The remembrance of her scarcely recurred to him all
through the afternoon, yet it finally returned in overwhelming rush
when, in the course of his arduous labors, he raised up a small leather
trunk and discovered her name painted plainly upon the end of it. The
chalk mark designating where it belonged read "Dressing-room No. 2,"
and, instead of rolling it roughly in that direction, as he had rolled
numerous others, the new utility man lifted it carefully upon his
shoulder and deposited it gently against the farther wall. He glanced
with curiosity about the restricted apartment to which Miss Beth
Norvell had been assigned. It appeared the merest hole of a place,
narrow and ill-ventilated, the side walls and ceiling composed of rough
lumber, and it was evidently designed to be lit at night by a single
gas jet, inclosed within a wire netting. This apartment contained
merely a single rude chair, of the kitchen variety, and an exceedingly
small mirror cracked across one corner and badly fly-specked. Numerous
rusty spikes, intended to hold articles of discarded clothing,
decorated both side walls and the back of the door. It was dismally
bare, and above all, it was abominably dirty, the dust lying thick
everywhere, the floor apparently unswept for weeks. With an
exclamation of disgust Winston hunted up broom and dust-rag, and gave
the gloomy place such a cleansing as it probably had not enjoyed since
the house was originally erected.
At the end of these arduous labors
he looked the scene over critically, the honest perspiration streaming
down his face, glancing, with some newly awakened curiosity, into the
surrounding dressing-rooms. They were equally filthy and unfit for
occupancy, yet he did not feel called upon to invade them with his
cleansing broom. By four o'clock everything was in proper position,
the stage set in perfect order for the opening act, and Winston
returned with his report to the hotel, and to the glowing Albrecht.
Miss Norvell joined the company at the supper table, sitting between
the manager and Mr. T. Macready Lane, although Winston was quick to
observe that she gave slight attention to either, except when addressed
directly. She met the others present with all necessary cordiality and
good-fellowship, yet there appeared a certain undefined reserve about
her manner which led to an immediate hush in the rather free
conversation of what Albrecht was pleased to term the "training table,"
and when the murmur of voices was resumed after her entrance, a
somewhat better choice of subjects became immediately noticeable.
Without so much as either word or look, the silent influence of the
actress was plainly for refinement, while her mere presence at the
table gave a new tone to Bohemianism. Winston, swiftly realizing this,
began observing the lady with a curiosity which rapidly developed into
deeper interest. He became more and more attracted by her unique
personality, which persistently appealed to his aroused imagination,
even while there continued to haunt him a dim tantalizing remembrance
he was unable wholly to master. He assuredly had never either seen or
heard of this young woman before, yet she constantly reminded him of
the past. Her eyes, the peculiar contour of her face, the rather odd
trick she had of shaking back the straying tresses of her dark, glossy
hair, and, above all, that quick smile with which she greeted any flash
of humor, and which produced a fascinating dimple in her cheek, all
served to puzzle and stimulate him; while admiration of her so apparent
womanliness began as instantly to replace the vague curiosity he had
felt toward her as an actress. She was different from what he had
imagined, with absolutely nothing to suggest the glare and glitter of
the footlights. Until this time he had scarcely been conscious that
she possessed any special claim to beauty; yet now, her face, illumined
by those dark eyes filled with quick intelligence, became most
decidedly attractive, peculiarly lovable and womanly. Besides, she
evidently possessed a rare taste in dress, which met with his masculine
approval. Much of this, it is true, he reasoned out later and slowly,
for during that first meal only two circumstances impressed him
clearly--the depth of feeling glowing within those wonderfully
revealing eyes, and her complete ignoring of his presence. If she
recognized any addition to their number, there was not the slightest
sign given. Once their eyes met by merest accident; but hers
apparently saw nothing, and Winston returned to his disagreeable labors
at the Opera House, nursing a feeling akin to disappointment.