"It seems that Cracknell..." said Gerald. "Apparently this man
Cracknell..." He was finding Sally's bright, horrified gaze somewhat
trying. "Well, the fact is Cracknell believes in Mabel Hobson...and...
well, he thinks this part would suit her."

"Oh, Jerry!"

Could infatuation go to such a length? Could even the spacious heart of
a Reginald Cracknell so dominate that gentleman's small size in heads as
to make him entrust a part like Ruth in "The Primrose Way" to one who,
when desired by the producer of her last revue to carry a bowl of roses
across the stage and place it on a table, had rebelled on the plea that
she had not been engaged as a dancer? Surely even lovelorn Reginald
could perceive that this was not the stuff of which great emotional
actresses are made.

"Oh, Jerry!" she said again.

There was an uncomfortable silence. They turned and walked back in the
direction of the boarding-house. Somehow Gerald's arm had managed to get
itself detached from Sally's. She was conscious of a curious dull ache
that was almost like a physical pain.

"Jerry! Is it worth it?" she burst out vehemently.

The question seemed to sting the young man into something like his
usual decisive speech.

"Worth it? Of course it's worth it. It's a Broadway production.
That's all that matters. Good heavens! I've been trying long enough to