h she had been studying, on the ledge
of the box, and turned towards Philip, who was seated in the background.
There was something a little new in her manner. Her tone was subdued, her
eyes curious.

"You really are a wonderful person, Philip," she declared. "It's the same
play, just as you used to tell it me, word for word. And yet it isn't.
What is it that you have gained, I wonder?--a sense of atmosphere,
breadth, something strangely vital."

"I am glad you like it," he said simply.

"Like it? It's amazing! And what an audience! I never thought that the
people were so fashionable here, Philip. I am sitting right back in the
box, but ten minutes after I have cashed my draft tomorrow I shall be
buying clothes. You won't be ashamed to be seen anywhere with me then."

He drew his chair up to her side, a little haggard and worn with the
suspense of the evening. She laughed at him mockingly.

"What an idiot you are!" she exclaimed. "You ought to be one of the
happiest men in the world, and you look like a death's-head."

"The happiest man in the world," he repeated.

"Beatrice, sometimes I think that there is only one thing in the world
that makes for happiness."

"And what's that, booby?" she asked, with some of her old familiarity.

"A clear conscience."

She laid her hand upon his arm.

"Look here, Philip," she said, "the one thing I determined, when I threw
up the sponge, was that whether the venture was a success or not I'd
never waste a single moment in regrets. Things didn't turn out too
brilliantly with me, as you know. But you--see what you've attained! Why,
it's wonderful! Your play, the one thing you dreamed about, produced in
one of the greatest cities in the world, and a packed house to listen to
it, people applauding all the time. I didn't realise your success when we
talked this evening. I am just beginning to understand. I've been reading
some of these extracts from the newspapers. You're Merton Ware, the great
dramatist, the coming man of letters. You've won, Philip. Can't you see
that it's puling cowardice to grumble at the price?"

He, for his part, was wondering at her callousness, of which he was
constantly discovering fresh evidences. The whole shock of her discovery
seemed already, in these few hours, to have passed away.

"If you can forget--so soon," he muttered, "I suppose I ought to be able
to."

She made a little grimace, but immediately afterwards he saw the cold
tightening of