Since Bruce had had the amateur-theatrical trouble, he had forgotten to have any other illness. But he spent many, many half-hours walking up and down in front of the glass rehearsing his part—which consisted of the words, 'Ah, Miss Vavasour, how charming you look—a true Queen of Night! May a humble mandarin petition for a dance?' He tried this in many different tones; sometimes serious and romantic, sometimes humorous, but in every case he was much pleased with his reading of the part and counted on a brilliant success.
One evening he had come home looking perturbed, and said he thought he had caught a chill. Eucalyptus, quinine, sal-volatile, and clinical thermometers were lavishly applied, and after dinner he said he was better, but did not feel sufficiently up to the mark to go through his part with Edith as usual, and was rather silent during the rest of the evening.
When he came down to breakfast the next morning, Edith said—
'Do you know Anne's come back?'
'Anne. Hyacinth's companion. Miss Yeo, I mean.'
'Don't you remember about her going away—about her mysterious disappearance?'
'I seem to remember now. I suppose I had more important things to think about.'
'Well, at any rate, she has come back—I've just had a letter—Hyacinth wants me to go out with her this afternoon and hear all about it. At four. I can, of course; it's the day you rehearse, isn't it?'
Bruce waited a minute, then said—
'Curious thing, you can't get our cook to make a hot omelette! And we've tried her again and again.'
'It was a hot omelette, Bruce—very hot—about three-quarters of an hour ago. Shall I order another?'
'No—oh, no—pray don't—not for me. I haven't the time. I've got to work. You have rather a way, Edith, of keeping me talking. You seem to think I've nothing else to do, and it's serious that I should be punctual at the office. By the way—I shouldn't go out with Hyacinth today, if I were you—I'd rather you didn't.'
'Then aren't you going to the Mitchells'?'
'The Mitchells'? No—I am certainly not going to the Mitchells'—under the present circumstances.'
He threw down a piece of toast, got up, and stood with his back to the fire.
'How you can expect me to go to the Mitchells' again after their conduct is more than I can understand! Have you no pride, Edith?'
'Has anything happened? What have the Mitchells done?' she asked.
'What have they done!' Bruce almost shouted. He then went and shut the door carefully and came back.
'Done! How do you think I've been treated by these Mitchells—by my friend Mitchell—after slaving night and day at their infernal theatricals? I have slaved, haven't I, Edith? Worked hard at my part?'
'Well, you know the last rehearsal? I had got on particularly well. I told you so, didn't I? I played the little part with a certain amount of spirit, I think. I certainly threw a good deal of feeling and suppressed emotion, and also a tinge of humorous irony into my speech to Miss Vavasour. Of course, I know quite well it doesn't seem of any very great importance, but a lot hinges on that speech, and it isn't everyone who could make the very most of it, as I really believe I did. Well, I happened to be pointing out to Mitchell, yesterday at the office, how much I had done for his play, and how much time and so forth I'd given up towards making the thing a success, then, what do you think he turned round and said? Oh, he is a brute!'
'I can't think!'
'He said, "Oh, by the way, Ottley, old chap, I was going to tell you there's been a change in the scheme. We've altered our plans a little, and I really don't think we shall need to trouble you after all. The fact is, I've decided to cut out the fancy ball altogether." And then people talk of gratitude!'
'Oh, dear, Bruce, that does seem a pity!'
'Seems a pity? Is that all you've got to say! It's an outrage—a slight on me. It isn't treating me with proper deference. But it isn't that I care personally, except for the principle of the thing. For my own sake I'm only too pleased—delighted, relieved. It's for their sake I'm so sorry. The whole thing is bound to be a failure now—not a chance of anything else. The fancy ball in the second act and my little scene with Miss Vavasour, especially, was the point of the play. As Mitchell said at first, when he was asking me to play the part, it would have been the attraction.'
'But why is he taking out the fancy ball?'
'He says they can't get enough people. Says they won't make fools of themselves and buy fancy dresses just to make one in a crowd and not be noticed—not even recognised. Says the large fancy ball for the coming of age of the hero in his ancestral halls would have consisted of one mandarin, one Queen of the Night, and a chap in a powdered wig. He thinks it wouldn't have been worth it.'
'Well, I am sorry! Still, couldn't you say your part just the same in an ordinary dress?'
'What! "Ah, Miss Vavasour, how charming you look—a true Queen of Night!" Why, do you remember the lines, Edith? Don't you recollect how they refer to our costumes? How could I say them if we weren't in fancy dress?'
'Still, if the whole plot hinges on your scene—'
'Well! all I know is, out it goes—and out I go. The second act will be an utter frost now. They're making a terrible mistake, mind you. But that's Mitchell's business, not mine. It's no kind of deprivation to me—you know that. What possible gratification can it be for a man like me—a man of the world—to paint my face and put on a ridiculous dress and make a general ass of myself, just to help Mitchell's rotten performance to go off all right!'
'I don't know. I daresay it would have amused you. I'm sorry, anyhow.'
'I'm sorry enough, too—sorry for them. But if you really want to know the root of the matter, I shrewdly suspect it's really jealousy! Yes, jealousy! It's very odd, when people get keen on this sort of thing, how vain they begin to get! Perfectly childish! Yes, he didn't want me to make a hit. Old Mitchell didn't want to be cut out! Natural enough, in a way, when one comes to think it over; but a bit thick when one remembers the hours I've worked for that man—isn't it?'
'What did you say to him, Bruce, when he first told you?'
'Say? Oh, nothing. I took it very coolly—as a man of the world. I merely said, "Well, upon my word, Mitchell, this is pretty rough," or something of that sort. I didn't show I was hurt or offended in any way. I said, of course, it was like his beastly ingratitude—or words to that effect.'
'Yes. He was very angry—furious.'
'Then you've had a quarrel with Mitchell?'
'Not a quarrel, Edith, because I wouldn't quarrel. I merely rubbed in his ingratitude, and he didn't like it. He said, "Well, let's hope if you're no longer wasting your valuable life on my theatricals you'll now be able to arrive at the office in fairly decent time," or something nasty like that. Disgusting—wasn't it?'
'Too bad,' she said. 'Well, you must tell me all about it—a long account of the whole thing—this afternoon. I won't go out. I'll be at home when you come—to hear all about it. And now—'
'But that wasn't nearly all,' continued Bruce, without moving; 'you'd hardly believe it, but Mitchell actually said that he didn't think I had the smallest talent for the stage! He said I made much too much of my part—over-acted—exaggerated! When I made a point of keeping my rendering of the little scene particularly restrained! The fact is, Mitchell's a conceited ass. He knows no more of acting than that chair, and he thinks he knows everything.'
'It's fortunate you hadn't ordered your costume.'
'Yes, indeed. As I told him, the whole thing might have cost me a tremendous lot—far more than I could afford—put me to tremendous expense; and all for nothing! But he said no doubt the costumier would take it back. Take it back, indeed! And that if he wouldn't I could send the costume to him—Mitchell—and the bill—it would be sure to come in useful some time or other—the costume, I mean. As though I'd dream of letting him pay for it! I told him at once there could be no question of such a thing.'
'Well, there won't, as you haven't ordered it.'
'Now, Edith, let me beg you not to argue. Isn't it bad enough that I'm slighted by my so-called friends, and treated with the basest ingratitude, without being argued with and nagged at in my own home?'
'I didn't know I was arguing. I beg your pardon. You mustn't worry about this, dear. After all, I suppose if they found at the rehearsals that they didn't really need a mandarin—I mean, that the fancy-ball scene wasn't necessary—perhaps from their point of view they were right to cut it out. Don't have a lasting feud with Mitchell—isn't he rather an important friend for you—at the office?'
'Edith, Mitchell shall never set foot under my roof—never darken these doors again!'
'I wonder why, when people are angry, they talk about their roofs and doors? If you were pleased with Mitchell again, you wouldn't ask him to set foot under your roof—nor to darken the door. You'd ask him to come and see us. Anyhow, he won't feel it so very much—because he'll not notice it. He's never been here yet.'
'I know; but Mrs Mitchell was going to call. You will be out to her now, remember.'
'I can safely promise, I think, never to receive her, Bruce.'
'Good heavens!' cried Bruce, looking at the clock. 'Do you know what the time is? I told you so! I knew it! You've made me late at the office!'