Part 42 (2/2)

”Honest!” he solele as so intimate that it shi+fted their conversation to a different level--level at which each see the other that intercourse between theht but utterly sincere thenceforward, and that indeed in future they would constitute a little society of their own, ideal in its organization

”Then you're too ht who's more respected than you are No one! Immediately I first spoke to you--I daresay you don't remember that afternoon at the Grand Babylon Hotel!--I knew you weren't like the rest And don't I know them? Don't I know them?”

”But how did you know I'm not like the rest?” asked Edward Henry The line which she was taking had very much surprised hient in tone, was intensely agreeable, and it ht: ”Oh! there's no mistake about it These London woht and in earnest as the best of our little lot down there But they've got so else There's no comparison!” The unique word to describe the indescribable floated into his head: ”Scrumptious!” What could not life be with such se-rooht And his attitude towards even poetry was modified

”I knew you weren't like the rest,” said she, ”by your look By the way you say everything you _do_ say We all know it And I'h to be perfectly aware that we all know it Just see how everyone looked at you to-night!”

Yes, he had in fact been aware of the glances

”I think I ought to tell you,” she went on, ”that I was rather unfair to you that day in talking about o into partnershi+p with her She thinks so too We've talked it over, and we're quite agreed Of course it did seem hard--at the time, and her bad luck in Aht You can work much better alone You must have felt that instinctively--far quicker than we felt it”

”Well,” he murmured, confused, ”I don't know--”

Could this be she who had too openly smiled at his skirmish with an artichoke?

”Oh, Mr Machin!” she burst out ”You've got an unprecedented opportunity, and thank Heaven you're theso much from you, and we knoe shan't be disappointed”

”D'yewaters

”The theatre,” said she, gravely ”You're the one man that can save London No one _in_ London can do it! _You_ have the happiness of knohat your , too, that you are equal to it What good fortune! I wish I could say as ! I try! But what can I do? Nothing--really!

You've no idea of the awful loneliness that co of inability”

”Loneliness,” he repeated ”But surely--” he stopped

”Loneliness,” she insisted Her little chin was now in her little hand, and her dim face upturned

And suddenly a sensation of absolute and marvellous terror seized Edward Henry He was more afraid than he had ever been--and yet once or twice in his life he had felt fear His sense of true perspective--one of his et out of this” Well, the door was not locked It was only necessary to turn the handle, and security lay on the other side of the door! He had but to rise and walk And he could not He ht just as well have been manacled in a prison-cell He was under an enchantment

”A man,” murmured Elsie, ”a man can never realize the loneliness--”

She ceased

He stirred uneasily

”About this play,” he found hi And yet why should he ht? He pretended to himself not to knohy But he knehy His instinct had seen in the topic of the play the sole avenue of salvation

”A wonderful thing, isn't it?”

”Oh, yes,” he said And then--ly to himself--added: ”I've decided to do it”

”We knew you would,” she said calmly ”At any rate I did You'll open with it, of course”

”Yes,” he answered desperately And proceeded, with the most extraordinary bravery, ”If you'll act in it”