pgw.adamselindistress-第4章

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　〃No。　It　hasn't　had　any　effect　on　my　game　so　far。　I　went　round　in　eighty…six　the　other　day。〃
　Reggie　sighed　enviously。
　〃Women　are　wonderful！〃　he　said。　〃Well；　I'll　be　legging　it　and　fetching　the　car。　When　you're　ready；　stroll　along　down　the　road　and　wait　for　me。〃
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　When　he　had　gone　Maud　pulled　a　small　newspaper　clipping　from　her　pocket。　She　had　extracted　it　from　yesterday's　copy　of　the　Morning　Post's　society　column。　It　contained　only　a　few　words：
　　　　　〃Mr。　Wilbur　Raymond　has　returned　to　his　residence　at　　　　　No。　11a　Belgrave　Square　from　a　prolonged　voyage　in　his　　　　　yacht；　the　Siren。〃
　Maud　did　not　know　Mr。　Wilbur　Raymond；　and　yet　that　paragraph　had　sent　the　blood　tingling　through　every　vein　in　her　body。　For　as　she　had　indicated　to　Reggie；　when　the　Wilbur　Raymonds　of　this　world　return　to　their　town　residences；　they　bring　with　them　their　nephew　and　secretary；　Geoffrey　Raymond。　And　Geoffrey　Raymond　was　the　man　Maud　had　loved　ever　since　the　day　when　she　had　met　him　in　Wales。
　
　CHAPTER　2。
　
　The　sun　that　had　shone　so　brightly　on　Belpher　Castle　at　noon；　when　Maud　and　Reggie　Byng　set　out　on　their　journey；　shone　on　the　West…End　of　London　with　equal　pleasantness　at　two　o'clock。　In　Little　Gooch　Street　all　the　children　of　all　the　small　shopkeepers　who　support　life　in　that　backwater　by　selling　each　other　vegetables　and　singing　canaries　were　out　and　about　playing　curious　games　of　their　own　invention。　Cats　washed　themselves　on　doorsteps；　preparatory　to　looking　in　for　lunch　at　one　of　the　numerous　garbage　cans　which　dotted　the　sidewalk。　　Waiters　peered　austerely　from　the　windows　of　the　two　Italian　restaurants　which　carry　on　the　Lucretia　Borgia　tradition　by　means　of　one　shilling　and　sixpenny　table　d'hote　luncheons。　The　proprietor　of　the　grocery　store　on　the　corner　was　bidding　a　silent　farewell　to　a　tomato　which　even　he；　though　a　dauntless　optimist；　had　been　pelled　to　recognize　as　having　outlived　its　utility。　　On　all　these　things　the　sun　shone　with　a　genial　smile。　Round　the　corner；　in　Shaftesbury　Avenue；　an　east　wind　was　doing　its　best　to　pierce　the　hardened　hides　of　the　citizenry；　but　it　did　not　penetrate　into　Little　Gooch　Street；　which；　facing　south　and　being　narrow　and　sheltered；　was　enabled　practically　to　bask。
　Mac；　the　stout　guardian　of　the　stage　door　of　the　Regal　Theatre；　whose　gilded　front　entrance　is　on　the　Avenue；　emerged　from　the　little　glass　case　in　which　the　management　kept　him；　and　came　out　to　observe　life　and　its　phenomena　with　an　indulgent　eye。　Mac　was　feeling　happy　this　morning。　His　job　was　a　permanent　one；　not　influenced　by　the　success　or　failure　of　the　productions　which　followed　one　another　at　the　theatre　throughout　the　year；　but　he　felt；　nevertheless；　a　sort　of　proprietary　interest　in　these　ventures；　and　was　pleased　when　they　secured　the　approval　of　the　public。　　Last　night's　opening；　a　musical　piece　by　an　American　author　and　poser；　had　undoubtedly　made　a　big　hit；　and　Mac　was　glad；　because　he　liked　what　he　had　seen　of　the　pany；　and；　in　the　brief　time　in　which　he　had　known　him；　had　e　to　entertain　a　warm　regard　for　George　Bevan；　the　poser；　who　had　travelled　over　from　New　York　to　help　with　the　London　production。
　George　Bevan　turned　the　corner　now；　walking　slowly；　and；　it　seemed　to　Mac；　gloomily　towards　the　stage　door。　He　was　a　young　man　of　about　twenty…seven；　tall　and　well　knit；　with　an　agreeable；　clean…cut　face；　of　which　a　pair　of　good　and　honest　eyes　were　the　most　noticeable　feature。　His　sensitive　mouth　was　drawn　down　a　little　at　the　corners；　and　he　looked　tired。
　〃Morning；　Mac。〃
　〃Good　morning；　sir。〃
　〃Anything　for　me？〃
　〃Yes；　sir。　Some　telegrams。　I'll　get　'em。　Oh；　I'll　GET　'em；〃　said　Mac；　as　if　reassuring　some　doubting　friend　and　supporter　as　to　his　ability　to　carry　through　a　labour　of　Hercules。
　He　disappeared　into　his　glass　case。　George　Bevan　remained　outside　in　the　street　surveying　the　frisking　children　with　a　sombre　glance。　They　seemed　to　him　very　noisy；　very　dirty　and　very　young。　Disgustingly　young。　Theirs　was　joyous；　exuberant　youth　which　made　a　fellow　feel　at　least　sixty。　Something　was　wrong　with　George　today；　for　normally　he　was　fond　of　children。　　Indeed；　normally　he　was　fond　of　most　things。　He　was　a　good…natured　and　cheerful　young　man；　who　liked　life　and　the　great　majority　of　those　who　lived　it　contemporaneously　with　himself。　　He　had　no　enemies　and　many　friends。
　But　today　he　had　noticed　from　the　moment　he　had　got　out　of　bed　that　something　was　amiss　with　the　world。　Either　he　was　in　the　grip　of　some　divine　discontent　due　to　the　highly　developed　condition　of　his　soul；　or　else　he　had　a　grouch。　One　of　the　two。　　Or　it　might　have　been　the　reaction　from　the　emotions　of　the　previous　night。　On　the　morning　after　an　opening　your　sensitive　artist　is　always　apt　to　feel　as　if　he　had　been　dried　over　a　barrel。
　Besides；　last　night　there　had　been　a　supper　party　after　the　performance　at　the　flat　which　the　edian　of　the　troupe　had　rented　in　Jermyn　Street；　a　forced；　rowdy　supper　party　where　a　number　of　tired　people　with　over…strained　nerves　had　seemed　to　feel　it　a　duty　to　be　artificially　vivacious。　It　had　lasted　till　four　o'clock　when　the　morning　papers　with　the　notices　arrived；　and　George　had　not　got　to　bed　till　four…thirty。　These　things　colour　the　mental　outlook。
　Mac　reappeared。
　〃Here　you　are；　sir。〃
　〃Thanks。〃
　George　put　the　telegrams　in　his　pocket。　A　cat；　on　its　way　back　from　lunch；　paused　beside　him　in　order　to　use　his　leg　as　a　serviette。　George　tickled　it　under　the　ear　abstractedly。　He　was　always　courteous　to　cats；　but　today　he　went　through　the　movements　perfunctorily　and　without　enthusiasm。
　The　cat　moved　on。　Mac　became　conversational。
　〃They　tell　me　the　piece　was　a　hit　last　night；　sir。〃
　〃It　seemed　to　go　very　well。〃
　〃My　Missus　saw　it　from　the　gallery；　and　all　the　first…nighters　was　speaking　very　'ighly　of　it。　There's　a　regular　click；　you　know；　sir；　over　here　in　London；　that　goes　to　all　the　first　nights　in　the　gallery。　'Ighly　critical　they　are　always。　Specially　if　it's　an　American　piece　like　this　one。　If　they　don't　like　it；　they　precious　soon　let　you　know。　My　missus　ses　they　was　all　speakin'　very　'ighly　of　it。　My　missus　says　she　ain't　seen　a　livelier　show　for　a　long　time；　and　she's　a　great　theatregoer。　My　missus　says　they　was　all　specially　pleased　with　the　music。〃
　〃That's　good。〃
　〃The　Morning　Leader　give　it　a　fine　write…up。　How　was　the　rest　of　the　papers？〃
　〃Splendid；　all　of　them。　I　haven't　seen　the　evening　papers　yet。　I　came　out　to　get　them。〃
　Mac　looked　down　the　street。
　〃There'll　be　a　rehearsal　this　afternoon；　I　suppose；　sir？　Here's　Miss　Dore　ing　along。〃
　George　followed　his　glance。　A　tall　girl　in　a　tailor…made　suit　of　blue　was　ing　towards　them。　Even　at　a　distance　one　caught　the　genial　personality　of　the　new　arrival。　It　seemed　to　go　before　her　like　a　heartening　breeze。　She　picked　her　way　carefully　through　the　children　crawling　on　the　side　walk。　She　stopped　for　a　moment　and　said　something　to　one　of　them。　The　child　grinned。　　Even　the　proprietor　of　the　grocery　store　appeared　to　brighten　up　at　the　sight　of　her；　as　at　the　sight　of　some　old　friend。
　〃How's　business；　Bill？〃　she　called　to　him　as　she　passed　the　spot　where　he　stood　brooding　on　the　mortality　of　tomatoes。　　And；　though　he　replied　〃Rotten〃；　a　faint；　grim　smile　did　nevertheless　flicker　across　his　tragic　mask。
　Billie　Dore；　who　was　one　of　the　chorus　of　George　Bevan's　musical　edy；　had　an　attractive　face；　a　mouth　that　laughed　readily；　rather　bright　golden　hair　（which；　she　was　fond　of　insisting　with　perfect　truth；　was　genuine　though　appearances　were　against　it）；　and　steady　blue　eyes。　The　latter　were　frequently　employed　by　her　in　quelling　admirers　who　were　encouraged　by　the　former　to　bee　too　ardent。　Billie's　views　on　the　opposite　sex　who　forgot　themselves　were　as　rigid　as　those　of　Lord　Marshmoreton　concerning　thrips。　She　liked　men；　and　she　would　signify　this　liking　in　a　practical　manner　by　lunching　and　dining　with　them；　but　she　was　entirely　self…supporting；　and　when　men　overlooked　that　fact　she　reminded　them　of　it　in　no　uncertain　voice；　for　she　was　a　girl　of　ready　speech　and　direct。
　〃'Morning；　George。　'Morning；　Mac。　Any　mail？〃
　〃I'll　see；　miss。〃
　〃How　did　your　better　four…fift