It was the night on which Adrien had returned to town. Jessica, ignorant
that he had ever left it, had found her way to his chambers, and waited
there patiently and hungrily in the hope of once more seeing him. As the
clock struck eight she decided that it was useless to remain any longer,
and accordingly retraced her steps through the crowded thoroughfares.
Anything would be better than waiting like this, she thought
despairingly.
After the silence of the deserted street, the crowds, pushing and
jostling her, brought her almost a feeling of satisfaction. Even if she
were alone, at least she could not be solitary while the world rushed
past her, in its eager search for pleasure.
At one point near Charing Cross a few curious loafers had collected on
either side of the brilliantly-lit facade of a theatre, over which, in
coloured lights, was the name, "The Casket."
As Jessica stood watching listlessly, indeed almost unconsciously, a
handsome motor rolled up before the imposing entrance. The little group
surged back before the white-gloved commissionaire, who hurried forward,
but the door of the car had already been thrown open by the chauffeur,
and a gentleman and lady stepped out.
At the sight of one of them, Jessica's indifference became changed to a
feverish eagerness. The colour left her face, her eyes dilated, her lips
parted. She swayed back, half fearful, half desirous that he should see
her; for it was he, the man for whom she had waited so long, the man she
had enshrined within her heart.
Adrien, all his doubts as to the possibility of winning Constance's love
returning to him in full force once he had left her presence, had come
down to the theatre with two objects. One to distract his thoughts from
his hopes and fears, the other to arrange with Jasper for the entire
transfer of the theatre to Ada. He meant this to be the last night as
far as the Casket and Ada Lester were concerned.
Absorbed in his own reflections, he hardly saw the group of humble
spectators, and did not appear to hear their murmurs of recognition, but
turned and held out his hand to assist the lady who accompanied him.
Jessica's eyes flashed fiercely as they wandered from his face to that
of the woman beside him.
"She is beautiful," she murmured beneath her breath. "She is beautiful,
and with him!"
All the love which had been aroused in her passionate heart surged up,
and, for the minute, almost turned to jealous hate. "Beautiful, and with
him." It was agony to her to see him as he bent down to catch some light
words of his companion, whose perfumed satin cloak swept by the
crouching girl, as the pair passed into the theatre.
Full well she knew that she herself could never hope to hear his voice,
or feel the pressure of his hand; yet it was with the bitterness of
death that she saw him pass her by in the company of this beautiful
woman. Mingled also with her jealousy was another feeling, that of
partial recognition. For the moment--she could not remember where--but
at some time in the past, she fancied she had seen that dark,
highly-coloured face, and heard the harsh vulgar voice.
As Leroy turned from the motor, she heard him say to the chauffeur:
"Be here at eleven."
"At eleven," she thought, "then I will be here too, and see him once
more."
She hung on the outskirts of the group and listened with greedy ears for
any chance word that might arise about her idol.
"A reg'lar beauty, I should just think so," said a man, addressing
another who had passed a remark on the lady in question. "She's the
biggest star on the stage, you bet! Ada Lester knows her value, and
ain't likely to forget it neither."
The other man ventured a remark concerning the lady's escort.
"Him? That's Leroy--son of Lord Barminster--the richest of 'em all. She
belongs to him, she does; so does the whole theatre. Costs him a pretty
penny, you bet. But lor' bless yer, he don't mind! Can't spend his money
fast enough. My brother's one of the shifters; and the things he cud
tell yer about 'er, and 'er temper, 'ud make yer 'air stand on end."
Jessica moved away, while members of the group aired their knowledge of
the rapidly entering, smartly-dressed audience.
"That's Mr. Leroy's friend, Mr. Vermont," commenced the first speaker
again. "I've 'eard tell 'e does all the work and pays out all the other
one's money; but he ain't no class himself--he's not a real tip-top
swell like them others." He pointed to a little group of
white-waistcoated, immaculately-dressed men, now standing on the steps
of the vestibule. "Lord! this 'ere Casket'll be crammed with all the
swells to-night--'cos it's the fashion."
"So Ada Lester is the fashion now, eh?" commented his companion, who had
probably known her in her poorer days, and therefore was inclined to be
interested in her.
"Not 'arf, she ain't," agreed the man, with the Londoner's pride in
laying down the law on the subject. "She's got a house like a duchess,
and can eat off gold or silver if she chooses; an' all for her face, for
she can't act for nuts. I've seen 'er so I know!" With which lordly
criticism, he closed the subject.
As for Jessica, sick at heart with jealousy, she turned up one of the
side streets to commence her long wait for Adrien Leroy; while the group
dispersed, laughing and chattering.
The Casket was filled now to its utmost capacity. It was the first night
of a new piece. The unfortunate comedy which Ada had so strongly
condemned had been withdrawn, and a so-called musical farce--consisting
of very bad music, and still worse comedy--hastily put on in its stead.
As usual, no expense had been spared in the mounting, and Adrien's money
had been poured out like water on extraordinary costumes, gorgeous,
highly-coloured scenery, and a hundred embellishments for this new piece
of elaborate and senseless burlesque, Prince Bon-Bon. But with all its
deficiencies as regarded culture, the piece appeared to be a success.
Ada Lester could dance, if she could not act; and she could shout a
vulgar patter song, if she could not sing; therefore after a tumultuous
first act, during which she had been "Hongkored"--as she expressed
it--to her heart's content, she was standing in the wings, with a
cigarette between her painted lips, radiant with content and gratified
vanity.
"Well, Shelton," said Leroy, as his friend approached him, where he
leaned against a stack of scenery. "What do you think of the show this
time?"
"As beautiful as it is senseless," was that gentleman's sarcastic reply.
"Heaven alone knows what it cost you," he added.
"I certainly don't know myself," admitted Adrien, knocking the ash from
his cigarette. "Ask Paxhorn--he wrote the lyrics, and had the
management; or better still Vermont, whom I'm going to see myself
presently. But this will be a success, Mortimer, and I shall make a
fortune."
"Yes," said Shelton quietly, "for Paxhorn and Vermont. Well, it's no
business of mine, of course."
He turned to Ada, who had been tapping her foot angrily during this
little conversation. "Well, Miss Lester," he said, "haven't you a word
for me to-night?"
She glared at him viciously, for Mortimer was not a favourite of hers.
"Yes," she snapped. "I hate the sight of you!"
Both men laughed as though amused.
"That was a fair hit," said Shelton, with mock grief in his voice.
"Don't kill me right out, Miss Lester. Let me open a bottle of champagne
for you."
"I don't want it," said the popular dancer, her eyes flashing angrily.
Then, turning her back on him, she said to Adrien, "Ain't you going to
the front to see me dance?"
"I can see you from here," was his answer. "You look charming, my dear
Ada; doesn't she, Mortimer?"
"Yes, and as good as she is beautiful," declared that gentleman, making
her a low bow.
With a furious glance at him, and a furtive look at Adrien, she passed
them, and, accompanied by a burst of music from the orchestra and a
storm of clapping from the audience, she commenced her dance.
Shelton watched her with a sneer.
"Hark! how they applaud," he said, glancing up at the crowded and
delighted house. "They seem to admire her, anyway. Long live Miss Ada,
Queen of dancers. Adrien, why do you put up with that painted vixen?"
Leroy smiled at his sudden change of tone.
"Don't let her hear you," he said. "And don't worry yourself about me,
old fellow."
"You're afraid of her," continued his friend. "Oh, yes, you may think it
an impertinence if you like, but I know you are. You'd face a cannon's
mouth sooner than that woman's angry abuse. You dread a scene as a
musician does a false note. For me, I'm sick of the whole world."
"Why do you remain in it, then?" asked Adrien, laughing.
"For the same reason as yourself," replied the cynic. "Neither of us
know what the next will be like."
Adrien laughed, but before he could explain to his friend his plan with
regard to Ada, a crowd of pretty dancers in silver gauze surrounded him,
begging for real bon-bons, instead of the painted property sweets given
out to them.
"Do you girls think I am made of bon-bons, like the piece?" he said,
waving them back. "Why, you'll make yourselves ill."
"Oh, Mr. Leroy," pouted one, "we've danced so hard, too!"
"Go to Mr. Vermont, then," was the indolent reply; "he'll give you what
you want," and with a rush they swept back on to the stage.
"Always Jasper," murmured Shelton sadly, as his friend, with a genial
wave of the hand, picked his way past cardboard castles and paper trees,
till he disappeared through the door that would lead him to his
stage-box.
At eleven o'clock the play was over; the superbly-dressed women, with
their escorts, were descending the wide staircase, laughing and
discussing the piece, which seemed likely to become the success of the
season. Outside, the pavement was filled with the gay, excited crowds.
Whistles resounded for taxis hovering in the immediate vicinity, like
steel-plated birds of prey. Carriages were being shouted for, and
throughout all the bustle and excitement, a slight girlish form doggedly
kept its vigil near the main entrance.
The crowd of pleasure-seekers and onlookers had melted away, and the
attendants were busy turning out the lights, when the glass doors swung
open again, and three or four gentlemen came out, laughing and talking.
"Quite a success," said one of them.
"Yes, indeed," from another. "Paxhorn, I congratulate you again, old
man."
"Thank you," replied the author, his face beaming with satisfaction.
"Thanks to Leroy, it will run for a hundred nights, and my name will be
made."
"On Bon-bons," sneered Shelton; "what a thing it is to be a popular
playwright."
"Better to be a popular dancer," whispered Paxhorn, as the door swung
open again, and Adrien came out, with Ada Lester on his arm, Mr. Jasper
Vermont following behind them.
"All here?" asked Leroy in his clear voice, as they descended the steps
to where the motors stood waiting. "Come along"--turning to the rest of
the party--"we are all going to supper to celebrate Ada's triumph.
Paxhorn, dismiss your car, old man, and come with us; we want to hear
the rustle of your laurels."
Laughingly, they entered the vehicles, while, above all the others, rang
the harsh voice of the woman, and Jessica, hearing it, shuddered
involuntarily. Then they were gone.
Suddenly, while the girl's eyes were straining after them, the last
motor stopped, and Jasper Vermont jumped out and hastened back into the
theatre. More out of idle curiosity than anything else, or perhaps again
prompted by the guardian angel of Leroy's honour, she waited to see him
come out again. In a few minutes he re-emerged, bearing in his hand a
small roll of papers, one of which he was reading, with a malicious
smile on his face.
Jessica unwittingly stood in his path, and he crashed into her with such
force as to knock his hat to the ground. With an oath he struggled to
regain it, pushing her roughly aside.
"Out of my way, girl," he exclaimed, thinking she was about to beg from
him. "I have nothing for you."
At the sound of his voice Jessica's face whitened, and she turned away,
frightened, and trembling; as she did so, her foot struck against
something light lying on the kerb. She stooped and found it was a small
roll of papers, part of those which had been in the gentleman's hand,
and which he had been studying so attentively.
She did not trouble to open it, but slipped it into the bosom of her
dress and walked dreamily away.