he saw the problem, was her position with regard to Charles, who,
fortunately, respected her wishes and made no attempt to force her
hand. All the same there the awkward fact was and at any moment might
trip her up.

Verschoyle did not mind a scandal, and he did not care a hang whether
Charles went to prison or not. It might give him the instruction in
the elementary facts of existence which he needed to make him learn to
begin at the beginning instead of the middle or the end.... What
Verschoyle dreaded was a sudden shock which might blast the delicate
bud of Clara's youth, which to him was far more precious than any other
quality, and the only thing which in all his life had moved him out of
his timid dilettantism. To him it was a more valuable thing than the
whole of London, and compared with its vivid reality the Imperium, with
its firm hold on the affections of the public, and its generation of
advertising behind it, was a blown bubble.

He had tea with her on the day after her supper with Sir Henry, and
found her disastrously altered, hurt, and puzzled.

'What is the matter?' he asked. 'Rehearsals not going well?'

'Oh, yes. They are going very well.... But I am worried about
Charles. He has been borrowing money again.'

'Will you be happy again if I promise to look after Charles?'

'He ought not to expect to be looked after. He is very famous now, and
should be able to make money.'

'Surely, like everything else, it is a matter of practice. You don't
expect him to beat Sir Henry at his own game.'

'No-o,' she said. 'But I think I did expect Charles's game to beat Sir
Henry's.'

'Surely it has done so.'

'No.'

They were in her rooms, which were now most charmingly furnished;
bright, gay, and delicate in colouring, tranquil and cosy with books.

'Has anything happened?'

She told him.

'I thought it was going to be so simple. I felt that Charles and I
were irresistible, and that we should conquer the theatre and make
people admit that he is--what he is. Nothing can alter that. But it
isn't simple at all. Other people want other things. They go on
wanting the horrible things they have always wanted, and they expect us
to help them to procure them. They don't understand. They think we
want the same things.... I never thought I should be so unhappy. When
it comes to the point they won't let the real things in people be put
before the public.'

'Oh, come. He is just a vain old