Vain Fortune | Page 4

seemed to afford opportunity for the exhibition of the talents of a lady
he was interested in.
The success of the play was brief. But before it was withdrawn, Hubert
had sold the American rights for a handsome sum, and within the next
two years he had completed a second play, which he called An Ebbing
Tide. Some of the critics argued that it contained scenes as fine as any
in Divorce, but it was admitted on all sides that the interest withered in
the later acts. But the failure of the play did not shake the established
belief in Hubert's genius; it merely concentrated the admiration of those
interested in the new art upon Divorce, the partial failure of which was
now attributed to the acting. If it had only been played at the
Haymarket or the Lyceum, it could not have failed.
The next three years Hubert wasted in various aestheticisms. He
explained the difference between the romantic and realistic methods in
the reviews; he played with a poetic drama to be called The King of the
Beggars, and it was not until the close of the third year that he settled
down to definite work. Then all his energies were concentrated on a
new play--The Gipsy. A young woman of Bohemian origin is suddenly
taken with the nostalgia of the tent, and leaves her husband and her
home to wander with those of her race. He had read portions of this
play to his friends, who at last succeeded in driving Montague Ford, the
popular actor-manager, to Hubert's door; and after hearing some few
scenes he had offered a couple of hundred pounds in advance of fees
for the completed manuscript. 'But when can I have the manuscript?'
said Ford, as he was about to leave. 'As soon as I can finish it,' Hubert
replied, looking at him wistfully out of pale blue-grey eyes. 'I could
finish it in a month, if I could count on not being worried by duns or
disturbed by friends during that time.'
Ford looked at Hubert questioningly; then he said 'I have always

noticed that when a fellow wants to finish a play, the only way to do it
is to go away to the country and leave no address.'
But the country was always so full of pleasure for him, that he doubted
his power to remain indoors with the temptation of fields and rivers
before his eyes, and he thought that to escape from dunning creditors it
would be sufficient to change his address. So he left Norfolk Street for
the more remote quarter of Fitzroy Street, where he took a couple of
rooms on the second floor. One of his fellow-lodgers, he soon found,
was Rose Massey, an actress engaged for the performance of small
parts at the Queen's Theatre. The first time he spoke to her was on the
doorstep. She had forgotten her latch-key, and he said, 'Will you allow
me to let you in?' She stepped aside, but did not answer him. Hubert
thought her rude, but her strange eyes and absent-minded manner had
piqued his curiosity, and, having nothing to do that night, he went to
the theatre to see her act. She was playing a very small part, and one
that was evidently unsuited to her--a part that was in contradiction to
her nature; but there was something behind the outer envelope which
led him to believe she had real talent, and would make a name for
herself when she was given a part that would allow her to reveal what
was in her.
In the meantime, Rose had been told that the gentleman she had
snubbed in the passage was Mr. Hubert Price, the author of Divorce.
'Oh, it was very silly of me,' she said to Annie. 'If I had only known!'
'Lor', he don't mind; he'll be glad enough to speak to you when you
meets him again.'
And when they met again on the stairs, Rose nodded familiarly, and
Hubert said--
'I went to the Queen's the other night.'
'Did you like the piece?'
'I did not care about the piece; but when you get a wild, passionate part

to play, you'll make a hit. The sentimental parts they give you don't suit
you.'
A sudden light came into the languid face. 'Yes, I shall do something if
I can get a part like that.'
Hubert told her that he was writing a play containing just such a part.
Her eyes brightened again. 'Will you read me the play?' she said, fixing
her dark, dreamy eyes on him.
'I shall be very glad.... Do you think it won't bore you?' And his wistful
grey eyes were full of interrogation.
'No, I'm sure it won't.'
And a few days after she sent