly as he reappeared. Two long braids of pale gold fell over the shoulders and onto the white spread. He had always adored that pale gold hair. It intensified the dark of her eyes, making them almost black. It made her mediæval, an Elaine of poetry. He called her “Elaine” which after all was not so very far from her own name, “Helen.”