trust it to me."

"Trust, madam, I'd trust you with anything."

"You shouldn't be so ready to believe in people you know nothing of.
But--where's this play of yours? May I look at it?"

"It would be the greatest honour you could confer upon me. I would
dearly love to have your opinion," he cried, his face flushing.

"My opinion isn't worth a button, but all the same the play would
interest me I'm sure."

He went to a bureau and took from one of the drawers a manuscript neatly
stitched together.

"I've copied it out fairly and I don't think you'll have much difficulty
in deciphering the writing."

Lavinia took the manuscript and glanced at the inscription on the first
page. It ran "Love's Blindness: A Tragedy in Five Acts. By Lancelot
Vane."

"Oh, it's a tragedy," she exclaimed.

He read the look of dismay that crept over her face and his heart fell.

"Yes. But the real tragic part doesn't come until the very last part of
the fifth act."