although he certainly had an over-tired and somewhat depressed
appearance. His cheeks were colourless, and there were little dark
lines under his eyes as though he suffered from sleeplessness. He was
clean-shaven and he had the sensitive mouth of an artist. His forehead
was high and exceptionally good. His air of breeding was unmistakable.

"You do look a little fagged," Mr. Raymond Greene observed
sympathetically. "Well, these are strenuous days in business. We all have
to stretch out as far as we can go, and keep stretched out, or else some
one else will get ahead of us. Business been good with you this fall, Mr.
Romilly?"

"Very fair, thank you," Philip answered a little vaguely. "Tell me, Miss
Dalstan," he went on, leaning slightly towards her, and with a note of
curiosity in his tone, "I want to know your candid opinion of the last
act of the play I saw you in--'Henderson's Second Wife'? I made up my
mind that if ever I had the privilege of meeting you, I would ask you
that question."

"I know exactly why," she declared, with a quick little nod of
appreciation. "Listen."

They talked together for some time, earnestly. Mr. Greene addressed his
conversation to his neighbours lower down the table. It was not until the
arrival of dessert that Philip and his vis-à-vis abandoned their
discussion.

"Tell me, have you written yourself, Mr. Romilly?" Elizabeth Dalstan
asked him with interest.