maid.’
‘So you should. What should we do without you! I’m happy to be your lady’s maid, as you know.’
‘Dear old Hester. I was just thinking how fortunate I am in my family. And being so why should I think of adding a fortune-hunter to it.’
‘George was always cautious, you know.’
‘And Mamma cares so much about my marrying that she would want me to accept him.’
‘Oh, you know what she is. She worries. She’s haunted by insecurity. Which dress will you have?’
‘The blue. You can be just as insecure married as unmarried – more so, if there are children to feed.’
‘You’ll never get Mamma to see that. Besides, it’s respectability she’s after.’
‘It’s strange, Hester, but I hanker for it myself. I think that Daly business did something to me.’
‘Don’t think of it.’
‘I don’t often. But when Siddons sweeps into the theatre so assured, so certain of her genius, the greatest tragic actress on the boards, with a nice meek little husband, children and a reputation beyond reproach, I confess I find something rather enviable about that.’
‘For Heaven’s sake don’t you start being envious. There’s enough envy about this place already.’
‘But you see I’ve got Frances… and she’s illegitimate. It’s a handicap for the child. Oh, yes, I might like a little respectability.’
‘You’re not telling me that you’re going to accept George Inchbald.’
Dorothy laughed scornfully.
‘I didn’t think you would,’ said Hester with significance.
I believe she knows about Richard, thought Dorothy. Well, they would all have to know soon because she was fast making upher mind that she was quite capable of managing her career and marrying.
George cried: ‘Why, Dorothy, you’ve become even more beautiful!’
‘Thank you. It’s the London air.’
‘Success!’ murmured George. ‘I always knew you would achieve it. There was a quality about you, Dorothy.’
‘Did you always know it, George? I remember a time when you talked so earnestly about the insecurity of a stage career.’
‘That’s for most people, Dorothy. Not for you.’
‘But I have always been ambitious.’
‘It must be wonderful to know that London is talking of you, and to play before royalty. Oh, wonderful indeed. But don’t forget there is another side to life. Love, marriage.’
‘I don’t forget it, George,’ she said softly.
He would have taken her hand, but she eluded him.
‘I knew you would be the same Dorothy who played with Wilkinson’s.’
‘You’re wrong, George. I’ve changed. We all change. You’ve changed too, you know. I have a fancy that you don’t feel quite the same about certain matters as you once did.’
‘We grow wiser.’
‘You were always wise, George. I trust I have learned to see those about me more clearly. It’s a great help, you know.’
‘Dorothy, I was most unhappy when you left. The only brightness was hearing about your triumphs. My stepmother says you’ll be a great actress.’
‘Earning twelve pounds a week,’ put in Dorothy. ‘That’s a little better than thirty shillings, eh?’
‘And it’s not the end. You’ll be rich as well as famous.’
‘I have my family to care for.’
‘And you would always care for those who depended on you, Dorothy.’
She smiled at him almost fondly. She wanted to lure him on so that he would suffer fully the extent of her scorn.
He told her how he had followed her career; how excited he had been; how he had feared for her – though not really for he knew she would succeed, but as one member of the profession toanother they knew what it meant to face an audience on whom one’s future could depend.
‘Dorothy,’ he said, ‘when you had gone I knew what I missed. I should never have let you go.’
‘Then I shouldn’t have come to London and started out on the road to fortune.’
‘You had to come. You’re a great actress, but you need someone to look after you. How happy I should
‘So you should. What should we do without you! I’m happy to be your lady’s maid, as you know.’
‘Dear old Hester. I was just thinking how fortunate I am in my family. And being so why should I think of adding a fortune-hunter to it.’
‘George was always cautious, you know.’
‘And Mamma cares so much about my marrying that she would want me to accept him.’
‘Oh, you know what she is. She worries. She’s haunted by insecurity. Which dress will you have?’
‘The blue. You can be just as insecure married as unmarried – more so, if there are children to feed.’
‘You’ll never get Mamma to see that. Besides, it’s respectability she’s after.’
‘It’s strange, Hester, but I hanker for it myself. I think that Daly business did something to me.’
‘Don’t think of it.’
‘I don’t often. But when Siddons sweeps into the theatre so assured, so certain of her genius, the greatest tragic actress on the boards, with a nice meek little husband, children and a reputation beyond reproach, I confess I find something rather enviable about that.’
‘For Heaven’s sake don’t you start being envious. There’s enough envy about this place already.’
‘But you see I’ve got Frances… and she’s illegitimate. It’s a handicap for the child. Oh, yes, I might like a little respectability.’
‘You’re not telling me that you’re going to accept George Inchbald.’
Dorothy laughed scornfully.
‘I didn’t think you would,’ said Hester with significance.
I believe she knows about Richard, thought Dorothy. Well, they would all have to know soon because she was fast making upher mind that she was quite capable of managing her career and marrying.
George cried: ‘Why, Dorothy, you’ve become even more beautiful!’
‘Thank you. It’s the London air.’
‘Success!’ murmured George. ‘I always knew you would achieve it. There was a quality about you, Dorothy.’
‘Did you always know it, George? I remember a time when you talked so earnestly about the insecurity of a stage career.’
‘That’s for most people, Dorothy. Not for you.’
‘But I have always been ambitious.’
‘It must be wonderful to know that London is talking of you, and to play before royalty. Oh, wonderful indeed. But don’t forget there is another side to life. Love, marriage.’
‘I don’t forget it, George,’ she said softly.
He would have taken her hand, but she eluded him.
‘I knew you would be the same Dorothy who played with Wilkinson’s.’
‘You’re wrong, George. I’ve changed. We all change. You’ve changed too, you know. I have a fancy that you don’t feel quite the same about certain matters as you once did.’
‘We grow wiser.’
‘You were always wise, George. I trust I have learned to see those about me more clearly. It’s a great help, you know.’
‘Dorothy, I was most unhappy when you left. The only brightness was hearing about your triumphs. My stepmother says you’ll be a great actress.’
‘Earning twelve pounds a week,’ put in Dorothy. ‘That’s a little better than thirty shillings, eh?’
‘And it’s not the end. You’ll be rich as well as famous.’
‘I have my family to care for.’
‘And you would always care for those who depended on you, Dorothy.’
She smiled at him almost fondly. She wanted to lure him on so that he would suffer fully the extent of her scorn.
He told her how he had followed her career; how excited he had been; how he had feared for her – though not really for he knew she would succeed, but as one member of the profession toanother they knew what it meant to face an audience on whom one’s future could depend.
‘Dorothy,’ he said, ‘when you had gone I knew what I missed. I should never have let you go.’
‘Then I shouldn’t have come to London and started out on the road to fortune.’
‘You had to come. You’re a great actress, but you need someone to look after you. How happy I should
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