Beth Norvell - Page 8/177

The remembrance of her scarcely recurred to him all

through the afternoon, yet it finally returned in overwhelming rush

when, in the course of his arduous labors, he raised up a small leather

trunk and discovered her name painted plainly upon the end of it. The

chalk mark designating where it belonged read "Dressing-room No. 2,"

and, instead of rolling it roughly in that direction, as he had rolled

numerous others, the new utility man lifted it carefully upon his

shoulder and deposited it gently against the farther wall. He glanced

with curiosity about the restricted apartment to which Miss Beth

Norvell had been assigned. It appeared the merest hole of a place,

narrow and ill-ventilated, the side walls and ceiling composed of rough

lumber, and it was evidently designed to be lit at night by a single

gas jet, inclosed within a wire netting. This apartment contained

merely a single rude chair, of the kitchen variety, and an exceedingly

small mirror cracked across one corner and badly fly-specked. Numerous

rusty spikes, intended to hold articles of discarded clothing,

decorated both side walls and the back of the door. It was dismally

bare, and above all, it was abominably dirty, the dust lying thick

everywhere, the floor apparently unswept for weeks. With an

exclamation of disgust Winston hunted up broom and dust-rag, and gave

the gloomy place such a cleansing as it probably had not enjoyed since

the house was originally erected.

At the end of these arduous labors

he looked the scene over critically, the honest perspiration streaming

down his face, glancing, with some newly awakened curiosity, into the

surrounding dressing-rooms. They were equally filthy and unfit for

occupancy, yet he did not feel called upon to invade them with his

cleansing broom. By four o'clock everything was in proper position,

the stage set in perfect order for the opening act, and Winston

returned with his report to the hotel, and to the glowing Albrecht.

Miss Norvell joined the company at the supper table, sitting between

the manager and Mr. T. Macready Lane, although Winston was quick to

observe that she gave slight attention to either, except when addressed

directly. She met the others present with all necessary cordiality and

good-fellowship, yet there appeared a certain undefined reserve about

her manner which led to an immediate hush in the rather free

conversation of what Albrecht was pleased to term the "training table,"

and when the murmur of voices was resumed after her entrance, a

somewhat better choice of subjects became immediately noticeable.

Without so much as either word or look, the silent influence of the

actress was plainly for refinement, while her mere presence at the

table gave a new tone to Bohemianism. Winston, swiftly realizing this,

began observing the lady with a curiosity which rapidly developed into

deeper interest. He became more and more attracted by her unique

personality, which persistently appealed to his aroused imagination,

even while there continued to haunt him a dim tantalizing remembrance

he was unable wholly to master. He assuredly had never either seen or

heard of this young woman before, yet she constantly reminded him of

the past. Her eyes, the peculiar contour of her face, the rather odd

trick she had of shaking back the straying tresses of her dark, glossy

hair, and, above all, that quick smile with which she greeted any flash

of humor, and which produced a fascinating dimple in her cheek, all

served to puzzle and stimulate him; while admiration of her so apparent

womanliness began as instantly to replace the vague curiosity he had

felt toward her as an actress. She was different from what he had

imagined, with absolutely nothing to suggest the glare and glitter of

the footlights. Until this time he had scarcely been conscious that

she possessed any special claim to beauty; yet now, her face, illumined

by those dark eyes filled with quick intelligence, became most

decidedly attractive, peculiarly lovable and womanly. Besides, she

evidently possessed a rare taste in dress, which met with his masculine

approval. Much of this, it is true, he reasoned out later and slowly,

for during that first meal only two circumstances impressed him

clearly--the depth of feeling glowing within those wonderfully

revealing eyes, and her complete ignoring of his presence. If she

recognized any addition to their number, there was not the slightest

sign given. Once their eyes met by merest accident; but hers

apparently saw nothing, and Winston returned to his disagreeable labors

at the Opera House, nursing a feeling akin to disappointment.