Theatre Page 0,73

I was out on tour all last season. I don't want to leave London again if I can help it."

"The theatrical profession's terribly overcrowded," said Julia.

"Oh, I know. It seems almost hopeless unless you've got influence or something. I hear you're putting a new play on soon."

"Yes."

Julia continued to smile with an almost intolerable sweetness.

"If there's a part for me in it, I'd most awfully like to play with you. I'm so sorry Mr. Gosselyn couldn't come tonight."

"I'll tell him about you."

"D'you really think there's a chance for me?" Through her self-assurance, through the country-house manner she assumed in order to impress Julia, there pierced an anxious eagerness. "If you'd put in a word for me it would help so much."

Julia gave her a reflective look.

"I take my husband's advice more often than he takes mine," she smiled.

When they left the dressing-room so that Avice Crichton might change for the third act, Julia caught the questioning glance she gave Tom as she said good-bye to him. Julia was conscious, though she saw no movement, that he slightly shook his head. Her sensibility at that moment was extraordinarily acute and she translated the mute dialogue into words.

"Coming to supper afterwards?"

"No, damn it, I can't, I've got to see her home."

Julia listened to the third act grimly. That was in order since the play was serious. When it was over and a pale shattered author had made a halting speech, Tom asked her where she would like to go for supper.

"Let's go home and talk," she said. "If you're hungry I'm sure we can find you something to eat in the kitchen."

"D'you mean to Stanhope Place?"

"Yes."

"All right."

She felt his relief that she did not want to go back to the flat. He was silent in the car and she knew that it irked him to have to come back with her. She guessed that someone was giving a supper party to which Avice Crichton was going and he wanted to be there. The house was dark and empty when they reached it. The servants were in bed. Julia suggested that they should go down to the basement and forage.

"I don't want anything to eat unless you do," he said. "I'll just have a whisky and soda and go to bed. I've got a very heavy day tomorrow at the office."

"All right. Bring it up to the drawing-room. I'll go and turn on the lights:"

When he came up she was doing her face in front of a mirror and she continued till he had poured out the whisky and sat down. Then she turned round. He looked very young, and incredibly charming, in his beautiful clothes, sitting there in the big armchair, and all the bitterness she had felt that evening, all the devouring jealousy of the last few days, were dissipated on a sudden by the intensity of her passion. She sat down on the arm of his chair and caressingly passed her hand over his hair. He drew back with an angry gesture.

"Don't do that," he said. "I do hate having my hair mussed about."

It was like a knife in her heart. He had never spoken to her in that tone before. But she laughed lightly and getting up took the whisky he had poured out for her and sat down in a chair opposite him. The movement he had made, the words he had spoken, were instinctive and he was a trifle abashed. He avoided her glance and his face once more bore a sulky look. The moment was decisive. For a while they were silent. Julia's heart beat painfully, but at last she forced herself to speak.

"Tell me," she said, smiling, "have you been to bed with Avice Crichton?"

"Of course not," he cried.

"Why not? She's pretty."

"She's not that sort of girl. I respect her."

Julia let none of her feelings appear on her face. Her manner was wonderfully casual; she might have been talking of the fall of empires or the death of kings.

"D'you know what I should have said? I should have said you were madly in love with her." He still avoided her eyes. "Are you engaged to her by any chance?"

"No."

He looked at her now, but the eyes that met Julia's were hostile.

"Have you asked her to marry you?"

"How could I? A damned rotter like me."

He spoke so passionately that Julia was astonished.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh what's the good of beating about the bush? How could I ask a decent girl to marry me? I'm nothing