was so stimulating that Henry
destroyed the three chapters of "Turbulence" which were in manuscript
and started to re-write the book. Literary agents now began to write to
him, telling him how charmed they were with his work and how certain
they were of their ability to increase his income considerably; and a
publisher of some enterprise and resource wrote to him and said that he
would like to see his third book.

"You look as if you were established, Quinny!" said Roger, and Henry
blushed and murmured deprecatingly about himself.

"How's the Bar?" he said.

"Oh, it's not bad. I got a fellow off to-day who ought to have had six
months hard," Roger answered. "And a new solicitor has given me a
brief. We ought to ask him to dinner and feed him well. F. E. Robinson
always tells his butler to bring out the second-quality wine for
solicitors. Snob!"

"We seem to be getting on, don't we, coves?" Gilbert interjected. "Look
at all these press-cuttings!..."

He held out a fistful of slips which had come that evening from a
Press-Cutting Agency. "All about me," he said, "and the play. Mundane
knows more about the preliminary puff than any one else in England. He
calls me 'this talented young author from whom much may be expected.' I
never thought I should get pleasure out of a trade advertisement, but I
do. I'm lapping up this stuff like billy-o. I saw a poster on the side
of a 'bus this afternoon, advertising 'The Magic Casement.' Mundane's
name was in big letters, and you could just see mine with the naked eye.
I hopped on to the 'bus and went for a fourpenny ride on it, so's I
could touch the damn thing ... and I very nearly told the conductor who
I was. It's no good pretending I'm not conceited. I am, and I don't
care. Where's Ninian?"

"Not come in yet. How'd the rehearsals go to-day?" Roger answered.

"Better than any other day. They're beginning to feel their parts. It's
about time, too. I felt sick with fright yesterday, they were so wooden.
Mundane might have been the village idiot, instead of the fine actor he
is ... but they're better now. Ninian's late!"

"Is he? He'll be here presently. By the way, my Cousin Rachel's coming
to town to-morrow. She's been investigating something or other ...
factory life, I think. I thought I'd bring her here to dinner. She may
be interesting."

"Do," said Gilbert, and then, as he heard the noise of the street-door
being closed, he added, "There's Ninian now!"

Ninian, on