"I could agree with you, dear, if you had some one like--oh, well, if
you won't allow me to talk, I--please let me say it, Dick." His kisses
had played havoc with her ideas. "Now, DO listen to me! It's all very
well to SAY that I am qualified to turn Broadway--"

"Of course, we don't have to 'star' you at the outset," he
interrupted, suddenly resorting to reason. "We needn't feature any one
at the start. If you make good--and I know you will--why, the papers
will see to it that your name goes up in electric lights over the
little old front door. I daresay you're right in going slow, dear. I
am so excited that I don't know whether I'm on my feet or my head.
Now, let's talk it over calmly, sensibly, sanely. The upshot of the
whole matter is this: my play is to be produced and you are to play
the part of Deborah. We don't have to ask any beastly theatrical
manager to read the play and we don't have to go down on our knees to
get a job for you. Mr. Bingle is going into this thing with his eyes,
open. He tells me he has faith in the play and in you, and as he
happens to have a great many millions of dollars we ought to have
faith in him. He will put the piece on in bang-up style. He realizes
that there is a chance for failure, but so does every man who puts his
money into a theatrical production. It is part of the game. It is up
to you and me, Amy, to see that Mr. Bingle comes out of this thing a
winner. He--"

"Wait, dear," she interrupted, her fair brow-clouding. "What of Mrs.
Bingle? What will she say to this exploit of his?"

"Isn't he the master in his own house?" demanded Dick loftily. Still,
a spark of dismay leaped into his eyes.