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　a　bad　actor。　He　could　labour　till　doomsday　neatening　and　sharpening；　but　he　could　not　make　a　silk　purse　of　the　sow's　ear　that　was　Diane　Duvall。
　　With　all　the　skill　of　an　acrobat　she　contrived　to　skirt　every　significance；　to　ignore　every　opportunity　to　move　the　audience；　to　avoid　every　nuance　the　playwright　would　insist　on　putting　in　her　way。　It　was　a　performance　heroic　in　its　ineptitude；　reducing　the　delicate　characterization　Galloway　had　been　at　pains　to　create　to　a　single…note　whine。　This　Viola　was　soap…opera　pap；　less　human　than　the　hedges；　and　about　as　green。
　　The　critics　would　slaughter　her。
　　Worse　than　that；　Lichfield　would　be　disappointed。　To　his　considerable　surprise　the　impact　of　Lichfield's　appearance　hadn't　dwindled；　Galloway　couldn't　forget　his　actorly　projection；　his　posing；　his　rhetoric。　It　had　moved　him　more　deeply　than　he　was　prepared　to　admit；　and　the　thought　of　this　Twelfth　Night；　with　this　Viola；　being　the　swan…song　of　Lichfield's　beloved　Elysium　perturbed　and　embarrassed　him。　It　seemed　somehow　ungrateful。
　　He'd　been　warned　often　enough　about　a　director's　burdens；　long　before　he　became　seriously　embroiled　in　the　profession。　His　dear　departed　guru　at　the　Actors〃　Centre；　Wellbeloved　（he　of　the　glass　eye）；　had　told　Galloway　from　the　beginning：　〃A　director　is　the　loneliest　creature　on　God's　earth。　He　knows　what's　good　and　bad　in　a　show；　or　he　should　if　he's　worth　his　salt；　and　he　has　to　carry　that　information　around　with　him　and　keep　smiling。〃　It　hadn't　seemed　so　difficult　at　the　time。
　　〃This　job　isn't　about　succeeding；〃　Wellbeloved　used　to　say；　〃it's　about　learning　not　to　fall　on　your　sodding　face。〃　Good　advice　as　it　turned　out。　He　could　still　see　Well…beloved　handing　out　that　wisdom　on　a　plate；　his　bald　head　shiny；　his　living　eye　glittering　with　cynical　delight。　No　man　on　earth；　Galloway　had　thought；　loved　theatre　with　more　passion　than　Wellbeloved；　and　surely　no　man　could　have　been　more　scathing　about　its　pretensions。
　　
　　It　was　almost　one　in　the　morning　by　the　time　they'd　finished　the　wretched　run…through；　gone　through　the　notes；　and　separated；　glum　and　mutually　resentful；　into　the　night。　Galloway　wanted　none　of　their　pany　tonight：　No　late　drinking　in　one　or　others〃　digs；　no　mutual　ego…massage。　He　had　a　cloud　of　gloom　all　to　himself；　and　neither　wine；　women　nor　song　would　disperse　it。　He　could　barely　bring　himself　to　look　Diane　in　the　face。　His　notes　to　her；　broadcast　in　front　of　the　rest　of　the　cast；　had　been　acidic。　Not　that　it　would　do　much　good。
　　In　the　foyer；　he　met　Tallulah；　still　spry　though　it　was　long　after　an　old　lady's　bedtime。
　　〃Are　you　locking　up　tonight？〃　he　asked　her；　more　for　something　to　say　than　because　he　was　actually　curious。
　　〃I　always　lock　up；〃　she　said。　She　was　well　over　seventy：　too　old　for　her　job　in　the　box　office；　and　too　tenacious　to　be　easily　removed。　But　then　that　was　all　academic　now；　wasn't　it？　He　wondered　what　her　response　would　be　when　she　heard　the　news　of　the　closure。　It　would　probably　break　her　brittle　heart。　Hadn't　Hammersmith　once　told　him　Tallulah　had　been　at　the　theatre　since　she　was　a　girl　of　fifteen？
　　〃Well；　goodnight　Tallulah。〃　She　gave　him　a　tiny　nod；　as　always。　Then　she　reached　out　and　took　Galloway's　arm。
　　〃Yes？〃
　　〃Mr　Lichfield。。。〃　she　began。
　　〃What　about　Mr　Lichfield？〃
　　〃He　didn't　like　the　rehearsal。〃
　　〃He　was　in　tonight？〃
　　〃Oh　yes；〃　she　replied；　as　though　Galloway　was　an　imbecile　for　thinking　otherwise；　〃of　course　he　was　in。〃
　　〃I　didn't　see　him。〃
　　〃Well。。。　no　matter。　He　wasn't　very　pleased。〃　Galloway　tried　to　sound　indifferent。
　　〃It　can't　be　helped。〃
　　〃Your　show　is　very　close　to　his　heart。〃
　　〃I　realize　that；〃　said　Galloway；　avoiding　Tallulah's　accusing　looks。　He　had　quite　enough　to　keep　him　awake　tonight；　without　her　disappointed　tones　ringing　in　his　ears。
　　He　loosed　his　arm；　and　made　for　the　door。　Tallulah　made　no　attempt　to　stop　him。　She　just　said：　〃You　should　have　seen　Constantia。〃　Constantia？　Where　had　he　heard　that　name？　Of　course；　Lichfield's　wife。
　　〃She　was　a　wonderful　Viola。〃　He　was　too　tired　for　this　mooning　over　dead　actresses；　she　was　dead　wasn't　she？　He　had　said　she　was　dead；　hadn't　he？
　　〃Wonderful；〃　said　Tallulah　again。
　　〃Goodnight；　Tallulah。　I'll　see　you　tomorrow。〃　The　old　crone　didn't　answer。　If　she　was　offended　by　his　brusque　manner；　then　so　be　it。　He　left　her　to　her　plaints　and　faced　the　street。
　　It　was　late　November；　and　chilly。　No　balm　in　the　night　air；　just　the　smell　of　tar　from　a　freshly　laid　road；　and　grit　in　the　wind。
　　Galloway　pulled　his　jacket　collar　up　around　the　back　of　his　neck；　and　hurried　off　to　the　questionable　refuge　of　Murphy's　Bed　and　Breakfast。
　　In　the　foyer　Tallulah　turned　her　back　on　the　cold　and　dark　of　the　outside　world；　and　shuffled　back　into　the　temple　of　dreams。　It　smelt　so　weary　now：　stale　with　use　and　age；　like　her　own　body。　It　was　time　to　let　natural　processes　take　their　toll；　there　was　no　point　in　letting　things　run　beyond　their　allotted　span。　That　was　as　true　of　buildings　as　of　people。　But　the　Elysium　had　to　die　as　it　had　lived；　in　glory。
　　Respectfully；　she　drew　back　the　red　curtains　that　covered　the　portraits　in　the　corridor　that　led　from　foyer　to　stalls。　Barrymore；　Irving：　great　names　and　great　actors。　Stained　and　faded　pictures　perhaps；　but　the　memories　were　as　sharp　and　as　refreshing　as　spring　water。　And　in　pride　of　place；　the　last　of　the　line　to　be　unveiled；　a　portrait　of　Constantia　Lichfield。　A　face　of　transcendent　beauty；　a　bone　structure　to　make　an　anatomist　weep。
　　She　had　been　far　too　young　for　Lichfield　of　course；　and　that　had　been　part　of　the　tragedy　of　it。　Lichfield　the　Svengali；　a　man　twice　her　age；　had　been　capable　of　giving　his　brilliant　beauty　everything　she　desired；　fame；　money；　panionship。　Everything　but　the　gift　she　most　required：　life　itself。
　　She'd　died　before　she　was　yet　twenty；　a　cancer　in　the　breast。　Taken　so　suddenly　it　was　still　difficult　to　believe　she'd　gone。
　　Tears　brimmed　in　Tallulah's　eyes　as　she　remembered　that　lost　and　wasted　genius。　So　many　parts　Constantia　would　have　illuminated　had　she　been　spared。　Cleopatra；　Hedda；　Rosalind；　Electra。　。
　　But　it　wasn't　to　be。　She'd　gone；　extinguished　like　a　candle　in　a　hurricane；　and　for　those　who　were　left　behind　life　was　a　slow　and　joyless　march　through　a　cold　land。　There　were　mornings　now；　stirring　to　another　dawn；　when　she　would　turn　over　and　pray　to　die　in　her　sleep。
　　The　tears　were　quite　blinding　her　now；　she　was　awash。　And　oh　dear；　there　was　somebody　behind　her；　probably　Mr　Galloway　back　for　something；　and　here　was　she；　sobbing　fit　to　burst；　behaving　like　the　silly　old　woman　she　knew　he　thought　her　to　be。　A　young　man　like　him；　what　did　he　understand　about　the　pain　of　the　years；　the　deep　ache　of　irretrievable　loss？　That　wouldn't　e　to　him　for　a　while　yet。　Sooner　than　he　thought；　but　a　while　nevertheless。
　　〃Tallie；〃　somebody　said。
　　She　knew　who　it　was。　Richard　Walden　Lichfield。　She　turned　round　and　he　was　standing　no　more　than　six　feet　from　her；　as　fine　a　figure　of　a　man　as　ever　she　remembered　him　to　be。　He　must　be　twenty　years　older　than　she　was；　but　age　didn't　seem　to　bow　him。
　　She　felt　ashamed　of　her　tears。
　　〃Tallie；〃　he　said　kindly；　〃I　know　it's　a　little　late；　but　I　felt　you'd　surely　want　to　say　hello。〃
　　〃Hello？〃　The　tears　were　clearing；　and　now　she　saw　Lichfield's　panion；　standing　a　respectful　foot　or　two　behind　him；　partially　obscured。　The　figure　stepped　out　of　Lichfield's　shadow　and　there　was　a　luminous；　fine…boned　beauty　Tallulah　recognized　as　easily　as　her　own　reflection。　Time　broke　in　pieces；　and　reason　deserted　the　world。　Longed…for　faces　were　suddenly　back　to　fill　the　empty　nights；　and　offer　fresh　hope　to　a　life　grown　weary。　Why　should　she　argue　with　the　evidence　of　her　eyes？
　　It　was　Constantia；　the　radiant　Constantia；　who　was　looping　her　arm　through　Lichfield's　and　nodding　gravely　at　Tallulah　in　greeting。
　　Dear；　dead　Constantia。
　　
　　The　rehearsal　was　called　for　nine…thirty　the　following　morning。　Diane　Duvall　made　an　entrance　her　customary　half　hour　late。　She　looked　as　though　she　hadn't　slept　all　night。
　　〃Sorry　I'm　late；〃　she　said；　her　open　vowels　oozing　down　the　aisle　towards　the　stage。
　　Galloway　was　in　no　mood　for　foot…kissing。
　　〃We've　got　an　opening　tomorrow；〃　he　snapped；　〃and　everybody's　been　kept　waiting　by　you。〃
　　〃Oh　really？〃　she　fluttered；　trying　to　be　devastating。　It　was　too　early　in　the　morning；　and　the　effect　fell　on　stony　ground。
　　〃OK；　we're　going　from　the　top；〃　Galloway　announced；　〃and　everybody　please　have　your　copies　and　a　pen。　I've　got　a　list　of　cuts　here　and　I　want　them　rehearsed　in　by　lunchtime。　Ryan；　have　you　got　the　prompt　copy？〃　There　was　a　hurried　exchange　with　the　ASM　and　an　apologetic　negative　from　Ryan。
　　〃Well　get　it。　And　I　don't　want　any　plaints　from　anyone；　it's　too　late　in　the　day。　Last　night's　run　was　a　wake；　not　a　performance。　The　cues　took　forever；　the　business　was　ragged。　I'm　going　to　cut；　and　it's　not　going　to　be　very　palatable。〃　It　wasn't。　The　plaints　came；　warning　or　no；　the　arguments；　the　promises；　the　sour　faces　and　muttered　insults。　Galloway　would　have　rather　been　hanging　by　his　toes　from　a　trapeze　than　manoeuv