“Perhaps I knew you better than you knew yourself.”  She searched his face with startled curiosity.  “Or better at least than the world knew you.  Tell me, there is something wrong?  I’m afraid he—­resents your—­”

“Oh no, no!” she denied, hastily, letting her eyes fall, but not before he had seen them fill again with that same expression of pain and bewilderment.  “He’s—­not himself, that’s all.  I—­You—­won’t irritate him?  Please!  He has such a temper.”

Francis came out of the shadows scowling.  “Well, let’s get at it,” said he.

Phillips agreed.  “If you don’t mind we’ll start with your entrance.  I wish you would try to express more depth of feeling, more tenderness, if you please, Mr. Francis.  Remember, John Danton has fought this love of his for many years, undertaking to remain loyal to his wife.  He doesn’t dream that Diane returns his love, for he has never spoken, never even hinted of his feelings until this instant.  Now, however, they are forced into expression.  He begins reluctantly, frightened at the thing which makes him speak, then when she responds the dam breaks and his love over-rides his will power, his loyalty, his lifelong principles; it sweeps him onward and it takes her with him.  The truth appals them both.  They recognize its certain consequences and yet they respond freely, fiercely.  You can’t overplay the scene, Mr. Francis.”

“Certainly I can overplay it,” the star declared.  “That’s the danger.  My effects should come from repression.”

“I must differ with you.  Repressive methods are out of place here.  You see, John Danton loses control of himself—­”

“Nonsense!” Francis declared, angrily.

“The effectiveness of the scene depends altogether upon its—­well, its savagery.  It must sweep the audience off its feet in order that the climax shall appear logical.”

“Nonsense again!  I’m not an old-school actor, and I can’t chew scenery.  I’ve gained my reputation by repressive acting, by intensity.”

“This is not acting; this is real life.”

Francis’s voice rose a tone in pitch, and his eyes flashed at this stubborn resistance to his own set ideas.

“Great heavens, Phillips!  Don’t try to tell me my own business.  People don’t behave that way in real life; they don’t explode under passion—­not even jealousy or revenge; they are reserved.  Reserve!  That’s the real thing; the other is all make-believe.”

Seeing that it was useless to argue with the man, Phillips said nothing more, so Francis and his wife assumed their positions and began their lines.