.. Marrier was the first to recover from this blow to the prestige
of poetry. Or perhaps it would be more honest to say that Mr.. Marrier
had suffered no inconvenience from the _contretemps_. His apparent
gleeful zest in life had not been impaired. He was a born optimist,
of an extreme type unknown beyond the circumferences of theatrical
circles.

"I _say_," he emphasized, "I've got an ideah. We ought to be
photographed like that. Do you no end of good." He glanced
encouragingly at Rose Euclid. "Don't you see it in the illustrated
papers? A prayvate supper-party at Wilkins's Hotel. Miss Ra-ose Euclid
reciting verse at a discussion of the plans for her new theatre in
Piccadilly Circus. The figures, reading from left to right, are, Mr.
Seven Sachs, the famous actor-author, Miss Rose Euclid, Mr. Carlo
Trent, the celebrated dramatic poet, Mr. Alderman Machin, the
well-known Midlands capitalist, and so on!" Mr. Marrier repeated, "and
so on."

"It's a notion," said Rose Euclid, dreamily.

"But how _can_ we be photographed?" Carlo Trent demanded with
irritation.

"Perfectly easy."

"Now?"

"In ten minutes. I know a photographer in Brook Street."

"Would he come at once?" Carlo Trent frowned at his watch.

"Rather!" Mr. Marrier gaily soothed him, as he went over to the
telephone. And Mr. Marrier's bright, boyish face radiated forth the
assurance that nothing in all his existence had more completely filled
him with sincere joy than this enterprise of procuring a photograph
of the party. Even in giving the photographer's number--he was one
of those prodigies who remember infallibly all telephone numbers--his
voice seemed to gloat upon his project.

(And while Mr. Marrier, having obtained communication with the
photographer, was saying gloriously into the telephone: "Yes,
Wilkins's. No. Quite private. I've got Miss Rose Euclid here, and Mr.
Seven Sachs"--while Mr. Marrier was thus proceeding with his list of
star attractions, Edward Henry was thinking:

"'_Her_ new theatre'--now! It was 'his' a few minutes back!... 'The
well-known Midlands capitalist,' eh? Oh! Ah!")

He drank again. He said to himself: "I've had all I can digest of this
beastly balloony stuff." (He meant the champagne.) "If I finish the
glass I'm bound to have a bad night." And he finished the glass, and
planked it down firmly on the table.

"Well," he remarked aloud cheerfully. "If we're to be photographed, I
suppose we shall want a bit more ligh