papers, and sacrifice even the prominence of his own
personality to the service of this art that he adored. As the
rehearsals proceeded, therefore, he became more intent, was less
patient with interruptions, and at last stopped them altogether. He
became interested in his own part, and tussled with the players who
shared his scenes with him.

'Never,' he said to Clara, 'have I enjoyed rehearsals so much as these.
I am only afraid they are going too smoothly. We shall be over-ripe by
production....'

He resumed cordial relations with Charles, and threw out a suggestion
or two as to scenery and costumes which Charles, who had begun to learn
the elements of diplomacy, pretended to note down. Sir Henry was
magnanimous. He avoided his wife and his usual cronies, and devoted
himself to Charles and Clara, whom his showman's eye had marked down as
potentially a very valuable property.

'This should be the beginning of great things for you, my boy,' he said
to Charles. 'You will have all the managers at your feet, but the
Imperium is the place for big work, the bold attack, the sweeping
line....'

Charles was a little suspicious of such whole-hearted conversion. He
knew these enthusiasms for the duration of rehearsals, and he was
ill-at-ease because his anticipation of boundless wealth had not come
true. He had spent his advance and could not get another out of Mr
Gillies, who detested him and regarded his invasion of the theatre as a
ruinous departure from its traditions. Clara Mr Gillies considered to
be merely one of his Chief's infatuations. They never lasted very
long. He had seen his Chief again and again rush to the very brink of
disaster, but always he had withdrawn in the nick of time.... Mr
Gillies was like a perpetual east wind blowing upon Charles's
happiness. But for Mr Gillies there would have been boundless
wealth.... It was monstrous: Verschoyle had backed Charles's talent
and Mr Gillies was sitting on the money. Butcher could spend it
royally, but Charles had often to go to Clara and ask her for the price
of his lunch. At the very height of his fame, with success almost
within his grasp, he had to go almost hungry because genius has no
credit.

There was nothing to be done about it. He borrowed here and there, but
knew it was no real help. It simply sent rumours flying as to his
financial position, and he did not want either Butcher or Verschoyle to
know that money trickled through his f