And he actually debased himself by
wishing that the Rushcroft company might find it imperative to go on
rehearsing for weeks in that dim, enchanted temple.
It was not a "barn of a place" to him. It was paradise. He sat for
hours in one of the most uncomfortable seats he had ever known,
devouring with hungry eyes the shadowy, interested face so close to
his own,--and never tired.
And then came a time at last when conversation became difficult
between them; when there were long silences fraught with sweet peril,
exceeding shyness, and a singular form of deafness that defied even
the roars of the players and yet permitted them to hear, with amazing
clearness, the faintest of heart-beats.
On the afternoon of the dress rehearsal, he led her, after an hour of
almost insupportable repression, to the rear of the auditorium, in the
region made gloomy by the shelving gallery overhead. Dropping into the
seat beside her, he blurted out, almost in anguish:
"I can't stand it any longer. I cannot be near you without--why, I--I
--well, it is more than I can struggle against, that's all. You've
either got to send me away altogether or--or--let me love you without
restraint. I tell you, I can't go on as I am now.
Pages:
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382