onentity who was retiring in favour of another. Eric adjudicated
in Gaymer's favour and was turning to give Barbara a last chance, when
he found that the flood-gates were open and that every one, taking his
time from Lady Poynter, was prepared to discuss dramatic art in general
and, in particular, the construction and history of his play. Their
enquiries were simple-minded; bombarded from four different quarters at
once, he took the questions at the volley; then, as they seemed
interested, he became more expansive, losing his stammer and straying
unconsciously into an unrehearsed lecture. There were occasional
objections and challenges; but Lady Poynter silenced them ruthlessly
with a "Now, my dear, you mustn't interrupt when Mr. Lane's explaining
the whole basis of his art," and he discovered suddenly that he was
talking well.

"I expect you're tired of hearing it, but I _loved_ that play of yours,"
said his hostess with a beaming glance which confidently asked her other
guests whether she was not well justified in summoning them to meet him.
"I've been to see it three times."

"I've been twice, and some one's taking me to it again to-morrow,"
continued Mrs. O'Rane, for whom no subject of conversation was complete
until she had decorated it with a personal touch.

"Even I've been once," murmured Barbara, rousing reluctantly from the
silence which she had maintained since the beginning of dinner: "George
Oakleigh insisted on taking me. It seems to be having a great success,
Mr. Lane."

Eric smiled a little self-consciously; but her deliberate avoidance of
enthusiasm chilled him after Lady Poynter's extravagant appreciation.

"No one here seems to have escaped it," he said.

"I kept thinking how clever of you it was to write it," she went on,
half to herself.

Such criticism led to nothing but a second self-conscious smile; and,
knowing her reputation, he had expected something more stimulating.

"Was it a good house?" he asked.

"Very full, if that's what you mean." She looked past him and lowered
her voice. "It was full of Lady Poynters," she went on. "Rows and rows
of them. They took it conscientiously, they laughed at the jokes, they
missed nothing, even the obvious things; and, if I went next week, I
should find them all there again--or other people exactly like them. It
was a wonderful--" she hesitated and looked at him long enough to see
that he was perplexed, if not annoyed--"experience."

"I hope you