Besides, Jane Taitbout, no strict moralist, had given her a lot of useful information.
‘And are you under the impression by any chance, that for that I’m going to let you sleep with me as well?’
‘My God, do you think I’ve got time to go to bed with the members of my company?
I’ve got much more important things to do than that, my girl.
And you’ll find that after you’ve rehearsed for four hours and played a part at night to my satisfaction, besides a couple of matinees, you won’t have much time or much inclination to make love to anybody.
When you go to bed all you’ll want to do is to sleep.’
But Jimmie Langton was wrong there.
3.
JULIA, taken by his enthusiasm and his fantastic exuberance, accepted his offer.
He started her in modest parts which under his direction she played as she had never played before.
He interested the critics in her, he flattered them by letting them think that they had discovered a remarkable actress, and allowed the suggestion to come from them that he should let the public see her as Magda.
She was a great hit and then in quick succession he made her play Nora in The Doll’s House, Ann in Man and Superman, and Hedda Gabler.
Middlepool was delighted to discover that it had in its midst an actress who it could boast was better than any star in London, and crowded to see her in plays that before it had gone to only from local patriotism.
The London paragraphers mentioned her now and then, and a number of enthusiastic patrons of the drama made the journey to Middlepool to see her.
They went back full of praise, and two or three London managers sent representatives to report on her.
They were doubtful.
She was all very well in Shaw and Ibsen, but what would she do in an ordinary play?
The managers had had bitter experiences.
On the strength of an outstanding performance in one of these queer plays they had engaged an actor, only to discover that in any other sort of play he was no better than anybody else.
When Michael joined the company Julia had been playing in Middlepool for a year.
Jimmie started him with Marchbanks in Candida.
It was the happy choice one would have expected him to make, for in that part his great beauty was an asset and his lack of warmth no disadvantage.
Julia reached over to take out the first of the cardboard cases in which Michael’s photographs were kept.
She was sitting comfortably on the floor. She turned the early photographs over quickly, looking for that which he had had taken when first he came to Middlepool; but when she came upon it, it gave her a pang.
For a moment she felt inclined to cry.
It had been just like him then.
Candida was being played by an older woman, a sound actress who was cast generally for mothers, maiden aunts or character parts, and Julia with nothing to do but act eight times a week attended the rehearsals.
She fell in love with Michael at first sight.
She had never seen a more beautiful young man, and she pursued him relentlessly.
In due course Jimmie put on Ghosts, braving the censure of respectable Middlepool, and Michael played the boy and she played Regina.
They heard one another their parts and after rehearsals lunched, very modestly, together so that they might talk of them.
Soon they were inseparable.
Julia had little reserve; she flattered Michael outrageously.
He was not vain of his good looks, he knew he was handsome and accepted compliments, not exactly with indifference, but as he might have accepted a compliment on a fine old house that had been in his family for generations.
It was a well-known fact that it was one of the best houses of its period, one was proud of it and took care of it, but it was just there, as natural to possess as the air one breathed.
He was shrewd and ambitious. He knew that his beauty was at present his chief asset, but he knew it could not last for ever and was determined to become a good actor so that he should have something besides his looks to depend on.
He meant to learn all he could from Jimmie Langton and then go to London.
‘If I play my cards well I can get some old woman to back me and go into management. One’s got to be one’s own master.
That’s the only way to make a packet.’
Julia soon discovered that he did not much like spending money, and when they ate a meal together, or on a Sunday went for a small excursion, she took care to pay her share of the expenses.
She did not mind this.
She liked him for counting the pennies, and, inclined to be extravagant herself and always a week or two behind with her rent, she admired him because he hated to be in debt and even with the small salary he was getting managed to save up a little every week.
He was anxious to have enough put by so that when he went to London he need not accept the first part that was offered him, but could afford to wait till he got one that gave him a real chance.
His father had little more than his pension to live on, and it had been a sacrifice to send him to Cambridge.
His father, not liking the idea of his going on the stage, had insisted on this.
‘If you want to be an actor I suppose I can’t stop you,’ he said, ‘but damn it all, I insist on your being educated like a gentleman.’
It gave Julia a good deal of satisfaction to discover that Michael’s father was a colonel, it impressed her to hear him speak of an ancestor who had gambled away his fortune at White’s during the Regency, and she liked the signet ring Michael wore with the boar’s head on it and the motto: Nemo me impune lacessit.
‘I believe you’re prouder of your family than of looking like a Greek god,’ she told him fondly.
‘Anyone can be good-looking,’ he answered, with his sweet smile, ‘but not everyone can belong to a decent family.
To tell you the truth I’m glad my governor’s a gentleman.’