The great man was rather pleased with the situation. As he read
it, it struck him as possessing strong dramatic possibilities:
Carroll was the struggling author on the verge of starvation:
Marion, his sweetheart, flying to him gave him hope; and he was
the good fairy arriving in the nick of time to set everything
right and to make the young people happy and prosperous. He
rather fancied himself in the part of the good fairy, and as he
seated himself he bowed to them both in a manner which was
charmingly inclusive and confidential.

"Miss Cavendish, I imagine, has already warned you that you might
expect a visit from me," he said tentatively. Carroll nodded.
He was too much concerned to interrupt.

"Then I need only tell you," Wimpole continued, "that I got up at
an absurd hour this morning to read your play; that I did
read it; that I like it immensely--and that if we can come to
terms I shall produce it I shall produce it at once, within a
fortnight or three weeks."

Carroll was staring at him intently and continued doing so after
Wimpole had finished speaking. The actor felt he had somehow
missed his point, or that Carroll could not have understood him,
and repeated, "I say I shall put it in rehearsal at once."

Carroll rose abruptly, and pushed back his chair. "I should be
very glad," he murmured, and strode over to the window, where he
stood with his back turned to his guests. Wimpole looked after
him with a kindly smile and nodded his head appreciatively. He