Theatre Page 0,25

a wonderful part for you."

Julia read quickly, skimming over the scenes in which she was not concerned, but the principal woman's part, the part of course she would play, with concentration. When she had turned the last page she rang the bell and asked her maid (who was also her dresser) to tell Michael she was ready for him.

"Well, what d'you think?"

"The play's all right. I don't see how it can fail to be a success."

He caught something doubtful in her tone.

"What's wrong then? The part's wonderful. I mean, it's the sort of thing that you can do better than anyone in the world. There's a lot of comedy and all the emotion you want."

"It's a wonderful part, I know that; it's the man's part."

"Well, that's a damned good part too."

"I know; but he's fifty, and if you make him younger you take all the point out of the play. You don't want to take the part of a middle-aged man."

"But I wasn't thinking of playing that. There's only one man for that. Monte Vernon. And we can get him. I'll play George."

"But it's a tiny part. You can't play that."

"Why not?"

"But I thought the point of going into management was that we should both play leads."

"Oh, I don't care a hang about that. As long as we can find plays with star parts for you I don't matter. Perhaps in the next play there'll be a good part for me too."

Julia leant back in her chair, and the ready tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

"Oh, what a beast I am."

He smiled, and his smile was as charming as ever. He came over to her and kneeling by her side put his arms round her.

"Lor lumme,* what's the matter with the old lady now?"

When she looked at him now she wondered what there was in him that had ever aroused in her such a frenzy of passion. The thought of having sexual relations with him nauseated her. Fortunately he found himself very comfortable in the bedroom she had furnish for him. He was not a man to whom sex was important, and he was relieved when he discovered that Julia no longer made any demands on him. He thought with satisfaction that the birth of the baby had calmed her down, he was bound to say that he had thought it might, and he was only sorry they had not had one before. When he had two or three times, more out of amiability than out of desire, suggested that they should resume marital relations and she had made excuses, either that she was tired, not very well, or had two performances next day, to say nothing of a fitting in the morning, he accepted the situation with equanimity. Julia was much easier to get on with, she never made scenes any more, and he was happier than he had ever been before. It was a damned satisfactory marriage he had made, and when he looked at other people's marriages he couldn't help seeing he was one of the lucky ones. Julia was a damned good sort and clever, as clever as a bagful* of monkeys; you could talk to her about anything in the world. The best companion a chap ever had, my boy. He didn't mind saying this, he'd rather spend a day alone with her than play a round of golf.

Julia was surprised to discover in herself a strange feeling of pity for him because she no longer loved him. She was a kindly woman, and she realized that it would be a bitter blow to his pride if he ever had an inkling how little he meant to her. She continued to flatter him. She noticed that for long now he had come to listen complacently to her praise of his exquisite nose and beautiful eyes. She got a little private amusement by seeing how much he could swallow. She laid it on with a trowel.* But now she looked more often at his straight thin-lipped mouth. It grew meaner as he grew older, and by the time he was an old man it would be no more than a cold hard line. His thrift, which in the early days had seemed an amusing, rather touching trait, now revolted her. When people were in trouble, and on the stage they too often are, they got sympathy and kind friendly words from Michael, but very little cash. He looked upon himself as devilish generous