simply fling away from
the theatre and devote himself, unsupported except by Verschoyle, who
was by no means a certain quantity, to his airy schemes. Already he
was beginning to be swayed by letters from well-meaning persons in the
provinces, who urged him to found another Bayreuth in the Welsh Hills
or the Forest of Arden.... Give Charles a hint and he would construct
an imaginary universe! If she could only stop him advertising, he
would not be exposed to the distracting bombardment of hints and
suggestions which was opened upon him with every post, especially after
he announced with his usual bland indiscretion his association with the
owner of a fashionable part of the Metropolis.

Verschoyle did not object. It horrified his trustees and after a time,
growing bolder, he was much in Charles's company, and found him
extremely useful as a bogey to frighten away the mammas who had made
his life hideous ever since his Eton days, when one of his aunts had
horrified him by referring to one of his cousins, a child of fifteen,
as his 'dear little wifie.' ... Further, by seeing much of Charles, he
could see more of Clara without compromising her or himself.

Now in the world of the theatre there never is but always may be money.
It is always going to be made, so that everybody associated with it has
credit sustained by occasional payment. Clara realised this very early
in her career. She understood finance, because her grandfather had
discussed his affairs with her exactly as if she were his partner, and
she had had to keep a tight hand on his extravagance; and she quickly
understood that in the theatre money must be spent always a little
faster than it can be made to keep the current of credit flowing. She
also realised that Sir Henry Butcher spent it a great deal faster, and
was cool and warm towards the various projects laid before him
according as they made payment possible.... He had watched Charles
Mann's increase of fame with a jealous interest, but with a shrewdly
expert eye waited for the moment of capitalisation to come before he
committed himself to the new-fangled ways of dressing the stage, these
damned Greek tragedies, plays in curtains, German toy sets, and Russian
flummery in which painted blobs stood for trees and clouds. To Sir
Henry a tree was a tree, a cloud a cloud, and he liked nothing better
than to have real rabbits on the stage, if possible to out-Nature
Nature.... At the same time he kne