A BREAKING OF ICE
The troupe in its wandering arrived at Bolton Junction early on a
Saturday afternoon, and Winston, lingering a moment in the hotel
office, overheard Miss Norvell ask the manager if they would probably
spend Sunday there; and later question the hotel clerk regarding any
Episcopalian services in the town. Their rather late arrival, however,
kept him so exceedingly busy with stage preparation for the evening's
performance that this conversation scarcely recurred to mind until his
night's labor had been completed. Then, in the silence of his room, he
resolved upon an immediate change in conditions, or else the deliberate
giving up of further experiment altogether. He was long since tired
enough of it, yet a strange, almost unaccountable attraction for this
young woman continued binding him to disagreeable servitude.
He came down stairs the following morning, his plans completely
determined upon. He was carefully dressed in the neat business suit
which had been packed away ever since his first reckless plunge into
theatrical life, and thus attired he felt more like his old self than
at any moment since his surrender to the dictation of Albrecht. In
some degree self-confidence, audacity, hope, came promptly trooping
back with the mere donning of clean linen and semi-fashionable attire,
so that Winston "utility" became Winston gentleman, in the twinkling of
an eye. The other members of the troupe slept late, leaving him to
breakfast alone after vainly loitering about the office in the hope
that Miss Norvell might by some chance appear and keep him company. It
was almost mortifying to behold that young woman enter the deserted
dining-room soon after he had returned to the lonely office, but she
gave no sign of recognition in passing, and his returned audacity
scarcely proved sufficient to permit his encroachment upon her privacy.
He could only linger a moment at the desk in an effort to catch a
better view of her through the partially open door.
Nervously gripping a freshly lighted cigar, Winston finally strolled
forth upon the wide porch to await, with all possible patience, the
opportunity he felt assured was fast approaching. It was a bright
spring morning, sufficiently warm to be comfortable without in the
sunshine, although the mountains overshadowing the town were yet white
with snow. The one long, straggling business street appeared
sufficiently lonely, being almost deserted, the shops closed. The
notable contrast between its present rather dreary desolation and the
wild revelry of the previous night seemed really painful, while the
solemn prevailing stillness served to weaken Winston's bold resolutions
and brought him a strange timidity. He slowly strolled a block or
more, peering in at the shop windows, yet never venturing beyond easy
view of the hotel steps. Then he sauntered as deliberately back again.
Lane and Mooney were now stationed upon the porch, tipping far back in
their chairs, their feet deposited on the convenient railing, smoking
and conversing noisily with a group of travelling men. Winston, to his
disgust, caught little scraps of the coarse stories exchanged,
constantly greeted by roars of laughter, but drew as far away from
their immediate vicinity as possible, leaning idly against the rail.
Far down the street, from some unseen steeple, a church bell rang
solemnly. Listening, he wondered if she would come alone, and a dread
lest she might not set his heart throbbing.
Albrecht, looking not unlike a fat hog newly shaven, sauntered out of
the open office door, and stared idly about. He spoke a gracious word
or two to his rather silent utility man, viewing his well-cut clothing
with some apparent misgiving, finally drifting over to join the more
congenial group beyond. Winston did not alter his chosen position, but
remained with watchful eyes never long straying from off the ladies'
entrance, a few steps to his left. All at once that slightly used door
opened, and the hot blood leaped through his veins as Miss Norvell
stepped forth unaccompanied. She appeared well groomed, looking dainty
enough in her blue skirt and jacket, her dark hair crowned by the
tasteful blue toque, a prayer-book clasped in one neatly gloved hand.
As she turned unconsciously toward the steps, Winston lifted his hat
and bowed. With a quick upward glance of surprise the girl recognized
him, a sudden flush crimsoning her cheeks, her eyes as instantly
dropping before his own. In that sudden revelation the young man
appeared to her an utterly different character from what she had
formerly considered him; the miracle of good clothing, of environment,
had suddenly placed them upon a level of companionship. That Winston
likewise experienced something of this same exaltation was plainly
evident, although his low voice trembled in momentary excitement.
"I trust you will pardon my presumption," he said, taking the single
step necessary to face her, "but I confess having been deliberately
waiting here to request the privilege of walking to church beside you."
"Beside me? Indeed!" and both lips and eyes smiled unreservedly back
at him. "And how did you chance to guess it was my intention to
attend? Is it a peculiarity of leading ladies?"
"As to that I cannot safely say, my acquaintance among them being
limited." He was acquiring fresh confidence from her cordial manner.
"But I chanced to overhear your questioning the clerk last night, and
the bold project at once took possession of me. Am I granted such
permission?"
Her dark eyes wandered from their early scrutiny of his eager face
toward that small group of interested smokers beyond. What she may
have beheld there was instantly reflected in a pursing of the lips, a
swift decision.
"I shall be delighted to have your company," she responded, frankly
meeting his eyes, "but longer delay will probably make us late, and I
abominate that."
As they passed down the steps to the street Winston caught a glimpse of
the others. They were all intently gazing after them, while Mooney had
even risen to his feet and taken a step forward, his cigar still in his
mouth. Then the group behind laughed loudly, and the younger man set
his teeth, his cheeks flushed from sudden anger. He would have enjoyed
dashing back up the steps, and giving those grinning fools a
much-needed lesson, but he glanced aside at his companion, her eyes
downcast, seemingly utterly unconscious of it all, and gripped himself,
walking along beside her, erect and silent. They traversed the entire
deserted block without speaking, each busied indeed with the
intricacies of the board walk. Then Winston sought to break the
somewhat embarrassing silence, his first words sounding strangely
awkward and constrained.
"It was exceedingly kind of you to grant such privilege when we have
scarcely even spoken to each other before."
She glanced aside at his grave face, a certain coquettish smile making
her appear suddenly girlish.
"Possibly if you realized the exact cause of my complete surrender you
might not feel so highly flattered," she confessed, shyly.
"Indeed! You mean why it was you consented so easily? Then possibly
you had better inform me at once, for I acknowledge feeling quite
conceited already at my good fortune."
She lifted her eyes questioningly, and for the first time he looked
directly down into their unveiled depths.
"Then I must certainly make confession. What if I should say, I merely
accepted the lesser of two evils--in short, preferred your company to
something I considered infinitely worse?"
"You refer to Mooney?"
She nodded, her dark eyes once again shadowed, her cheeks slightly
reddening beneath his steady gaze.
"Why, I can scarcely feel greatly flattered at being made the subject
of such a choice," Winston acknowledged with frankness. "The very
conception brings me uneasiness in fear lest my presence may be
unwelcome now that Mooney has been safely left behind. Yet it yields
me boldness also, and I venture to ask Miss Norvell what she would
probably have answered had Mooney been left out of the problem
entirely?"
His low voice held a ring of subdued earnestness, and the face of the
woman as quickly lost its smile. An instant she hesitated, her eyes
downcast, fully conscious he was anxiously searching her countenance
for the exact truth.
"And under those conditions," she responded finally, "Miss Norvell
would very probably have answered yes, only it would have been more
deliberately uttered, so that you should have realized the measure of
her condescension."
Winston laughed.
"You can have small conception of the intense relief brought me by that
last acknowledgment," he explained cheerfully. "Now I can proceed with
clear conscience, and shall undoubtedly discover in the church service
an expression of my own devout gratitude."
It was an exceedingly alert exchange of words which followed, each
cautiously exploring a way in toward a somewhat clearer understanding
of the other, yet both becoming quickly convinced that they were not
destined for ordinary acquaintanceship. To Miss Norvell observing her
companion with shy intentness, this erect, manly young fellow with
weather-browned, clean-shaven face and straightforward gray eyes seemed
to evince a power of manhood she instinctively felt and surrendered to.
His were those elements which a woman of her nature must instantly
recognize--physical strength and daring, combined with mental acuteness
and indomitable will. The fact of his present unworthy employment
added the fascination of mystery to his personality, for it was
manifestly impossible to conceive that such a position was all this man
had ever achieved in life. And Winston wondered likewise at her, his
earlier admiration for the bright attractiveness of face and manner
broadening as her mind gave quick response to his leadership. Here was
certainly no commonplace girl of the stage, but an educated, refined,
ambitious woman, matured beyond her years by experience, her
conversation exhibiting a wide range of reading, interwoven, with a
deep knowledge of life. They spoke of ideals, of art, of literature,
of secret aspirations, not often mentioned during such early
acquaintanceship, breaking through that mental barrenness which had
characterized their living for weeks, this common ground of thought and
interest awakening between them an immediate friendliness and frankness
of utterance delightfully inspiring. Almost without comprehending how
it occurred they were chatting together as if the eventful years had
already cemented their acquaintanceship. With cheeks flushed and eyes
glowing from aroused interest Miss Norvell increased in beauty, and
Winston observed her with an admiration finding frank expression in his
eyes.
It was a small chapel they sought, situated at the extreme end of the
straggling street, and the worshippers were few. At the conclusion of
the ritual and the sermon the two walked forth together in silence,
their former brief intimacy a mere memory, neither realizing exactly
how best to resume a conversation which had been interrupted by so
solemn a service. It was Miss Norvell who first broke the constraint.
"You are evidently well acquainted with the intricacies of the
prayer-book," she remarked quietly, "and hence I venture to inquire if
you are a churchman."
"Not exactly, although my parents are both communicants, and I was
brought up to attend service."
"Do you know, I am glad even of that? It is a little additional bond
between us merely to feel interested in the same church, isn't it? I
was guilty during the service of thinking how exceedingly odd it was
for us to talk so frankly together this morning when we knew absolutely
nothing regarding each other. Would you mind if I questioned you just
a little about yourself?"
He glanced aside at her in surprise, all remembrance that they were
comparatively strangers having deserted his mind. It seemed as if he
had already known her for years.
"Most certainly question; I had no thought of any concealment."
She smiled at the confusedness of his words, yet her own speech was not
entirely devoid of embarrassment.
"It does appear almost ridiculous, but really I do not even know your
name."
"It is Ned Winston."
"Not so bad a name, is it? Do you mind telling me where your home is?"
"I can scarcely lay claim to such a spot, but my people live in Denver."
She drew a quick, surprised breath, her eyes instantly falling, as
though she would thus conceal some half-revealed secret. For a moment
her parted lips trembled to a question she hesitated asking.
"I--I believe I have heard of a Colonel Daniel Winston in Denver, a
banker," she said finally. "I--I have seen his house."
"He is my father."
Her shadowing lashes suddenly uplifted, the color once again flooding
the clear cheeks.
"You are, indeed, becoming a man of mystery," she exclaimed, affecting
lightness of utterance. "The son of Colonel Winston acting as utility
for a troupe of strollers! I can hardly believe it true."
Winston laughed.
"It does seem a trifle out of proportion," he confessed, "and I can
hardly hope to make the situation entirely clear. Yet I am not quite
so unworthy my birthright as would appear upon the surface. I will
trust you with a portion of the story, at least, Miss Norvell. I am by
profession a mining engineer, and was sent out, perhaps a month ago, by
a syndicate of Denver capitalists to examine thoroughly into some
promising claims at Shell Rock. I made the examination, completed and
mailed my report, and finally, on the same day your company arrived
there, I discovered myself in Rockton with nothing to do and several
weeks of idleness on my hands. I had intended returning to Denver, but
a sudden temptation seized me to try the experiment of a week or two in
wandering theatrical life. I had always experienced a boyish hankering
that way, and have a natural inclination to seek new experiences.
Albrecht was favorably impressed with my application, and hence I
easily attained to my present exalted position upon the stage."
"And is that all?"
"Not entirely; there yet remains a chapter to be added to my
confessions. I acknowledge I should have long since tired of the life
and its hardships, had you not chanced to be a member of the same
troupe."
"I, Mr. Winston? Why, we have scarcely spoken to each other until
to-day."
"True, yet I strenuously deny that it was my fault. In fact, I had
firmly determined that we should, and, having been a spoiled child, I
am accustomed to having my own way. This, perhaps, will partially
account for my persistency and for my still being with 'The Heart of
the World.' But all else aside, I early became intensely interested in
your work, Miss Norvell, instantly recognizing that it required no
common degree of ability to yield dignity to so poor a thing as the
play in which you appear. I began to study you and your
interpretation; I never tired of noting those little fresh touches with
which you constantly succeeded in embellishing your lines and your
'business,' and how clearly your conception of character stood forth
against the crude background of those mummers surrounding you. It was
a lesson in interpretative art to me, and one I never wearied of.
Then, I must likewise confess, something else occurred."
He paused, looking aside at her, and, as though she felt the spell of
that glance, she turned her own face, brightened by such earnest words
of praise, their eyes meeting frankly.
"What?"
"The most natural thing in the world--my admiration for the art only
served to increase my early interest in the artist. I began to feel
drawn not only to the actress but to the woman," he said gravely.
Her eyes never faltered, but faced him bravely, although her cheeks
were like poppies, and her lips faltered in their first bold effort at
swift reply.
"I am so glad you honestly think that about my work; so glad you told
me. It is a wonderful encouragement, for I know now that you speak as
a man of education, of cultivation. You must have seen the highest
class of stage interpretation, and, I am sure, have no desire merely to
flatter me. You do not speak as if you meant an idle compliment. Oh,
you can scarcely conceive how much success will spell to me, Mr.
Winston," her voice growing deeper from increasing earnestness, her
eyes more thoughtful, "but I am going to tell you a portion of my
life-story in order that you may partially comprehend. This is my
first professional engagement; but I was no stage-struck girl when I
first applied for the position. Rather, the thought was most repugnant
to me. My earlier life had been passed under conditions which held me
quite aloof from anything of the kind. While I always enjoyed
interpreting character as a relaxation, and even achieved, while at
school in the East, a rather enviable reputation as an amateur, I
nevertheless had a distinct prejudice against the professional stage,
even while intensely admiring its higher exponents. My turning to it
for a livelihood was a grim necessity, my first week on the road a
continual horror. I abhorred the play, the making of a nightly
spectacle of myself, the rudeness and freedom of the audiences, the
coarse, common-place people with whom I was constantly compelled to
consort. You know them, and can therefore realize to some extent what
daily association with them must necessarily mean to one of my early
training and familiarity with quieter social customs. But my position
in the troupe afforded me certain privileges of isolation, while my
necessities compelled me to persevere. As a result, the dormant
art-spirit within apparently came to life; ambition began to usurp the
place of indifference; I became more and more disgusted with
mediocrity, and began an earnest struggle toward higher achievements.
I had little to guide me other than my own natural instincts, yet I
persevered. I insisted on living my own life while off the stage, and,
to kill unhappy thought, I devoted all my spare moments to hard study.
Almost to my surprise, the very effort brought with it happiness. I
began to forget the past and its crudities, to blot out the present
with its dull, unpleasant realities, and to live for the future. My
ideals, at first but vague dreams, took form and substance. I
determined to succeed, to master my art, to develop whatever of talent
I might possess to its highest possibility, to become an actress worthy
of the name. This developing ideal has already made me a new woman--it
has given me something to live for, to strive toward."
She came to a sudden pause, perceiving in the frank gray eyes scanning
her animated face a look which caused her own to droop. Then her lips
set in firmer resolution, and she continued as though in utter
indifference to his presence.
"You may not comprehend all this, but I do. It was the turning-point
in my life. And I began right where I was. I endeavored to make the
utmost possible out of that miserable melodramatic part which had been
assigned to me. I elected to play it quietly, with an intensity to be
felt and not heard, the very opposite from the interpretation given by
Miss Lyle last season, and I felt assured my efforts were appreciated
by the audiences. It encouraged me to discover them so responsive; but
Albrecht, Lane, and Mooney merely laughed and winked at each other, and
thus hurt me cruelly, although I had little respect for their
criticisms. Still, they were professional actors of experience, and I
was not yet certain that my judgment might not be wrong. Miss Head,
the _ingénue_, a girl of sweet disposition but little education,
praised my efforts warmly, but otherwise your evident appreciation is
my only real reward. I spoke to you that evening in the wings not so
much to scold you for being in the way, as from a hungry, despairing
hope that you might speak some word of encouragement. I was not
disappointed, and I have felt stronger ever since."
"I should never have suspected any such purpose. We have never so much
as exchanged speech since, until to-day, and then I forced it."
She shook her head, a vagrant tress of her black hair loosening.
"You must be a very young and inexperienced man to expect to comprehend
all that any woman feels merely by what she says or does."
"No," smilingly, "I have advanced beyond that stage of development,
although the mystery of some womanly natures may always remain beyond
me. But can I ask you a somewhat personal question, also?"
"Most assuredly, yet I expressly reserve the privilege of refusing a
direct reply."
"Is Beth Norvell your real, or merely your stage name?"
"Why do you ask? That is a secret which, I believe, an actress is
privileged to keep inviolate."
"For one particular reason--because I cannot escape a vague impression
that somewhere we have met before."
She did not respond immediately, her gloved fingers perceptibly
tightening about the prayer-book, her eyes carefully avoiding his own.
"You are mistaken in that, for we have never met," she said slowly, and
with emphasis. "Moreover, Beth Norvell is my stage name, but in part
it is my true name also." Suddenly she paused and glanced aside at
him. "I have spoken with unusual frankness to you this morning, Mr.
Winston. Most people, I imagine, find me diffident and
uncommunicative--perhaps I appear according to my varying moods. But I
have been lonely, and in some way you have inspired my confidence and
unlocked my life. I believe you to be a man worthy of trust, and
because I thus believe I am now going to request you not to ask me any
more. My past life has not been so bright that I enjoy dwelling upon
it. I have chosen rather to forget it entirely, and live merely for
the future."
They were standing before the door of the ladies' entrance to the hotel
by this time, and the young man lifted his hat gravely.
"Your wish shall certainly be respected," he said with courtesy, "yet
that does not necessarily mean that our friendship is to end here."
Her face became transfigured by a sudden smile, and she impulsively
extended her hand.
"Assuredly not, if you can withstand my vagaries. I have never made
friends easily, and am the greater surprised at my unceremonious
frankness with you. Yet that only makes it harder to yield up a
friendship when once formed. Do you intend, then, to remain with the
company? I have no choice, but you have the whole world."
"Yet, my intense devotion to the art of the Thespian holds me captive."
Their eyes met smilingly, and the next instant the door closed quietly
between them.
Winston turned aside and entered the gloomy hotel office, feeling
mentally unsettled, undetermined in regard to his future conduct. Miss
Norvell had proven frankly intimate, delightfully cordial, yet
overshadowing it all there remained unquestionably a certain constraint
about both words and actions which continued to perplex and tantalize.
She had something in her past life to conceal; she did not even pretend
to deceive him in this regard, but rather held him off with deliberate
coolness. The very manner in which this had been accomplished merely
served to stimulate his eagerness to penetrate the mystery of her
reserve, and caused him to consider her henceforth as altogether
differing from other girls. She had become a problem, an enigma, which
he would try to solve; and her peculiar nature, baffling, changeable,
full of puzzling moods, served to fascinate his imagination, to invite
his dreaming. A strange thrill swept him when he caught a fleeting
glimpse of white skirt and well-turned ankle as she ran swiftly up the
steep staircase, yet, almost at the same instant, he returned to earth
with a sudden shock, facing Mooney, when the latter turned slowly away
from the window and sneeringly confronted him. The mottled face was
unpleasantly twisted, a half-smoked cigar tilted between his lips. An
instant the half-angry eyes of the two men met.
"Must have made a conquest, from all appearances," ventured the leading
man with a knowing wink. "Not so damned hard to catch on with, is she,
when the right man tries it?"
There was a swift, passionate blow, a crash among the overturned
chairs, and Mooney, dazed and trembling, gazed up from the floor at the
rigid, erect figure towering threateningly above him, with squared
shoulders and clenched fists.
"Utter another word like that, you cur," said Winston, sternly, "and I
'll break your head. Don't you dare doubt that I 'll keep my word."
For a breathless moment he stood there, glowering down at the shrinking
wretch on the floor. Then, his face, still set and white with passion,
he turned contemptuously away. Mooney, cursing cowardly behind his
teeth, watched him ascend the stairs, but the younger man never so much
as glanced below.