IV.
"Won't you cam up to Miss April's dressing-room?" said Mr. Marrier, whoin the midst of the fulminating applause after the second act seemed tobe inexplicably standing over him, having appeared in an instant out ofnowhere like a genie.
The fact was that Edward Henry had been gently and innocently dozing.It was in part the deep obscurity of the auditorium, in part his ownphysical fatigue, and in part the secret nature of poetry that had beenresponsible for this restful slumber. He had remained awake withoutdifficulty during the first portion of the act, in which ElsieApril--the orient pearl--had had a long scene of emotion and tears,played, as Edward Henry thought, magnificently in spite of its inherentridiculousness; but later, when gentle _Haidee_ had vanished away andthe fateful troubadour messenger had begun to resume her announcementsof "The woman appears," Edward Henry's soul had miserably yielded to hisbody and to the temptation of darkness. The upturned lights and theringing hosannahs had roused him to a full sense of sin, but he had notquite recovered all his faculties when Marrier startled him.
"Yes, yes! Of course! I was coming," he answered a little petulantly.But no petulance could impair the beaming optimism on Mr. Marrier'sfeatures. To judge by those features, Mr. Marrier, in addition tohaving organised and managed the _soiree_, might also have written thepiece and played every part in it, and founded the Azure Society andbuilt its private theatre. The hour was Mr. Marrier's.
Elsie April's dressing-room was small and very thickly populated, andthe threshold of it was barred by eager persons who were half in andhalf out of the room. Through these Mr. Marrier's authority forced away. The first man Edward Henry recognised in the tumult of bodies wasMr. Rollo Wrissell, whom he had not seen since their meeting atSlosson's.
"Mr. Wrissell," said the glowing Marrier, "let me introduce Mr. AldermanMachin, of the Regent Theatah."
"Clumsy fool!" thought Edward Henry, and stood as if entranced.
But Mr. Wrissell held out a hand with the perfection of urbane_insouciance_.
"How d'you do, Mr. Machin?" said he. "I hope you'll forgive me for nothaving followed your advice."
This was a lesson to Edward Henry. He learnt that you should never showa wound, and if possible never feel one. He admitted that in suchdetails of social conduct London might be in advance of the Five Towns,despite the Five Towns' admirable downrightness.
Lady Woldo was also in the dressing-room, glorious in black. Her beautywas positively disconcerting, and the more so on this occasion as shewas bending over the faded Rose Euclid, who sat in a corner surroundedby a court. This court, comprising comparatively uncelebrated youngwomen and men, listened with respect to the conversation of the peeress(who called Rose "my dear"), the great star-actress, and the nowsomewhat notorious Five Towns character, Edward Henry Machin.
"Miss April is splendid, isn't she?" said Edward Henry to Lady Woldo.
"Oh! My word, yes!" replied Lady Woldo nicely, warmly, yet with acertain perfunctoriness. Edward Henry was astonished that everybody wasnot passionately enthusiastic about the charm of Elsie's performance.Then Lady Woldo added: "But what a part for Miss Euclid! What a partfor her!"
And there were murmurs of approbation.
Rose Euclid gazed at Edward Henry palely and weakly. He considered hermuch less effective here than in her box. But her febrile gaze waseffective enough to produce in him the needle-stab again, the feeling ofgloom, of pessimism, of being gradually overtaken by an unseen andmysterious avenger.
"Yes, indeed!" said he.
He thought to himself: "Now's the time for me to behave like EdwardHenry Machin, and teach these people a thing or two!" But he could not.
A pretty young girl summoned all her forces to address the greatproprietor of the Regent, to whom, however, she had not been introduced,and with a charming nervous earnest lisp said:
"But don't you think it's a great play, Mr. Machin?"
"Of course!" he replied, inwardly employing the most fearful andshocking anathemas.
"We were sure _you_ would!"
The young people glanced at each other with the satisfaction of provedprophets.
"D'you know that not another manager has taken the trouble to comehere!" said a second earnest young woman.
Edward Henry's self-consciousness was now acute. He would have paid aransom to be alone on a desert island in the Indian seas. He lookeddownwards, and noticed that all these bright eager persons, women andmen, were wearing blue stockings or socks.
"Miss April is free now," said Marrier in his ear.
The next instant he was talking alone to Elsie in another corner, whilethe rest of the room respectfully observed.
"So you deigned to come!" said Elsie April. "You did get my card!"
A little paint did her no harm, and the accentuation of her eyebrows andlips and the calculated disorder of her hair were not more than herpowerful effulgent physique could stand. In a costume of green andsilver she was magnificent, overwhelmingly magnificent.
Her varying voice and her glance, at once sincere, timid, and bold,produced the most singular sensations behind Edward Henry's soft-frilledshirt-front. And he thought that he had never been through anyexperience so disturbing and so fine as just standing in front of her.
"I ought to be saying nice things to her," he reflected; but, no doubtbecause he had been born in the Five Towns, he could not formulate inhis mind a single nice thing.
"Well, what do you think of it?" she asked, looking full at him, and theglance too had a strange significance. It was as if she had said: "Areyou a man, or aren't you?"
"I think you're splendid," he exclaimed.
"Now please!" she protested. "Don't begin in that strain. I know I'mvery good for an amateur--"
"But really! I'm not joking!"
She shook her head.
"What do you think of my part for Rose? Wouldn't she be tremendous init? Wouldn't she be tremendous? What a chance!"
He was acutely uncomfortable, but even his discomfort was somehow a joy.
"Yes," he admitted. "Yes."
"Oh! Here's Carlo Trent," said she.
He heard Trent's triumphant voice carrying the end of a conversationinto the room: "If he hadn't been going away," Carlo Trent was saying,"Pilgrim would have taken it. Pilgrim--"
The poet's eyes met Edward Henry's, and the sentence was never finished.
"How d'ye do, Machin?" murmured the poet.
Then a bell began to ring and would not stop.
"You're staying for the reception afterwards?" said Elsie April as theroom emptied.
"Is there one?"
"Of course."
It seemed to Edward Henry that they exchanged silent messages.