Beth Norvell

All through the remainder of the play he sat as one stunned, scarcely

removing his eyes from the glittering stage, yet seeing nothing there

excepting her. He could not later have recalled a single scene.

Between the acts he conversed rationally enough with those about him,

congratulating her people upon the brilliant success of the evening,

and warmly commending the work of the Star. Yet this was all

mechanical, automatic, his mind scarcely realizing its own action.

She never glanced in that direction again; during all the four acts not

once did she permit her eyes to rest upon their box. The others may

not have noticed the omission, but he did, his interpretation of the

action becoming a pain. It served to strengthen the resolve which was

taking possession of him. He noticed, also, that she played

feverishly, vehemently, not with that quiet restraint, that promise of

reserve power, always so noticeable in the old days. It caused him to

realize that she was working upon her nerves, holding herself up to the

strain by the sheer strength of will. The papers the next day

commented upon this, hinting at nervousness, at exhilaration consequent

upon so notable a greeting. But Winston knew the cause better--he knew

the spectre which had so suddenly risen before her, turning her white

and frightened at the very moment of supreme triumph. There, in front

of them all, under the full glare of the lights, herself the very focus

of thousands of eyes, she had been compelled to fight down her heart,

and win a victory greater than that of the actress. In that instant

she had conquered herself, had trodden, smiling and confident, over the

awakened memories of the past.

After the curtain had fallen--fallen and lifted, again and again, to

permit of her standing in the glare, smiling happily, and kissing her

hands toward the enthusiastic multitude--he passed out with the others,

still partially dazed, his mind remaining undecided, irresolute. With

the cool night air fanning his cheeks as their car rolled southward,

clearer consciousness came back, bringing with it firmer resolve. She

had not wanted him; in all those years there had not come from her a

single word. Now, on this night of her triumph, in the midst of family

rejoicing, he had no part. It had all been a mistake, a most unhappy

mistake, yet he would do now everything in his power to remedy it. His

further presence should not be allowed to detract from her happiness,

should not continue to embarrass her. The past between them was dead;

undoubtedly she wished it dead. Very well, then, he would help her to

bury it, now and forever. Not through any neglect on his part should

that past ever again rise up to haunt her in the hour of success. She

had discovered her ideal, she had attained to the height of her

ambition. She should be left to enjoy the victory undisturbed. Within

the hotel rotunda, under the multicolored lights, he halted Craig,

hurrying forward to a conference with the steward.