Beth Norvell - Page 19/177

"And is that all?"

"Not entirely; there yet remains a chapter to be added to my

confessions. I acknowledge I should have long since tired of the life

and its hardships, had you not chanced to be a member of the same

troupe."

"I, Mr. Winston? Why, we have scarcely spoken to each other until

to-day."

"True, yet I strenuously deny that it was my fault. In fact, I had

firmly determined that we should, and, having been a spoiled child, I

am accustomed to having my own way. This, perhaps, will partially

account for my persistency and for my still being with 'The Heart of

the World.' But all else aside, I early became intensely interested in

your work, Miss Norvell, instantly recognizing that it required no

common degree of ability to yield dignity to so poor a thing as the

play in which you appear. I began to study you and your

interpretation; I never tired of noting those little fresh touches with

which you constantly succeeded in embellishing your lines and your

'business,' and how clearly your conception of character stood forth

against the crude background of those mummers surrounding you. It was

a lesson in interpretative art to me, and one I never wearied of.

Then, I must likewise confess, something else occurred."

He paused, looking aside at her, and, as though she felt the spell of

that glance, she turned her own face, brightened by such earnest words

of praise, their eyes meeting frankly.

"What?"

"The most natural thing in the world--my admiration for the art only

served to increase my early interest in the artist. I began to feel

drawn not only to the actress but to the woman," he said gravely.

Her eyes never faltered, but faced him bravely, although her cheeks

were like poppies, and her lips faltered in their first bold effort at

swift reply.

"I am so glad you honestly think that about my work; so glad you told

me. It is a wonderful encouragement, for I know now that you speak as

a man of education, of cultivation. You must have seen the highest

class of stage interpretation, and, I am sure, have no desire merely to

flatter me. You do not speak as if you meant an idle compliment. Oh,

you can scarcely conceive how much success will spell to me, Mr.

Winston," her voice growing deeper from increasing earnestness, her

eyes more thoughtful, "but I am going to tell you a portion of my

life-story in order that you may partially comprehend. This is my

first professional engagement; but I was no stage-struck girl when I

first applied for the position. Rather, the thought was most repugnant

to me. My earlier life had been passed under conditions which held me

quite aloof from anything of the kind. While I always enjoyed

interpreting character as a relaxation, and even achieved, while at

school in the East, a rather enviable reputation as an amateur, I

nevertheless had a distinct prejudice against the professional stage,

even while intensely admiring its higher exponents. My turning to it

for a livelihood was a grim necessity, my first week on the road a

continual horror. I abhorred the play, the making of a nightly

spectacle of myself, the rudeness and freedom of the audiences, the

coarse, common-place people with whom I was constantly compelled to

consort. You know them, and can therefore realize to some extent what

daily association with them must necessarily mean to one of my early

training and familiarity with quieter social customs. But my position

in the troupe afforded me certain privileges of isolation, while my

necessities compelled me to persevere. As a result, the dormant

art-spirit within apparently came to life; ambition began to usurp the

place of indifference; I became more and more disgusted with

mediocrity, and began an earnest struggle toward higher achievements.

I had little to guide me other than my own natural instincts, yet I

persevered. I insisted on living my own life while off the stage, and,

to kill unhappy thought, I devoted all my spare moments to hard study.

Almost to my surprise, the very effort brought with it happiness. I

began to forget the past and its crudities, to blot out the present

with its dull, unpleasant realities, and to live for the future. My

ideals, at first but vague dreams, took form and substance. I

determined to succeed, to master my art, to develop whatever of talent

I might possess to its highest possibility, to become an actress worthy

of the name. This developing ideal has already made me a new woman--it

has given me something to live for, to strive toward."