e had been
fettered with only a small knowledge of the stage and its workings, and
he had escaped the fatal tribute to the conventionalities paid by almost
every contemporary playwright. It was a sweet and passionate story
which leaped out from the lips of those fashionably dressed but earnest
men and women, grandly human, exquisitely told. Here and there the
touches were lurid enough, but there was plenty of graceful relief,
every sentence seemed pervaded with that unerring sense of the truthful
and artistic which was the outcome of the man's genius. Drexley's words
were ready enough in the open streets with the fresh wind in their faces
and the sunshine streaming around. In the theatre and immediately
afterwards in the manager's room, where a famous actress had dispensed
tea, and compliments and congratulations were the order of the day, he
had been spellbound and silent.

"Douglas," he cried, "already you are known and recognised. To-morrow
you will be famous. You are a genius, man. Nothing like this or
anything approaching it has been produced for years."

"Don't be too sure, Drexley," Douglas said, smiling. "The public must
decide, you know. They may not like it as you do. A first-night
audience takes strange whims sometimes."

Drexley shook his head.

"Disappointed playwrights may tell you so, but don't believe it," he
answered. "A London audience as a rule is absolutely infallible. But
then such a play as this lays itself open to no two opinions. It is of
the best, and the best all can recognise when it is shown them.
To-night will be a great triumph for you. My congratulations you have
already. Cissy and I together will shout them to you later."

Douglas laughed.

"Well," he said, "I believe the play will be a success. I have had a
curious sense with me all day that something pleasant is going to
happen. I feel as though fortune had taken me by the hand. What does
it mean, I wonder?"

Drexley laughed heartily. He had grown years younger. Happiness had
taken hold of him and he was a changed being.

"A man may doubt his own work sometimes," he said; "but when he has
struck an imperishable and everlasting note of music, well--he hears it
as surely as other people hear it. Until to-night then, my friend."

Douglas shook him by the hand.

"There will be some sort of a kickup behind after the show," he
remarked. "Champagne and sandwiches and a little Royalty. Remember
that I am relying upon you to bring C