Matravers began to find himself, for the first time in his life,
seriously attracted by a woman. He realized it in some measure as he
walked homeward in the early morning, after this last interview with
Berenice; he knew it for an absolute fact on the following evening
as he walked through the crowded streets back to his rooms with
the manuscript of the play which he had been reading to her in his
pocket. He felt himself moving in what was to some extent an unreal
atmosphere. His senses were tingling with the excitement of the last
few hours--for the first time he knew the full fascination of a
woman's intellectual sympathy. He had gone to his task wholly devoid
of any pleasurable anticipation. It spoke much for the woman's tact
that before he had read half a dozen pages he was not only completely
at his ease, but was experiencing a new and very pleasurable
sensation. The memory of it was with him now--he had no mind to
disturb it by any vague alarm as to the future of their relationship.
In Piccadilly he met Fergusson, who turned and walked with him.
"I have been to your rooms, Matravers," the actor said. "I want to
know whether you have arranged with your friend?"
"I have just left her," Matravers replied. "She appears to like the
play, and has consented to play Bathilde."
The actor smiled. Was Matravers really so simple, or did he imagine
that an actress whose name was as yet unknown would hesitate to play
with him at the Pall Mall Theatre. Yet he himself had been hoping that
there might be some difficulty,--he had a "Bathilde" of his own who
would take a great deal of pacifying. The thing was settled now
however.
"I should like," he said, "to make her acquaintance at once."
"I have thought of that," Matravers said. "Will you lunch with me at
my rooms on Sunday and meet her? that is, of course, if she is able to
come."
"I shall be delighted," Fergusson answered. "About two, I suppose?"
Matravers assented, and the two men parted. The actor, with a little
shrug of his shoulders and the air of a man who has an unpleasant task
before him, turned southwards to interview the lady who certainly had
the first claim to play "Bathilde." He found her at home and anxiously
expecting him.
"If you had not come to-day," she remarked, "I should have sent for
you. I want you to contradict that rubbish."
She threw the theatrical paper across at him, and watched him, whilst
he read the paragraph to which she had pointed. He laid the paper
down.
"I cannot altogether contradict it," he said. "There is some truth in
what the man writes."
The lady was getting angry. She came over to Fergusson and stood by
his side.
"You mean to tell me," she exclaimed, "that you have accepted a play
for immediate production which I have not even seen, and in which the
principal part is to be given to one of those crackpots down at the
New Theatre, an amateur, an outsider--a woman no one ever heard of
before."
"You can't exactly say that," he interposed calmly. "I see you have
her novel on your table there, and she is a woman who has been talked
about a good deal lately. But the facts of the case are these.
Matravers brought me a play a few days ago which almost took my
breath away. It is by far the best thing of the sort I ever read. It
is bound to be a great success. I can't tell you any more now,--you
shall read it yourself in a day or two. He was very easy to deal with
as to terms, but he made one condition: that a certain part in
it,--the principal one, I admit,--should be offered to this woman. I
tried all I could to talk him out of it, but absolutely without
effect. I was forced to consent. There is not a manager in London who
would not jump at the play on any conditions. You know our position.
'Her Majesty' is a failure, and I haven't a single decent thing to put
on. I simply dared not let such a chance as this go by."
"I never heard anything so ridiculous in my life," the lady exclaimed.
"No, I'm not blaming you, Reggie! I don't suppose you could have done
anything else. But this woman, what a nerve she must have to imagine
that she can do it! I see her horrid Norwegian play has come to utter
grief at the New Theatre."
"She is a clever woman," Fergusson remarked. "One can only hope for
the best."
She flashed a quiet glance at him.
"You know her, then,--you have been to see her."
"Not yet," Fergusson answered. "I am going to meet her to-morrow.
Matravers has asked me to lunch."
"Tell me about Matravers," she said.
"I am afraid I do not know much. He is a very distinguished literary
man, but his work has generally been critical or philosophical,--every
one will be surprised to hear that he has written a play. You will
find that there will be quite a stir about it. The reason why we have
no plays nowadays which can possibly be classed as literature, is
because the wrong class of man is writing for the stage. Smith and
Francis and all these men have fine dramatic instincts, but they are
not scholars. Their dialogue is mostly beneath contempt; there is a
dash of conventionality in their best work. Now, Matravers is a writer
of an altogether different type."
"Thanks," she interrupted, "but I don't want a homily. I am only
curious about the man himself."
Fergusson pulled himself up a little annoyed. He had begun to talk
about a subject of peculiar interest to him.
"Oh, the man himself is rather an interesting personality," he
declared. "He is a recluse, a dilettante, and a very brilliant man of
letters."
"I want to know," the lady said impatiently, "whether he is married."
"Married! certainly not," Fergusson assured her.
"Very well, then, I am going there to luncheon with you to-morrow."
Fergusson looked blank.
"But, my dear girl," he protested, "how on earth----"
"Don't be foolish, Reggie," she said calmly. "It is perfectly natural
for me to go! I have been your principal actress for several seasons.
I suppose if there is a second woman's part in the piece, it will be
mine, if I choose to take it. You must write and ask Matravers for
permission to bring me. You can mention my desire to meet the new
actress if you like."
Fergusson took up his hat.
"Matravers is not the sort of man one feels like taking a liberty
with," he said. "But I'll try him."
"You can let me know to-night at the theatre," she directed.