me the prettiest monosyllable in the language." He looked at her
thoughtfully. "It's odd how little you've altered in looks. Freddie's
just the same, too, only larger. And he didn't wear an eye-glass in
those days, though I can see he was bound to later on. And yet I've
changed so much that you can't place me. It shows what a wearing life
I must have led. I feel like Rip van Winkle. Old and withered. But
that may be just the result of watching this play."

"It is pretty terrible, isn't it?"

"Worse than that. Looking at it dispassionately, I find it the
extreme, ragged, outermost edge of the limit. Freddie had the correct
description of it. He's a great critic."

"I really do think it's the worst thing I have ever seen."

"I don't know what plays you have seen, but I feel you're right."

"Perhaps the second act's better," said Jill optimistically.

"It's worse. I know that sounds like boasting, but it's true. I feel
like getting up and making a public apology."

"But . . . Oh!"

Jill turned scarlet. A monstrous suspicion had swept over her.

"The only trouble is," went on her companion, "that the audience
would undoubtedly lynch me. And, though it seems improbable just at
the present moment, it may be that life holds some happiness for me