Her chin sank upon her night-robed breast.  After a moment she smiled deprecatingly at Mrs. Holmes and whispered:  “You forgive me, other day?  You see I Japan girl—­and just once I give big American kiss to my friend, Frank Sen.”

CHAPTER XXI

STAGE FORFEITS AND THEIR HUMOUR_

It was during the rehearsals of “L’Article 47” that I enjoyed one single hearty laugh,—­a statement that goes far to show my distressed state of mind,—­for generally speaking that is an unusual day which does not bring along with its worry, work, and pain some bubble of healing laughter.  It was a joke of Mr. Le Moyne’s own special brand that found favour in my eyes and a place in my memory.  Any one who has ever served under Mr. Daly can recall the astounding list of rules printed in fine type all over the backs of his contracts.  The rules touching on forfeits seemed endless:  “For being late,” “For a stage wait,” “For lack of courtesy,” “For gossiping,” “For wounding a companion’s feelings”—­each had its separate forfeiture.  “For addressing the manager on business outside of his office,” I remember, was considered worth one dollar for a first offence and more for a second.  Most of these rules ended with, “Or discharge at the option of the manager.”  But it was well known that the mortal offence was the breaking that rule whose very first forfeit was five dollars, “Or discharge at the option of,” etc., that rule forbidding the giving to outsiders of any stage information whatever; touching the plays in rehearsal, their names, scenes, length, strength, or story; and to all these many rules on the backs of our contracts we assented and subscribed our amused or amazed selves.

When the new French play “L’Article 47” was announced, the title aroused any amount of curiosity.  A reporter after a matinee one day followed me up the avenue, trying hard to get me to explain its meaning; but I was anxious not to be “discharged at the option of the manager,” and declined to explain.  Many of the company received notes asking the meaning of the title.  At Mr. Le Moyne’s house there boarded a walking interrogation-point of a woman.  She wished to know what “L’Article 47” meant; she would know.  She tried Mr. Harkins; Mr. Harkins said he didn’t know.  She tossed her head and tried Mr. Crisp; Mr. Crisp patiently and elaborately explained just why he could not give any information.  She implied that he did not know a lady when he saw one, and fell upon Mr. Le Moyne, tired, hungry, suavely sardonic. “He was,” she assured him, “a gentleman of the old school. He would know how to receive a lady’s request and honour it.”  And Le Moyne rose to the occasion.  A large benevolence sat upon his brow, as assuring her that, though he ran the risk of discharge for her fair sake, yet should she have her will.  He asked if she had ever seen a Daly contract.  The bridling, simpering idiot replied, “She had seen several, and such numbers of silly rules she had never seen before, and—­”