"Yes," said Audrey. "He had not been there for a long, long time. At first
he came night after night.... I wrote to him at last and told him how he
troubled me,--made me forget my lines,--and then he came no more."
There was in her tone a strange wistfulness. Evelyn drew her breath
sharply, glanced swiftly at the dark face and liquid eyes. Mr. Grymes yet
held the manager and his wife in conversation, but Mr. Lee, a small
jessamine-scented glove in hand, was hurrying toward them from the
summer-house.
"You think that you do not love Mr. Haward?" said Evelyn, in a low voice.
"I loved one that never lived," said Audrey simply. "It was all in a dream
from which I have waked. I told him that at Westover, and afterwards here
in Williamsburgh. I grew so tired at last--it hurt me so to tell him ...
and then I wrote the letter. He has been at Fair View this long time, has
he not?"
"Yes," said Evelyn quietly. "He has been alone at Fair View." The rose in
her cheeks had faded; she put her lace handkerchief to her lips, and shut
her hand so closely that the nails bit into the palm. In a moment,
however, she was smiling, a faint, inscrutable smile, and presently she
came a little nearer and took Audrey's hand in her own.
The soft, hot, lingering touch thrilled the girl. She began to speak
hurriedly, not knowing why she spoke nor what she wished to say: "Mistress
Evelyn"-"Yes, Audrey," said Evelyn, and laid a fluttering touch upon the other's
lips, then in a moment spoke herself: "You are to remember always, though
you love him not, Audrey, that he never was true lover of mine; that now
and forever, and though you died to-night, he is to me but an old
acquaintance,--Mr. Marmaduke Haward of Fair View. Remember also that it
was not your fault, nor his perhaps, nor mine, and that with all my heart
I wish his happiness.... Ah, Mr. Lee, you found it? My thanks, sir."
Mr. Lee, having restored the glove with all the pretty froth of words
which the occasion merited, and seen Mistress Evelyn turn aside to speak
with Mr. Stagg, found himself mightily inclined to improve the golden
opportunity and at once lay siege to this paragon from the playhouse. Two
low bows, a three-piled, gold-embroidered compliment, a quotation from his
"To Sylvia upon her Leaving the Theatre," and the young gentleman thought
his lines well laid. But Sylvia grew restless, dealt in monosyllables, and
finally retreated to Mistress Stagg's side. "Shall we not go home?" she
whispered. "I--I am tired, and I have my part to study, the long speech at
the end that I stumbled in last night. Ah, let us go!"