"And is that all?"
"Not entirely; there yet remains a chapter to be added to my
confessions. I acknowledge I should have long since tired of the life
and its hardships, had you not chanced to be a member of the same
troupe."
"I, Mr. Winston? Why, we have scarcely spoken to each other until
to-day."
"True, yet I strenuously deny that it was my fault. In fact, I had
firmly determined that we should, and, having been a spoiled child, I
am accustomed to having my own way. This, perhaps, will partially
account for my persistency and for my still being with 'The Heart of
the World.' But all else aside, I early became intensely interested in
your work, Miss Norvell, instantly recognizing that it required no
common degree of ability to yield dignity to so poor a thing as the
play in which you appear. I began to study you and your
interpretation; I never tired of noting those little fresh touches with
which you constantly succeeded in embellishing your lines and your
'business,' and how clearly your conception of character stood forth
against the crude background of those mummers surrounding you. It was
a lesson in interpretative art to me, and one I never wearied of.
Then, I must likewise confess, something else occurred."
He paused, looking aside at her, and, as though she felt the spell of
that glance, she turned her own face, brightened by such earnest words
of praise, their eyes meeting frankly.
"What?"
"The most natural thing in the world--my admiration for the art only
served to increase my early interest in the artist. I began to feel
drawn not only to the actress but to the woman," he said gravely.
Her eyes never faltered, but faced him bravely, although her cheeks
were like poppies, and her lips faltered in their first bold effort at
swift reply.
"I am so glad you honestly think that about my work; so glad you told
me. It is a wonderful encouragement, for I know now that you speak as
a man of education, of cultivation. You must have seen the highest
class of stage interpretation, and, I am sure, have no desire merely to
flatter me. You do not speak as if you meant an idle compliment. Oh,
you can scarcely conceive how much success will spell to me, Mr.
Winston," her voice growing deeper from increasing earnestness, her
eyes more thoughtful, "but I am going to tell you a portion of my
life-story in order that you may partially comprehend. This is my
first professional engagement; but I was no stage-struck girl when I
first applied for the position. Rather, the thought was most repugnant
to me. My earlier life had been passed under conditions which held me
quite aloof from anything of the kind. While I always enjoyed
interpreting character as a relaxation, and even achieved, while at
school in the East, a rather enviable reputation as an amateur, I
nevertheless had a distinct prejudice against the professional stage,
even while intensely admiring its higher exponents. My turning to it
for a livelihood was a grim necessity, my first week on the road a
continual horror. I abhorred the play, the making of a nightly
spectacle of myself, the rudeness and freedom of the audiences, the
coarse, common-place people with whom I was constantly compelled to
consort. You know them, and can therefore realize to some extent what
daily association with them must necessarily mean to one of my early
training and familiarity with quieter social customs. But my position
in the troupe afforded me certain privileges of isolation, while my
necessities compelled me to persevere. As a result, the dormant
art-spirit within apparently came to life; ambition began to usurp the
place of indifference; I became more and more disgusted with
mediocrity, and began an earnest struggle toward higher achievements.
I had little to guide me other than my own natural instincts, yet I
persevered. I insisted on living my own life while off the stage, and,
to kill unhappy thought, I devoted all my spare moments to hard study.
Almost to my surprise, the very effort brought with it happiness. I
began to forget the past and its crudities, to blot out the present
with its dull, unpleasant realities, and to live for the future. My
ideals, at first but vague dreams, took form and substance. I
determined to succeed, to master my art, to develop whatever of talent
I might possess to its highest possibility, to become an actress worthy
of the name. This developing ideal has already made me a new woman--it
has given me something to live for, to strive toward."