Beth Norvell - Page 12/177

"Oh, yes," doubtfully, her eyes still on his face, "miners, stockmen,

engineers, but scarcely in your present employment."

"Miss Norvell," and Winston straightened up, "possibly I may be

employed here for a reason similar to that which has induced you to

travel with a troupe of barn-stormers."

She shrugged her shoulders, her lips smiling, the seductive dimple

showing in her cheeks.

"And what was that?"

"The ambition of an amateur to attain a foothold upon the professional

stage."

"Who told you so?"

"Mr. Samuel Albrecht was guilty of the suggestion.

"It was extremely nice of him to discuss my motives thus freely with a

stranger. But he told you only a very small portion of the truth. In

my case it was rather the imperative necessity of an amateur to earn

her own living--a deliberate choice between the professional stage and

starvation."

"Without ambition?"

She hesitated slightly, yet there was a depth of respect slumbering

within those gray eyes gazing so directly into her darker ones,

together with a strength she felt.

"Without very much at first, I fear," she confessed, as though

admitting it rather to herself alone, "yet I acknowledge it has since

grown upon me, until I have determined to succeed."

His eyes brightened, the admiration in them unconcealed, his lips

speaking impulsively.

"And what is more, Miss Norvell, you 'll make it."

"Do you truly believe so?" She had already forgotten that the man

before her was a mere stage hand, and her cheeks burned eagerly to the

undoubted sincerity of his utterance. "No one else has ever said that

to me--only the audiences have appeared to care and appreciate.

Albrecht and all those others have scarcely offered me a word of

encouragement."

"Albrecht and the others are asses," ejaculated Winston, with sudden

indignation. "They imagine they are actors because they prance and

bellow on a stage, and they sneer at any one who is not in their class.

But I can tell you this, Miss Norvell, the manager considers you a

treasure; he said as much to me."

She stood before him, the glare of the stage glinting in her hair, her

hands clasped, her dark eyes eagerly reading his face as though these

unexpected words of appreciation had yielded her renewed courage, like

a glass of wine.

"Really, is that true? Oh, I am so glad. I thought, perhaps, they

were only making fun of me out in front, although I have always tried

so hard to do my very best. You have given me a new hope that I may

indeed master the art. Was that my cue?"