ed, I---- _(He gets up and walks round the room, his brow
knotted, his right fist occasionally striking his left palm. Finally, he
comes to a stand in front of her.)_ Winifred, I---- _(He raises his arms
slowly at right angles to his body and lets them fall heavily down
again.)_ I can't. _(In a low hoarse voice)_ I--can't! _(He stands for a
moment with bent head; then with a jerk he pulls himself together.)_
Good-bye! _(His hands go out to her, but he draws them back as if
frightened to touch her. Nobly.)_ Good-ber-eye.

_He squares his shoulders and stands looking at the audience with his
chin in the air; then with a shrug of utter despair, which would bring
tears into the eyes of any young thing in the pit, he turns and with
bent head walks slowly out._

_CURTAIN._

That is how the Third Act ends. I went to the dress rehearsal, and so I
know.

How the accident happened I do not know. I suppose Prosper was nervous.
I am sure he was very much in love. Anyhow, this is how, on that famous
first night, the Third Act ended:

_Exit_ Sir Geoffrey.

_Winifred (breaking the silence)._ Dick, you heard what he said. Don't
let this silly money come between us. I have told you I love you, dear.
Won't you--won't you speak to me?

_Dick (jumping up)._ Winifred I---- _(with a great gulp)_ I LOVE YOU!!!

Whereupon he picked her up in his arms and carried her triumphantly off
the stage ... and after a little natural hesitation the curtain came
down.

* * * * *

Behind the scenes all was consternation. Mr. Levinski (absolutely
furious) had a hasty consultation with the author (also furious), in the
course of which they both saw that the Fourth Act as written was now an
impossibility. Poor Prosper, who had almost immediately recovered his
sanity, tremblingly suggested that Mr. Levinski should announce that,
owing to the sudden illness of Mr. Vane the Fourth Act could not be
given. Mr. Levinski was kind enough to consider this suggestion not
entirely stupid; his own idea having been (very regretfully) to leave
out the two parables and three reminiscences from India, and concentrate
on the love-scene with the widow.

"Yes, yes," he said. "Your plan is better. I will say you are ill. It is
true; you are mad. To-morrow we will play it as it was written."

"You can't," said the author gloomily. "The critics won't come till the
Fourth Act and they'll assume that the Third Act ended as it did
to-nig