the eyeballs appeared to me to be easing up a trifle.'
Chapter 5
While Monty Bodkin was making his way to the library, stern in his determination to write Gertrude Butterwick a letter which would bring the blush of shame to the cheek and the tear of remorse to the eye and, generally speaking, show her what was what, Mr Ivor Llewellyn stood leaning over the rail of the promenade deck, watching the approach of the tender which bore his sister-in-law Mabel.
None of the reporters who had listened at Waterloo Station to his views on the Screen Beautiful had suspected that they were interviewing a soul in torment, but such was the painful truth. Mr Llewellyn was not feeling merry and bright, and it would be giving a totally false impression to the public to say that he was. Even when dilating on the brightness of the Screen's future, he had been thinking how vastly it differed from his own.
For nights now he had tossed restlessly on his pillow, wincing at the thought of what lay before him. Sometimes he would try to foster a hope that Grayce, thinking things over, might have a little sense and decide to abandon her lawless project. Then the reflection that if Grayce showed sense it would be for the first time, sent him into the depths once more. Smugglers have always been pictured as rather dashing, jovial men. Ivor Llewellyn proved himself the exception to the rule.
The tender arrived. Its passengers disembarked. And Mr Llewellyn, detaching Mabel Spence from their ranks, drew her aside to a secluded portion of the deck. She eyed him in his agitation with that placid, amused pity which he so often caused her.
'You do fuss so, Ikey.' 'Fuss!'
'I suppose what's on your mind is that –‘
'Sh!' hissed Mr Llewellyn, like a stage bandit
Mabel Spence jerked an impatient chin.
‘ 0h, don't behave like a dying duck,' she said, for it was of this rather than of a bandit that her brother-in-law reminded her as he hissed and quivered. 'Everything's all right'
'All right?' There was a strange, wild note of hope in the motion-picture magnate's voice. 'Haven't you brought it?'
'Of course I've brought it'
'Doesn't Grayce want me to -?'
'Of course she does.'
'Then what,' demanded Mr Llewellyn, with pardonable heat, ‘ do you mean by saying it's all right?'
'All I meant was that it's going to be perfectly simple and easy. I wouldn't worry.'
'You wouldn't - no,' said Mr Llewellyn.
He removed his hat, and passed a handkerchief across his forehead.
'George- ’
'Yes, I know,' said Mr Llewellyn, ‘I know. ’
In the faint hope that there might be some merit in that George scheme which had hitherto escaped him, he ran over it again in his mind. It brought him no comfort whatsoever.
'Listen,' he said. An urgent, tear-compelling note had now succeeded the note of hope in his voice. It was the same one he was wont to employ when trying to persuade the personnel of the studio to take a cut owing to the depression. 'Say, listen. Is Grayce so dead set on this thing?'
'She seems so. ’
'You think she would be disappointed if I...' He broke off Walls have ears.'... If I didn't?' he concluded.
Mabel reflected. She was rather exact in the matter of speech ’ She liked the mot juste. 'Disappointed' in this case, did not seem to her to be it,
'Disappointed?' she said musingly. 'Well, you know what Grayce is like. When she wants a thing done, she wants it done ’ If you renig on this ... well, ask me, I think she'd get a divorce on the ground of inhuman mental cruelty.'
Mr Llewellyn shuddered. That word 'divorce' had always been a spectre, haunting him. His attitude towards his young and lovely wife ever since their marriage had been consistently that of a man hanging by his finger-tips to the edge of a precipice. 'But listen ..
'Where's the sense in telling me to listen? I'm not Grayce. If you want to get a line on how she feels, she gave me a letter to give you. ‘I t's in my bag. Here it is. She wrote it just after I got back to
Chapter 5
While Monty Bodkin was making his way to the library, stern in his determination to write Gertrude Butterwick a letter which would bring the blush of shame to the cheek and the tear of remorse to the eye and, generally speaking, show her what was what, Mr Ivor Llewellyn stood leaning over the rail of the promenade deck, watching the approach of the tender which bore his sister-in-law Mabel.
None of the reporters who had listened at Waterloo Station to his views on the Screen Beautiful had suspected that they were interviewing a soul in torment, but such was the painful truth. Mr Llewellyn was not feeling merry and bright, and it would be giving a totally false impression to the public to say that he was. Even when dilating on the brightness of the Screen's future, he had been thinking how vastly it differed from his own.
For nights now he had tossed restlessly on his pillow, wincing at the thought of what lay before him. Sometimes he would try to foster a hope that Grayce, thinking things over, might have a little sense and decide to abandon her lawless project. Then the reflection that if Grayce showed sense it would be for the first time, sent him into the depths once more. Smugglers have always been pictured as rather dashing, jovial men. Ivor Llewellyn proved himself the exception to the rule.
The tender arrived. Its passengers disembarked. And Mr Llewellyn, detaching Mabel Spence from their ranks, drew her aside to a secluded portion of the deck. She eyed him in his agitation with that placid, amused pity which he so often caused her.
'You do fuss so, Ikey.' 'Fuss!'
'I suppose what's on your mind is that –‘
'Sh!' hissed Mr Llewellyn, like a stage bandit
Mabel Spence jerked an impatient chin.
‘ 0h, don't behave like a dying duck,' she said, for it was of this rather than of a bandit that her brother-in-law reminded her as he hissed and quivered. 'Everything's all right'
'All right?' There was a strange, wild note of hope in the motion-picture magnate's voice. 'Haven't you brought it?'
'Of course I've brought it'
'Doesn't Grayce want me to -?'
'Of course she does.'
'Then what,' demanded Mr Llewellyn, with pardonable heat, ‘ do you mean by saying it's all right?'
'All I meant was that it's going to be perfectly simple and easy. I wouldn't worry.'
'You wouldn't - no,' said Mr Llewellyn.
He removed his hat, and passed a handkerchief across his forehead.
'George- ’
'Yes, I know,' said Mr Llewellyn, ‘I know. ’
In the faint hope that there might be some merit in that George scheme which had hitherto escaped him, he ran over it again in his mind. It brought him no comfort whatsoever.
'Listen,' he said. An urgent, tear-compelling note had now succeeded the note of hope in his voice. It was the same one he was wont to employ when trying to persuade the personnel of the studio to take a cut owing to the depression. 'Say, listen. Is Grayce so dead set on this thing?'
'She seems so. ’
'You think she would be disappointed if I...' He broke off Walls have ears.'... If I didn't?' he concluded.
Mabel reflected. She was rather exact in the matter of speech ’ She liked the mot juste. 'Disappointed' in this case, did not seem to her to be it,
'Disappointed?' she said musingly. 'Well, you know what Grayce is like. When she wants a thing done, she wants it done ’ If you renig on this ... well, ask me, I think she'd get a divorce on the ground of inhuman mental cruelty.'
Mr Llewellyn shuddered. That word 'divorce' had always been a spectre, haunting him. His attitude towards his young and lovely wife ever since their marriage had been consistently that of a man hanging by his finger-tips to the edge of a precipice. 'But listen ..
'Where's the sense in telling me to listen? I'm not Grayce. If you want to get a line on how she feels, she gave me a letter to give you. ‘I t's in my bag. Here it is. She wrote it just after I got back to
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