Between gratification and misgivings, Joan followed her guide in a
flutter of emotion. When intending nothing more than to provide an
excuse for using the anteroom as a temporary refuge, she hadn't for an
instant questioned her right to use Marbridge's name. But now that it
appeared she was to gain thereby the boon of an audience with Arlington,
she was torn by doubts.
After all, her acquaintance with Marbridge had been one of the most
tenuous description. True, the man had seemed attracted by her at the
time; but that was many months ago; and only recently he had looked her
fair in the face without knowing her. She had really gained her
advantage through false pretences. And when Marbridge learned of this,
would he not resent it? Had she not, through her presumption, put
herself in the way of defeating her own ends?
She brought up before a closed door in a state of nervousness not
natural with her.
"You're to wait a minute," her guide advised.
She was thankful he wasn't the guardian of the outer defences: just at
present she was in no fit mood to bandy persiflage successfully.
But she was uncomfortably conscious that this present boy eyed her
curiously as he threw open the office door.
She entered, and he closed it after her.
The room was untenanted, but a haze of cigar smoke in the air indicated
that it had been only recently vacated. It was handsomely furnished,
carpeted and decorated. The broad, flat-topped desk in one corner
boasted an elaborate display of ornate desk hardware. In the middle of
the blotting-pad a sheaf of letters lay beneath a bronze paperweight of
unique design. All in all, an office owning little in common with the
generality of those to which Joan had theretofore penetrated....
She sat herself down uneasily.
A door communicating with the adjoining office, though a solid door of
oak, was an inch or so ajar. Through it penetrated sounds of masculine
voices in conversation--but nothing distinguishable.
Five minutes passed. Then the conference in the next room broke up amid
laughter; the doorknob rattled; and Joan rose automatically.
Marbridge entered.
For a moment, in her surprise and consternation, Joan could only stare
and stammer. But obvious though her agitation was, Marbridge ignored it
gracefully. Shutting the door tight, he advanced with an outstretched
hand and a smile there was no resisting--with, in short, every normal
evidence of friendly pleasure in their meeting.
"Well, Miss Thursday!" he said, gratification in his carefully modulated
voice. "This is public-spirited of you!"
Joan shook hands limply, her face crimson beneath his pardonably
admiring stare.
"I--thank you--but--"
"Really," he went on smoothly, "I consider it mighty nice of you to look
me up. Fancy your remembering me! Do sit down. We must have a chat.
Fortunately, you've caught me in an off-hour."
Retaining her hand coolly enough, he introduced the girl to a capacious
lounge-chair beside the desk, then settled himself behind it.
Joan shook her wits together.
"You're awf'ly kind--"
"I--kind?" Marbridge denied the implication with an indulgent smile. "My
dear Miss Thursday, if you get to know me well--and I sincerely hope you
will some day--you'll find there's not a spark of human generosity in
my system. I think only of my own pleasure. How can there be kindness to
you in my seizing this chance to improve our acquaintance? I declare, I
thought you'd forgotten me!"
"Oh, no!" Joan protested.
"Really? That's charming of you. But tell me about yourself. How long
have you been back?"
"Not long," Joan replied instinctively to the first stock question that
marks every other similar meeting in the theatrical district of New
York. "That is--I mean--a couple of months."
"Oh, then you didn't stay with 'The Lie'?"
"You knew about that?"
Marbridge nodded briskly. "Indeed, I did! Pete Gloucester told me all
about you--how splendidly you were doing at rehearsals--and then, one
afternoon in Chicago, I saw the sketch billed and dropped in at the
theatre for the sole purpose of seeing you. And if I hadn't had a train
to catch, I'd have come right round back to congratulate you. Fact! You
were wonderful. You were more than wonderful: you were downright
adorable, and no mistake!"
Under the tonic stimulus of his flattery, Joan recovered her
self-possession with surprising readiness--so swiftly that she almost
forgot to cover the phenomenon with prolonged evidences of pretty
confusion.
She looked down, her colour high, and smiling traced with a gloved
forefinger an invisible seam in her skirt; and then, looking up shyly,
she appraised Marbridge with one quick, shrewd, masked glance.
Her instinct had not misled her: this man esteemed her at a high value.
"It's awf'ly kind of you to say so," she murmured demurely.
Marbridge bent forward, leaning on the desk, his gaze ardent.
"I only say what I think, Miss Thursday. I watched you act that
afternoon--and so far as I was concerned, you were the whole
sketch!--and made up my mind then and there you were a girl with a great
big future."
"Oh, but really, Mr. Marbridge--"
"Give you my word! I said to myself then and there: 'Here's a little
woman worth watching, and if ever I get a chance to lend her a helping
hand and don't do it, I'd better quit fussing with this theatrical
game.' And that was the effect of seeing you play just once, mind you!"
"I'm afraid you're a dreadful kidder, Mr. Marbridge."
His injured look was eloquent of the injustice that she did him.
"You don't believe me? Very well, Miss Thursday--wait! Some day I'll
surprise you." He swung back in his chair, smiling genially. "Some one
of these days you'll set your heart on something I have the say in--and
then you'll be able to judge of my sincerity."
"If I dared believe you," Joan told him boldly, "I might put you to the
test sooner than you think."
"Well, and why not? I'm ready."
But as Joan would have gone on, the desk-telephone rang sharply, and
Marbridge, excusing himself with a mumbled apology, turned to the
instrument and lifted the receiver to his ear.
"Hello.... Who?... Oh, send her in to see Mr. Arlington.... Oh, he did,
eh?... Well, say I'm not in either.... Yes, gone for the day."
Replacing the instrument, he swung round again. "There's proof already,"
he informed her cheerfully. "That was Nella Cardrow--one of the biggest
propositions on our list--star of 'Mrs. Mixer.' And I'm putting her off
solely to show you how sincerely I'm interested in what you have to say
to me." He bent forward again, confidentially. "Now tell me: what can I
do for you?"
"Give me a job," Joan informed him honestly. "That's all I want just
now--work--a part in anything you have influence with."
"Then you _have_ left 'The Lie'?" Marbridge persisted incredulously.