Actorviews (1923)

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290 Actorviews “I should never have expected that review from the way you wear your face in the first row, so long, so blank, so dismal. I don’t ask applause from a critic, I don’t ask laughter,” she went on, moving from her seat at the piano to a chair nearer to me and rhythmically rocking a gemmed slipper in the bar of late afternoon sunlight that fell across her living room in the Congress Hotel, “but I do ask for a smiling face. And you were so cold. Ugh! It was a face of hard snow.” “That must have been when you were in a love scene,” I said, “and I was trying not to cry.” “But I did not know that then,” she sighed. “I looked at you and I said to my companion on the stage, under my breath : ‘Look in the front row there at my enemy, so cold, so cruel-faced!’ And my companion, he say: ‘Don’t mind him. Look at the lady with him and be happy!’ “And I look at her with her beautiful smiles and her glad eyes and I was a little happy. ‘Maybe,’ I say to myself, ‘she will reflect some of her happiness on my enemy.’ “I couldn’t believe it when I read the paper next morning. I cry — almost. And when I tell my husband over the long-distance in New York — for he had been greatly worried because what you might say about our opening, with your great enmity for me — when I tell him he say, ‘Ha ! now I suppose he is your f rrrriend !’ ” She said “friend” as only a Frenchwoman can, and I swelled visibly in the implication. She was beautiful today in black crepe bordered with bronze. A single garment it seemed, and cut by a master sculptor. Her sky-slanted nose, tiny red-rose mouth, strong beautiful white teeth that could kill a careless critic in one bite, firm unsubdivided forward