The Lost Girl by David Herbert Lawrence

Author:David Herbert Lawrence [Lawrence, David Herbert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Literary
Publisher: Feedbooks
Published: 1920-07-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Alvina becomes Allaye

Alvina wept when the Natchas had gone. She loved them so much, she wanted to be with them. Even Ciccio she regarded as only one of the Natchas. She looked forward to his coming as to a visit from the troupe.

How dull the theatre was without them! She was tired of the Endeavour. She wished it did not exist. The rehearsal on the Monday morning bored her terribly. Her father was nervous and irritable. The previous week had tried him sorely. He had worked himself into a state of nervous apprehension such as nothing would have justified, unless perhaps, if the wooden walls of the Endeavour had burnt to the ground, with James inside victimized like another Samson. He had developed a nervous horror of all artistes. He did not feel safe for one single moment whilst he depended on a single one of them.

"We shall have to convert into all pictures," he said in a nervous fever to Mr. May. "Don't make any more engagements after the end of next month."

"Really!" said Mr. May. "Really! Have you quite decided?"

"Yes quite! Yes quite!" James fluttered. "I have written about a new machine, and the supply of films from Chanticlers."

"Really!" said Mr. May. "Oh well then, in that case—" But he was filled with dismay and chagrin.

"Of cauce," he said later to Alvina, "I can't possibly stop on if we are nothing but a picture show!" And he arched his blanched and dismal eyelids with ghastly finality.

"Why?" cried Alvina.

"Oh—why!" He was rather ironic. "Well, it's not my line at all. I'm not a film-operator!" And he put his head on one side with a grimace of contempt and superiority.

"But you are, as well," said Alvina.

"Yes, as well. But not only! You may wash the dishes in the scullery. But you're not only the char, are you?"

"But is it the same?" cried Alvina.

"Of cauce!" cried Mr. May. "Of cauce it's the same."

Alvina laughed, a little heartlessly, into his pallid, stricken eyes. "But what will you do?" she asked.

"I shall have to look for something else," said the injured but dauntless little man. "There's nothing else, is there?"

"Wouldn't you stay on?" she asked.

"I wouldn't think of it. I wouldn't think of it." He turtled like an injured pigeon.

"Well," she said, looking laconically into his face: "It's between you and father—"

"Of cauce!" he said. "Naturally! Where else—!" But his tone was a little spiteful, as if he had rested his last hopes on Alvina.

Alvina went away. She mentioned the coming change to Miss Pinnegar.

"Well," said Miss Pinnegar, judicious but aloof, "it's a move in the right direction. But I doubt if it'll do any good."

"Do you?" said Alvina. "Why?"

"I don't believe in the place, and I never did," declared Miss Pinnegar. "I don't believe any good will come of it."

"But why?" persisted Alvina. "What makes you feel so sure about it?"

"I don't know. But that's how I feel. And I have from the first. It was wrong from the first. It was wrong to begin it.

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