I. A. R. Wylie

“ Those who witnessed the première of David Hardy's great drama wondered why neither the author nor the actress to whom he owed so much appeared to acknowledge the enthusiasm of their audience.
The answer to the various puzzled questions that went the round of the theater was to be found at the back of the manager's box, where another tragedy was being played to a finish. Kitty Hardy lay on the hastily improvised sofa, with her fair, untidy head on her husband's shoulder. She was wonderfully adorned in a new dress from Paris—but she was dying. ”

“ And, after all, it doesn't matter. One has to learn to give up things. I have given up so much that this little bit of hope and ambition can go to join the rest. And it makes her happy. Poor little soul!”
“Poor little soul!” she echoed. “David, what will happen when the crash comes, as it must come?”
“I don't know. It will break her heart. But at least she will have had her chance.”
“And you will have lost yours. Would it not be better, kinder, to tell her the truth now before it is too late?” ”

“ The hot tears were already rolling down her cheeks, the high voice sank to a husky whisper. He put his arms about her shoulders.
“Of course, Kit. Who else? I promised you.” She tried to look up at him, but he held her firmly. “But it's all a long way off yet, dear. Other people may not think as you do.”
“They will. I am sure of it.” She freed herself, the moment's fear already forgotten, and clapped her hands. “Oh, I can see it all—the crowded theater, the critics, and Helen Calhoun in the manager's box, green with envy! Oh, how I shall act! And my dresses! I shall have beautiful dresses. ”

“ Simmons told me I was to bring you up at once.”
Hardy followed his guide silently down the long, ill-lit passage. There was a dull thudding at his temples, and his mouth had relaxed from its hard lines. He was still young enough to feel all the intoxication of a wild, reawakening hope; and this deference was a new thing, prophetic of much.
The stout, florid-faced man in the manager's room rose at his entrance; and that, too, savored well. When a manager rises at the approach of a would-be dramatist, success is already in the air. ”

“ The manager's jaw had dropped.
“Upon my word, my dear sir, I didn't know—— How in the world was I to know? No offense meant, I assure you; but you must see for yourself—the thing is simply impossible.”
Hardy pushed the contract on one side and rose to go.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I shall have to try elsewhere.”
“Here! Wait! Man, don't you see that you are throwing away the chance of a lifetime? I tell you, the play may mean a gold mine to you. You'll be a made man if the thing is done properly. But with a heroine who can't act—— Well, there! It's the truth ”

“ But on the night she would be strong enough—strong enough to listen to the thundering plaudits, and to bear the weight of congratulation which would shower upon her. In a single hour to spring from nothingness to everything, to be great, fêted, admired, flattered, rich, and to help the man with whom she had borne failure to deserved success! ”

“ At any rate, there is one thing clear: If you do not consent, I shall cancel my next engagement with you. I swear it.”
Simmons ran his hand through his disordered hair.
“It's infectious,” he declared hopelessly. “You want to ruin yourselves, and me into the bargain; and all to give a hundred-to-one chance to a professional nobody who would have had her chance years ago if she had deserved it.”
“Kindly remember——”
“Oh, I remember, all right; but you'll be just enough to acknowledge that the mere fact of her being your wife does not make a woman an actress. I should be a fool to give way.” ”

“ The excited, angry manager waved a sheet of paper from one to the other by way of introduction; and the tall, straight-shouldered woman came across the room, her hand outstretched.
“Why, David!” she said, simply and frankly. “How glad I am!”
He made no articulate answer. He stood staring at her in blank wonder. The hood of her opera cloak had fallen back, revealing the burnished copper of her hair, the nobly classic features, the keen gray eyes, which smiled gravely at him.
“Mr. Simmons gave me your play to read,” she went on. “It's good, David. ”

“ Regular tore the thing to tatters. I saw her husband's face. It was white like that sheet there.”
“Hold your tongue! There he is!”
The two men disappeared behind a piece of scenery. The tiny, fragile figure in the middle of the stage reeled, and then crept back into the shadow of the wings. From there she saw David Hardy come out, and at his side Helen Calhoun. They were not speaking; but instinctively it seemed both stood still and looked at the empty stage; and then at each other. A thin, gray light, filtering through an open door at the back of the theater, fell on their faces. ”

“ But there is my wife. Ten years ago we married when the world would have none of us. We were comrades in failure. All these years we have been waiting our chance; and, now that it has come to me, it must come to her also, or not at all. I am not going on alone.”
Simmons cursed under his breath; but Miss Calhoun turned to him with a quick, authoritative gesture.
“Mr. Hardy is right,” she said firmly. “And his play is worth the risk. And who knows, Miss O'Connor—Mrs. Hardy—may rise to the occasion. At least, I shall do all that I can to help her.”
“You!” The manager laughed furiously. ”

“ It was typical of the man that, at that moment of unexpected realization of a life's ambition, he thought of his wife's faded gown and worn-out slippers.
“H'm! I thought you would jump. There's the contract ready for you, Sign it, unless you want time to think it over.”
Hardy shook his head. His face had suddenly paled.
“I know that your offer is square,” he said; “and I have only one condition to make, and I might as well make it now as later. It concerns the casting of the chief part.”
“What's that? Oh, yes, Margaret Anstruther. A rattling chance for a first-class actress. Let me see. ”

“ One can't go on offering the world sugared buns and milk when one lives on stale bread and water. Of course, nobody will take it; but, cost what it might, I had to write once as I felt, not as the public wants its court fools to feel. ”

“ They're nothing but a set of jealous cats, ready to claw out anybody's eyes if they happen to be prettier than their own; and they'd move heaven and earth to keep me out of a good billet. There's Helen Calhoun—it isn't her real name, I'll be bound—she loathes me because of my figure. I should, too, in her place—and she can't act any more than a kangaroo. Can she, David?”
“I don't know,” he said absently, still staring into the fire.
Kitty Hardy gave a little laugh of satisfied malice, which ended in a cough.
“Of course she can't! But she's hand in glove with Simmons ”

“ I have been nothing worse than an outsider, who would willingly have become your friend.”
“Perhaps.” The round, blue eyes darkened, and steadied from their flickering, restless wandering. The next instant, Helen Calhoun felt a sharp, catlike grip upon her arm. “It was instinct,” Kitty Hardy said between her teeth. “Just instinct! ”