When, at the first night of "The Scandal," the audience lingered, cheering Brent's picture thrown upon a drop, cheering Susan, calling her out again and again, refusing to leave the theater until it was announced that she could answer no more calls, as she had gone home--when she was thus finally and firmly established in her own right--she said to Sperry:
"Will you see to it that every sketch of me that appears tomorrow says that I am the natural daughter of Lorella Lenox?"Sperry's Punch-like face reddened.
"I've been ashamed of that fact," she went on."It has made me ashamed to be alive in the bottom of my heart.""Absurd," said Sperry.
"Exactly," replied Susan."Absurd.Even stronger than my shame about it has been my shame that I could be so small as to feel ashamed of it.Now--tonight" she was still in her dressing-room.As she paused they heard the faint faraway thunders of the applause of the lingering audience--"Listen!"she cried."I am ashamed no longer.Sperry, _Ich bin ein Ich!_""I should say," laughed he."All you have to say is `Susan Lenox' and you answer all questions.""At last I'm proud of it," she went on."I've justified myself.I've justified my mother.I am proud of her, and she would be proud of me.So see that it's done, Sperry.""Sure," said he."You're right."
He took her hand and kissed it.She laughed, patted him on the shoulder, kissed him on both cheeks in friendly, sisterly fashion.
He had just gone when a card was brought to her--"Dr.Robert Stevens"--with "Sutherland, Indiana," penciled underneath.
Instantly she remembered, and had him brought to her--the man who had rescued her from death at her birth.He proved to be a quiet, elderly gentleman, subdued and aged beyond his fifty-five years by the monotonous life of the drowsy old town.He approached with a manner of embarrassed respect and deference, stammering old-fashioned compliments.But Susan was the simple, unaffected girl again, so natural that he soon felt as much at ease as with one of his patients in Sutherland.
She took him away in her car to her apartment for supper with her and Clelie, who was in the company, and Sperry.She kept him hour after hour, questioning him about everyone and everything in the old town, drawing him out, insisting upon more and more details.The morning papers were brought and they read the accounts of play and author and players.For once there was not a dissent; all the critics agreed that it was a great performance of a great play.And Susan made Sperry read aloud the finest and the longest of the accounts of Brent himself--his life, his death, his work, his lasting fame now peculiarly assured because in Susan Lenox there had been found a competent interpreter of his genius.
After the reading there fell silence.Susan, her pallid face and her luminous, inquiring violet eyes inscrutable, sat gazing into vacancy.At last Doctor Stevens moved uneasily and rose to go.Susan roused herself, accompanied him to the adjoining room.Said the old doctor.
"I've told you about everybody.But you've told me nothing about the most interesting Sutherlander of all--yourself."Susan looked at him.And he saw the wound hidden from all the world--the wound she hid from herself as much of the time as she could.He, the doctor, the professional confessor, had seen such wounds often; in all the world there is hardly a heart without one.He said:
"Since sorrow is the common lot, I wonder that men can be so selfish or so unthinking as not to help each other in every way to its consolations.Poor creatures that we are--wandering in the dark, fighting desperately, not knowing friend from foe!""But I am glad that you saved me," said she.
"You have the consolations--success--fame--honor.""There is no consolation," replied she in her grave sweet way.
"I had the best.I--lost him.I shall spend my life in flying from myself."After a pause she went on: "I shall never speak to anyone as I have spoken to you.You will understand all.I had the best--the man who could have given me all a woman seeks from a man--love, companionship, sympathy, the shelter of strong arms.I had that.I have lost it.So----"A long pause.Then she added:
"Usually life is almost tasteless to me.Again--for an hour or two it is a little less so--until I remember what I have lost.Then--the taste is very bitter--very bitter."And she turned away.
She is a famous actress, reputed great.Some day she will be indeed great--when she has the stage experience and the years.
