ou may be an artist, Mr Mann,' said Mr Smithson, 'but I'm a practical
scene-painter. I was painting scenery before you were born. I was
three years old in my father's workshop when I put my first dab of
paint on for the Valley of Diamonds for Drury Lane in Gustus Harris's
days.'

The argument might have gone on indefinitely, but fortunately Sir Henry
came down the stairs with Lady Butcher. He was immaculately dressed in
frock-coat and top hat, gray Cashmere trousers, and white waistcoat to
attend with his wife a fashionable reception. With a low bow, he swept
off his very shiny hat, and said to Lady Butcher,--

'My dear, Mr Charles Mann.'

Lady Butcher gave a curt nod.

'My dear, Miss Day....'

'Che-arming!' drawled Lady Butcher, holding out her hand very high in
the air. Clara reached up to it and shook it sharply.

'Mr Smithson doesn't like Charles's drawing for the cave scene,' said
Clara. 'He can't quite see it, you know, because it is a little
different.'

'I won't be a moment, my dear,' said Sir Henry, and Lady Butcher sailed
out into the street.

'What's the matter, Smithson?'

'We've never done anything like this before. There's nothing like it
in Nature.'

'There is nothing like Caliban in Nature,' said Clara sweetly, and Sir
Henry caught at her hint, scowled at Smithson, and growled,--

'I have passed it. If it needs modification we can settle it at
rehearsal. Go ahead. I want to see it before I go away.'

'But there are no measurements, Sir Henry.'

'You know what we can do and what we can't.'

'Very well, Sir Henry.' Mr Smithson clapped on his bowler hat and
rushed away.

Charles stooped to gather up his battered hat, and Sir Henry seized
Clara's arm, squeezed it tight, looked out through the door at his
magnificent wife, and heaved an enormous sigh. Clara in her amazing
new happiness smiled at him, and he muttered,--

'You grow in beauty every day. A-ah! Good-day, Mann. The theatre is
at your disposal.'

He fixed his eyes on Clara for a moment, then wrenched himself away.

There were one or two letters for her in the rack. She took them down,
and turned to find Charles, having smoothed out his hat, standing
ruefully staring through his pince-nez.

'These people are altogether too busy for me,' he said. 'All the work
I've put in seems to be nothing to them. I had a terrible turn with
Butcher two days ago, and now this man Smithson has been too much for
me. They tr