The Other Romilly

Auckland Star, Volume L, Issue 64, 15 March 1919, Page 21

The Other Romilly

BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM AmthoT of "The Biliman." *A Man and Hie Kingdom.," "The Ifyiteriow Mt Sabin," "A. Prince of Sinnertt," "A. Maker of Hietory," etc., etc.

(OOPTBIGHT.)

CHAPTER VI. J Philip's disposition had been so curiously affected by the emotions of the last few months that he was not in the least surprised to find himself, that evening, torn .bj a very curious and unfamiliar spasm of jealousy. After an hour os so of indecision he made his way, as usual, to the theatre, 'but instead of going at once to Elizabeth's room, he slipped in at t,he back of the stalls. The house was crowded, and, seated in the stage box, alone ami gloomy, his somewhat austere demeanour intensified by the severity of his evening clothes, sat Sylvanus Power with the air of a conqueror. Philip, unaccountably restless, left hie seat in a very few minutes, and. making his way to the box office, scribbled a line to Klizabeth. The official to whom lie handed it looked at him in surprise. "Won't you go round yourself. Mr. Ware?"' he suggested. "Miss Dalstan has another ten minutes before she is on." Philip shook his head. "I'm looking for a man, 1 know," he replied evasively. "I'll he somewhere about here in five minutes." The answer came in !e.-,s than that time. It was just a scrawled line in pencil: Forgive mc, dear. I will explain everything in the morning, if you will come to m> rooms at eleven o'clock. This evening 1 have a hateful duty to perform, and I cannot see you. I Philip, impatient" of the atmosphere ot the theatre, wandered out into the streets with the note, in his pocket. Broadway was thronged with people, a heterogeneous, slowly moving throng, the hardest crowd to apprehend, to understand, of any in the world. What did it mean when Elizabeth told him that she was engaged to-night? She was cupping with him somewhere—probably at that moment seated opposite, to him at a small, rose-shaded table in one of the many restaurants of the city which they had visited together. He, Sylvanus Power, his eupplanter, was occupying the place that belonged to him, ordering her supper, humouring her little preferences, perhaps sharing with her that little {flow of relief which comes with the hour of rest, after the strain of the day's work. The suggestion wa* intolerable. To-morrow he would have an explanation! Klizabeth belonged to him. The sooner the world knew it the better, and this man first of all. He read her few lines again hastily pencilled and evidently written standing up. There was a certain ignominy in being sent about his business, just because thia colossus from the west had appeared and claimed—what? Xot his right! — lie could have no right! What then? Philip ordered a drink, tore open an evening paper and tried to read. The I letters danced before his eyee, the i whisky and soda stood neglected at his | elbow. Afterwards he found liimselt looking into space. There was soinething cynical, challenging almost, in the manner in which that man had taken Elizabeth away from him, had acknowledged his introduction even, the author of a play, a writer, some sort ol a mountebank, making hi* living by catering for the amuse.nie.nte of the world. How did that man regard such gifts as hie, he wondered? —Sylvanue Power, of whom he had seen it written that he was one of the conquerors ot nature, a hard but splendid utilitarian, the builder of railways in China and bridges for the transit of hie metals amidst the clouds of the mountain tops. In the man's absence, hie harehnese, almost uncouthness, seemed modified. He was a rival, without a doubt, and tonight a favoured one. How well had he known Elizabeth? For how long? Was it true, that rumour he had once heard —that the first step in her fortunes had been due to the caprice of a millionaire? He found the room stifling, but the thought of the streets outside unnerved him. He looked about for some distraction. The room was beginning to fillactors, musicians, a few journalists, a great many men of note in the world ol Bohemia kept streaming in. One or two of them nodded to him, several paused to epeak. "Hullo, Ware!" Noel Bridges exclaimed. "Not often you give us a look up. What are you doing with yourselt here, all alone?" Philip turned to answer him and suddenly felt the fire blaze up again. He saw his questioner's frown, saw him even bite his lip, as though conscious ol having said a tactless thing. The actor probably understood the whole situation well enough. ''I generally go into the Lotus," Philip lied. "To-night 1 had a fancy to come here." "The Lotus is too far up town for us fellows," Bridges remarked. "We need a drink, a little supper, and to see our pals quickly when the night's work is over. ... 1 hear great things ot the new play, Mr. Ware, but I don't know when you'll get a chance to produce it. Were you in the house tonight?" "Only for a moment." "Going stronger than ever," Bridges continued impressively. "Yes, thanks, I'll take a Scotch Highball," he added, in response to Philip's mute invitation, "plenty of ice, Jlick. There wasn't a seat to be had in the house, and I wouldn't like to say what old Fink hadn't to go through before lie could get his box for the great Sylvanus." "Hie box?" Philip queried. "The theatre belongs to Sylvanus Power, you know," Bridges explained. "He built it five years ago." "For a speculation?" The actor fidgeted for a moment with his tumbler. "No, for Miss Dalstan," he replied. Philip get his teeth hard. The temptation to pursue the conversation was almost overpowering. The young man himself, though a trifle embarrassed, seemed perfectly willing. At least it was better to know the truth! Then another impulse suddenly asserted itself. Whatever he was to know he must learn from her lips and from hers only. "Well, I should think it's turned out all right," he remarked. Xoel Bridges shrugged his shoulders. "The rent, if it were figured out a£ a fair interest on the capital, would be something fabulous," he declared. "You j see, the place was extravagantly built — j without any regard to cost. The dreesI ing-rooms, as you may have noticed, are I wonderful, and* all the appointments are I unique. I don't fancy the old man's [ ever a quarter's rent jet that' 6 paid

him one per cent, on the money. See you later, perhaps, Mr. Ware," the young iriiiii concluded, tictAiiiLf down Jiis tumbler. 'Tni going in to h*ve a grill. Why don't you ooinc along?" Philip hesitated for a second, and then, Home what to the other's surprise,! assented. And that night, as he sat at the long table with a dozen or so other men, did his beat to break through the fetters, tried hard to remember that his place amongst them, after all, was honest enough. They were writers and actore and journalists. Well, he, too, was a writer. He had written a play which they had welcomed with open arms, as tiiey had done him. in this world of Bohemia, if anywhere, Ho surety had a right to lift up his head and breathe—and he would do it. He sat with them, smoking anil talking, until the little company began to thin out, establishing all the time a new reputation, doing a great deal to dissipate that little sense of disappointment which his former nonresponsivenees had created. "He's a jolly good fellow, after all," one of them declared, ac at last he left the room. "He is losing his Britishnees every da\ he stays here." ■Been tlirough lough times, they say." another remarked. "He is one of those," an elder member pronounced, taking his pipe for ai moment from hie mouth, "who was' never made for happiness. You can j always rearl those, men. You can see it behind their eyes." Nevertheless, Philip walked home, a saner and a better man. He felt somehow warmed by those few hours of companionship. The senseless part of his jealousy w;u< gone, hie trust in Klizabeth re-established. He looked at the note once more as he undressed. At eleven o'clock on the following morning in her rooms! CHAPTER VII. Something of his overnight's optimism remained with Philip when, at eleven o'clock on the following morning, he was ushered into Elizabeth's rooms. It was a franie of mind, however, which did not long survive his reception. From the moent of his arrival he seemed to detect a different atmosphere in his uurroundings—the demeanour of Phoebe, his staunch ally, who admitted him without her usual welcome smile; the unanalysable sense of something wanting in the dainty little room, overfilled with strongsmelling hothouse flowers; in the entrance and welcome of Klizubeth herself. His eyes ached for the sight of her. He was go sure that he would know everything the moment she spoke. Vet her coming brought only confusion to his senses. She was different, unexpectedly, bewilderingly different. She had lost that delicate serenity at manner, that almost protective affection which he had grown to lean upon and expect. She entered dressed for the street, smoking a cigarette, which was in itself unusual, with dark rings \inder her eyes, which seemed to be looking all around the room on some pretext or other, but never at him. "Am I late?" she asked, a little breathlessly. " I am so sorry. Tell mc, have you anything particular to do?" " Nothing." he answered. '■ I want to go out of the city—into the country, at once," ghe told him feverishly. " The car is waiting. I ordered it for a quarter to eleven. Let us start." " Of course, if you wish it," he assented. He opened the door, but before she passed through he leaned towards her. She shook her head. His heart sank. What could there be more ominous than this! " I am not well," she muttered. "Don't take any notice of anything I say or do for a little time. I am like this sometimes — temperamental, 1 suppose. All great actresses are temperamental. I suppose 1 am a great actress. Do you think I am, Philip?" He was following her downstairs now. He found it hard, however, to imitate the flippancy of her tone. ! " The critics insist upon it," he observed dryly. " Evidently your audience last night shared their opinion." She nodded. " I love them to applaud like that, and yet —audiences don't really know, do they? Perhaps. ..." She relapsed into silence and they took their places in the car. She settled herself down with a little sigh of content, and drew the rug over her. "Aβ far as you can go, John," she told the man. " But you must get back at six o'clock. The country, mind—not the shore." They started off. "So you were there last night," she murions with an air of relief. > ions with a air of relief. " I was there for a few moments. T wrote my note to you in the box office." She shook the memory away. "And afterwards?" " I went to one of the clubs down town." "What did you do there?" she inquired. "Ooesip?" " Some of the men were very kind to mc," he said. " I had supper with Noel Bridges, amongst others." "Well?" she asked, almost defiantly. " I don't understand." She looked at him intently for a moment. " I forgot," she went on. " You are very chivalrous, aren't you? You wouldn't ask questions. See, I am going to close my eyes. It is too horrible 'here, and all throug-h Brooklyn. When we are ! in the lanes I can talk. This is just one I of those days I wish that we were in England. All our country is either suburban or too wild and restless. Can you be content with silence for a little time?" "Of course." he assured her. "Besides, you forge', that I am in a strange country. Everything is worth watching." I They paeeed over Brooklyn Bridge, and for an hour or more they made slow progress through the wide-flung environs of the city. At last, however, the endless succession of factories and small I tenement dwellings lay behind them. i They passed houses with real gardens, through stretchee of wood whose leaves were opening, whose branches were filled with eweet-t-melling sap of springtime. Elizabeth seemed to wake almost automatically from a kind of stupor. She pushed back her veil, and Philip, stealing eager glances towards her, -was almost startled by some indefinable change. Her face seemed more delicate, almost the face of an invalid, as she la;,

back there with half-closed eyee. The strength of her mouth seemed to have dissolved and its sweetness had become almost pathetic. There were signs of a great weariness about her. The j fingers which reached out for the little epeaking'-tubc seemed to have become thinner. "Take the turn to the left, John," she instructed, "the one to Bay Shore. Go slowly by the lake and stop where I tell you." They left the main road and travelled for some distance along- a lane which, with its bramble-grown fences and meadows heyond, was curiously reminis-1 cent of England. They passed a country j house, built of the wood which was still ! a little unfamiliar to Philip, but wonderfully homelike with its cluster of outbuildings, its trim lawns, and the turret clock over the stable entrance. Then I through the leaves of an avenue of elms j they caught occasional glimpses of tho! blue waters of the lake, which they presently skirted. Elizabeth's eyes travelled over its placid surfaco idly, yet with a sense of passive satisfaction. In a few minutes they passed into the heart of a little wood, and she leaned forward. ".Stop here, close lo the side of the road, John. Stop your engine, please, and go and eit by the lake." The man obeyed at once with the unquestioning readiness of one used to his mistress' whims. For several minutes she remained silent. .She had the air of one drinking in with almost passionate eagerness the sedative effect of the stillness, the soft spring air, the musical country sounds, the ripple of the breeze in the trees, the humming of insects, the soft splash of the lake against the stony shore. Philip himself was awakened into a peculiar sense of pleasure by this, almost his first glimpse of the country since his arrival in New York. A host of half-forgotten sensations warmed his i heart. He felt suddenly intensely sympathetic, perhaps more genuinely tender than he had ever felt before towards ihe woman by his side, whose hour of suffering it was. His hand slipped under the rug jind held her fingers, which clutched his in instantaneous response. Her lips seemed unlocked by his slight action. "I came here alone two years ago," she told him, "and since then often, sometimes to study a difficult part, sometimes only to think. One moment." She released her fingers from his, drew out the hatpins from her hat, unwound the veil and threw them both on to the opposite seat. Then she laid her hands upon her forehead, as though to cool it. The little breeze from the lake rippled through her hair, bringing them every now and then faint whiffs of perfume from the bordering gardens. "There!" she exclaimed, with a little murmur of content. "That's a man's action, isn't it? Now I think I pm getting brave. I have something to say to you, Philip." He felt her fingers seeking his again and held them tightly. It was curious how, in that moment of crisis, his] thoughts seemed to wander away. He! was watching- the little flecks of gold in her hair, wondering if he had ever properly appreciated the beautiful curve of her neck. Even her voice seemed somehow attuned to the melody of their surroundings, the confused song of birds, the sighing of the lake, the passing of the west wind through the trees and shrubs around. "Philip," she began, clinging closely to him, "I have brought you here to tell you a story which perhaps you will think, when you have heard it, might better have been told in ray dressingroom. Well, I couldn't. Besides, I wanted to get away. It is about SylVRnus Power." He eat a little more upright. His nerves were tingling now with pagerness. "Yes?" "I met him," she continued, "eight years ago out West, when 1 was in a travelling show. I accepted his attentions at first carelessly enough. 1 did not realise the sort of man he was. He was a great personage even in those daye, and I suppose my head was a little turned. Then he began to follow us everywhere. There was a scandal, of course. In the end I left the company and came to New York. He went to China, where he had always had large interests. When I heard that he had sailed—l remember reading it in the paper—l could have sobbed with joy." (To be continued Saturday next.)