Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 146: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

— lt i], HHGCHGCO TCC UCOOEKRaR LLL ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. passed all his most sanguine expectations. Having conversed on general topics for a few minutes, there was a brief pause—which was broken by myself ; for suddenly settling my countenance into the seri- ousness of a business air, I said, “ And now, Mr. Richards, Iam going to make an announcement which mey or may not astonish you—but which perhaps will surprise many who have heard that it wes my intention to retire altogether from the stage.” “ Ah!” said Mr. Richards, with a smile of satise faction upon his countenance: “is it possible that the dramatic sphere is again to be lighted by its most brilliant constellation ?” All flattery and pleasantry apart, Mr. Richards,” T said, “I am indeed serious in the hint which I have thrown out. Yes—to speak plainly and posi- tively, I am induced by circumstances to return to the stage !” “While in one sense rejoicing at this announce- ment,” observed Mr. Richards, “ yet in another sense believe me, my dear Miss Trafford, I should be distressed to learn that any unpleasant circum- stances——” “T am very much obliged to you, Mr. Richards, for your kind feeling,” I interrupted him; “and I think it right to inform you that the fortune which I had expected to hold, has slipped out of my grasp. This circumstance has led to the postpone. ment of my marriage with Mr. Wakefield my cousin, which I should have otherwise contracted.” “IT sympathize with you, Miss Trafford. But herein the old proverb specially finds an illustra- tion, that it is an 111 wind which blows nobody any good. Pardon me if you perceive any little levity or selfishness in this remark: and permit me to add that you bear your reverses with the most mar- vellous fortitude.” “Tt is useless to repine,’ I rejoined, “at that which cannot be helped. But what I have told you isin confidence. It was not generally known that I had any good pecuniary prospects— still less generally could it have been known that I was on the point of marriage. Therefore although I have given these explanations to you 9 “T shall use them discreetly,’ interjected the lessee ; “and where I am questioned shall just say sufficient to account in a becoming manner for your return to the stage.” “That is just what I require. And now,” I added, with a smile, “I suppose you will not refuse to give me an engagement P” “ Assuredly not. And upon your own terms! But you will not be too hard upon me P” *T had already made up my mind in respect to the terms which I had thought of proposing. For the last two seasons I received forty pounds a week: I think that I might now ask fifty.” “Well, Miss Trafford,” said the manager, look- ing rather serious, and evidently disposed to drive @ bargain, although but a moment back he had told me I might stipulate my own terms: “ things are not flourishing in the theatrical world——”’ “Yet you have a crowded house, and my friend Miss Glentworth is bringing gold to your trea- sury.” “True, Miss Trafford!—but the expenses are enormous! The committee of the theatre are par- ticularly hard upon me——yet if you persist, and those are your terms———” 133 “Circumstances are rendering me more mer- cenary than I was,” I interrupted him. “I am compelled to utilize my profession, so to speak, as much as possible. This is but fair.” * Not another word, Miss Trafford !” exclaimed Mr. Richards: “it isa bargain! The terms are agreed upon—and to-morrow wy solicitor will send you the drafts of the usual documents. I think you do not take a benefit ?” “No—I waive that condition, And now, Mr. Richards,” I continued, “as this little matter is settled between us, I shall return to my box: for Miss Glentworth is very anxious to see your new ballet, and I have promised to remain with her for the purpose.” I issued from the manager’s room, and proceeded to join Mary Glentworth in her own dressing- chamber. I told her of the arrangement which I had effected with the lessee ; and when, having put off her theatrical costume, she was apparelled in her own attire, we repaired together to the private box that was at our disposal. The curtain was still down; and the audience were waiting for the ballet. I glanced forth from behind the curtain of our box; and the first person on whom my eyes rested was Edwin St. Clair. Apparelled with his usual elegance, he was seated with several other gentlemen in a box, in the centre of the house, ex- actly facing the stage. Turning towards Mary, I said, “ You remember Mr. St. Clair P—one of the members of the Government whom we heard make that brilliant speech the night we went to the House of Commons ?”’ She first glanced in the direction of the box fo which I have alluded; and she said with that cold- ness which of late had characterized her speech, “Yes == I remember Mr. St. Clair; and I had already recognised him in the house.” As my eyes wandered round the tiers to see if there were any other persons whom I knew, I be- held two ladies sitting alone together in a private box, which I perfectly remembered to have been well-filled, as indeed every compartment of the theatre was, during the progress of the drama in which Mary Glentworth had appeared. It was therefore evident that the other persons who were previously in this particular box had departed at the fall of the curtain, they not choosing to remain to see the ballet. But of these two ladies who did remain, I immediately recognised one to be Lady Lilla Essendine. I had not seen her for a long while: I had not even heard of her. I now looked at her attentively for upwards of a minute: and though it was a considerable distance across the vast theatre and the blaze of light was dazzling, yet it struck me that she looked exceedingly sickly and delicate, as if she had only recently recovered from an illness. But beautiful was she even then, with that sweet interesting external loveliness which concealed the revolting ugliness of her soul. Neither Edwin St. Clair nor Lady Lilla Essendiue noticed me; for it was only cautiously from be- hind the drapery of the box that I thus peeped forth. The curtain now rose upon the commencement of the ballet, of which I had read brilliant descrip- tions in the newspapers. And certainly it was well worthy of the eulogiums thus passed. The scenery was beautiful; and Mr. Richards had con- gregated an excellent amount of Terpsichorean JOO (EI NALICE SS (E(0)