In spite of the pleasant conditions under which the tour proceeded it
began to be evident to Alexandra that Mrs. Lambert was suffering from
acute nervous strain. She would spend hours on the sofa in thoughtful
silence. Conversely, she showed undue vivacity on the stage at night.
Sometimes she evinced an almost feverish interest in the financial side
of her tour, growing depressed when business was indifferent and unduly
elated when it was extra good.
During this period Alexandra learnt for the first time that Mrs. Lambert
had a daughter. Inconsequently enough, as it seemed to her, Mrs.
Lambert's reference to the fact was the outcome of a talk between them
one day concerning Maggy. It showed the elder woman in a new aspect,
strongly maternal in her feelings. The child's absence evidently
distressed her.
"Why don't you have her with you?" was the natural inquiry that rose to
Alexandra's lips.
The reply to this was as spontaneous as the question.
"I would love to! But how could I? Baba is ten. There's Chalfont....
Children are so quick to notice things...."
Alexandra's puzzled look showed that she placed a very innocent
construction on the intimacy of these two.
"You didn't think we were only friends?" Mrs. Lambert inquired a little
reluctantly. "It's not so. I supposed you knew."
The admission did not actually shock Alexandra, but it pained her. She
found it difficult to associate Mrs. Lambert with any form of liaison.
Lord Chalfont, moreover, had also given her the impression of being a
man averse from it. That these two, in Alexandra's estimation so free
from the taint of theatrical libertinism, should not have been superior
to circumstances was singularly disconcerting.
"I did think you were only friends," she said.
Her voice was so full of disappointment that Mrs. Lambert half-regretted
her frankness. She knew Alexandra to be a very pure-minded girl. She
felt she owed her an explanation.
"Friendship as you understand it is difficult, almost impossible,
between a man and woman in circumstances like ours," she said. "Lord
Chalfont has remained unmarried on my account. I think you must know
that my husband and I are separated. Well, a woman is a very lone
creature without love and sympathy. There are so many things she cannot
do for herself. If there were nothing else there would always be the
difficulty of business. I have to work for Baba's sake. I couldn't do
it alone. I _must_ leave her independent of the stage."
"I am so sorry," was all Alexandra could say.
"I believe you are. My dear, when I was your age, like you I was full
of regrets for all the wrongs of the world. I wanted it perfect and
morally rigid. I meant to show that an actress could still be a lady
and quite virtuous. I don't think I've disproved the one, but the Fates
have been too strong for me to fulfill the second qualification. I had
to separate from my husband. I did not want to. I loved him. I have
nothing to reproach myself with for the rupture between us. But for that
I should always have been a faithful wife. I only thought of his
career. I used to fight all his battles, on and off the stage. At one
time I did all his business for him because he hated it. In those days
he wasn't spoilt. He was just a fascinating, childish person with all
the sensitiveness of an artistic temperament. He was very fond of me,
too.... Then came the time when he went into management, and there was
no part for me. I was not to play "lead" with him because he considered
me unsuited to it. I was too proud to play a smaller part in his own
theater.... He engaged Mary Mantel. In that play their love-making
brought down the house. It was so real. It _was_ real. I found that
out very soon. Mary Mantel deliberately took my husband from me. He
was too weak to resist her--to resist pleasing any pretty woman.... I
told them both what I knew ... and we parted. If I hadn't discovered
what I did, or suppressed my knowledge of it, I don't doubt but that he
would be with me now, behaving as a lover to two women! ... For years
Lord Chalfont went about with me. We were friends, nothing more. I
always hoped Hugh would make atonement and want me back. But I lost
heart, and Chalfont was always there, so patient and kind.... As a
Catholic I couldn't bring myself to divorce Hugh and marry him, and I
thought that if he should ever get tired of me I should like him to feel
free.... Because I am an actress, to whom all things are forgiven, the
voice of social ostracism had never been raised against our union....
That is the whole story. Well, what do you think of me now?"
Alexandra did not know what to think, still less to say. The only
comment she felt capable of making was that Mrs. Lambert was not
degraded by what she had done. That was evident. Alexandra did not make
the comparison, but all the same she dimly comprehended that there was a
certain similarity between Maggy's case and Mrs. Lambert's. It had
never occurred to Alexandra that Maggy was degraded either.... Quite
suddenly, like a revelation, the reason of the sympathy between these
two, now her closest friends, dawned on her.... Insensibly too, because
she was not thinking of herself, her own resistance to frailty seemed to
weaken. There was to come a time when she would recall every word Maggy
and Mrs. Lambert had spoken on the subject of sex conflict and the
stage.
"I think none the less of you," she answered steadily after a long
pause. "I suppose you are being more true to yourself in not divorcing
your husband and marrying Lord Chalfont."
"I don't know. I'm not sure that I've done right. But the stage makes
it so easy for you to do wrong, to choose the way your inclinations
lead.... Chalfont has been the greater sufferer. He hates to think that
our relationship, when discussed, is bracketed with the usual run of
light and unholy compacts. I confess to being more thick-skinned. The
stage blunts one's finer feelings, I suppose. There's something
dreadfully insidious about it. Its lax atmosphere saps the sense of
rectitude. You don't know that your views are gradually altering until
you suddenly discover that, like everybody else on it, you are about to
make its customs fit your own circumstances. Nobody on the stage is
free from that taint: chorus girls are not a bit more frail than
highly-paid actresses. Chorus girls are more flagrant, that is all."
Alexandra was looking very serious and dismayed.
"It's rather terrible," she said reflectively. "Maggy has often said
much the same thing in a different way. Is _everything_ wrong?"
"For a girl like you, yes. I don't assert that everything and everybody
on the stage is bad. There are exceptions, of course. Clouds have their
silver lining. What I do maintain is that the stage is not and never
can be a profession that a nice-minded girl can adopt and expect to
remain untainted by."
"I wonder"--Alexandra's voice was almost fearful--"what my own ideas
about it will be in a few years' time."
"In a few years' time, my dear girl, with luck you will be married and
have forgotten all its ugliness. You may perhaps still be sufficiently
enamored of the theater to let your husband sometimes pay for two
stalls; and sometimes when you pass a struggling actress in the street
you will recognize her by her stamp and thank God that you're out of it
all. That's the best that can happen to you."
"But you? You wouldn't like to be out of it--altogether?"
Mrs. Lambert's eyes seemed to hold some happy secret.
"I look forward to the day when I shall be--resting," she made answer.
"Have you ever tried to wind a ball of thread with the skein in your
hand? It isn't easy. My skein is tangled ... and I am tired."