hundred and forty thousand pounds a year to marry the heroine.

'Very disinterested,' murmured Lady Everard. 'Very nice of him, I'm
sure. It isn't many people that would do a thing like that. A nice
voice, too. Of course, this is not what _I_ call good music, but it's
very bright in its way, and the words--I always think these words are
so clever. So witty. Listen to them--do listen to them, dear Mrs
Ottley.'

They listened to the beautiful words sung, of which the refrain ran as
follows:--

'The Author told the Actor,
(The Actor had a fit).
The Box Office man told the Programme-girl,
The Theatre all was in quite a whirl.
The call-boy told the Chorus.
(Whatever could it be?)
The super asked the Manager,
What did the Censor see?'

'Charming,' murmured Lady Everard; 'brilliant--I know his father so
well.'

'Whose father--the censor's?'

'Oh, the father of the composer--a very charming man. When he was young
he used to come to my parties--my Wednesdays. I used to have Wednesdays
then. I don't have Wednesdays now. I think it better to telephone at
the last minute any particular day for my afternoons because, after