"He is not worrying me," said Eleanor, evidently conscious of her
weakness in admitting Harold at the window of friendship when she had
banished him from the door of love. "He understands perfectly that
everything is over between us. But it would be silly for us to refuse to
speak to each other when we shall necessarily be thrown together a lot."
"Thrown together? How do you mean?"
"At rehearsals."
"Do you mean he is to be here in New York?"
"Yes--after next month. He has given up his position in Chicago, so he
can devote all the time to the play. You see, he not only helped to write
it, but he is financing it."
"So he is the--backer?" Quin was scarcely responsible for what he said,
so suddenly had disaster trodden on the heels of ecstasy.
"He is Papa Claude's partner and producer," said Eleanor with dignity.
"If I don't care anything for him, I don't see what harm there is in
seeing him."
"Not liking whisky won't keep it from going to your head," said Quin
stubbornly.
"That's perfect nonsense; and besides, what can I do? It's his play as
well as ours. I can't ask him to stay away from rehearsals."
"No; but you can stay away yourself.
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