ad," he murmured, and strode over to the window, where he stood with
his back turned to his guests. Wimpole looked after him with a kindly
smile and nodded his head appreciatively. He had produced even a greater
effect than his lines seemed to warrant. When he spoke again, it was
quite simply, and sincerely, and though he spoke for Carroll's benefit,
he addressed himself to Marion.

"You were quite right last night," he said, "it is a most charming piece
of work. I am really extremely grateful to you for bringing it to my
notice." He rose, and going to Carroll, put his hand on his shoulder.
"My boy," he said, "I congratulate you. I should like to be your age,
and to have written that play. Come to my theatre to-morrow and we will
talk terms. Talk it over first with your friends, so that I sha'n't rob
you. Do you think you would prefer a lump sum now, and so be done with
it altogether, or trust that the royalties may--"

"Royalties," prompted Marion, in an eager aside.

The men laughed. "Quite right," Wimpole assented, good-humoredly; "it's
a poor sportsman who doesn't back his own horse. Well, then, until
to-morrow."

"But," Carroll began, "one moment please. I haven't thanked you."

"My dear boy," cried Wimpole, waving him away with his stick, "it is I
who have to thank you."

"And--and there is a condition," Carroll said, "which goes with the
play. It is that Miss Cavendish is to have the part of Nancy."

Wimpole looked serious and considered for a moment.

"Nancy," he said, "the girl who interferes--a very good part. I have
cast Miss Maddox for it in my mind, but, of course, if the author
insists--"

Marion, with her elbows on the table, clasped her hands appealingly
before her.

"Oh, Mr. Wimpole!" she cried, "you owe me that, at least."

Carroll leaned over and took both of Marion's hands in one of his.

"It's all right," he said; "the author insists."

Wimpole waved his stick again as though it were the magic wand of the
good fairy.

"You shall have it," he said. "I recall your performance in 'The New
Boy' with pleasure. I take the play, and Miss Cavendish shall be cast
for Nancy. We shall begin rehearsals at once. I hope you are a quick
study."

"I'm letter-perfect now{,}" laughed Marion.

Wimpole turned at the door and nodded to them. They were both so young,
so eager, and so jubilant that he felt strangely old and out of it.
"Good-by, then," he said.

"Good-by, sir," they both chorussed. An