turning over the leaves. Before he could answer she had stopped at
one of the pages; she turned the book round to him, pointing out a
speech. "That's the most beautiful place--those lines are a
perfection." He glanced at the spot she indicated, and she begged
him to read them again--he had read them admirably before. He knew
them by heart, and, closing the book while she held the other end of
it, he murmured them over to her--they had indeed a cadence that
pleased him--watching, with a facetious complacency which he hoped
was pardonable, the applause in her face. "Ah, who can utter such
lines as THAT?" Mrs. Alsager broke out; "whom can you find to do
HER?"

"We'll find people to do them all!"

"But not people who are worthy."

"They'll be worthy enough if they're willing enough. I'll work with
them--I'll grind it into them." He spoke as if he had produced
twenty plays.

"Oh, it will be interesting!" she echoed.

"But I shall have to find my theatre first. I shall have to get a
manager to believe in me."

"Yes--they're so stupid!"

"But fancy the patience I shall want, and how I shall have to watch
and wait," said Allan Wayworth. "Do you see me hawking it about
London?"