n of effects and
interpolations, re-arrangement and transposition of scenes, cuttings out
and writings in, the more firmly did he believe in it.

"Put in that march and it wakes the whole thing up," he would say; or
"that quarrelling scene with the Spahis"--thought of by himself--"makes
your opera a different thing."

And then his whole forehead would twitch, his eyes would flash, and he
would pull the little beard till Charmian almost feared he would pull it
off. He had returned to his obsession about the young. Frequently he
reiterated with fervor that his chief pleasure in the power he wielded
came from the fact that it enabled him to help the careers of young
people.

"Look at Alston!" he would say. "Where would he be now if I hadn't got
hold of his talent? In Wall Street eating his heart out. I met him, and
I'll make him another Battistini. See here"--and he turned sharply to
Claude--"I'll bring him out in your opera. That baritone part could
easily be worked up a bit, brought forward more into the limelight. Why,
it would strengthen the opera, give it more backbone. Mind you, I
wouldn't spoil the score not for all the Alstons ever created. Art comes
first with me, and they know it from Central Park to San Francisco. But
the baritone part would bear strengthening. It's for the good of the
opera."

That phrase "for the good of the opera" was ever on his lips. Claude
rose up and went to bed with it ringing in his ears. It seemed that he,
the composer, knew little or nothing about his own work. The sense of
form was leaving him. Once the work had seemed to him to have a definite
shape; now, when he considered it, it seemed to have no shape at all.
But Crayford and Charmian and Alston Lake declared that it was twice as
strong, twice as remarkable, as it had been before Crayford took it in
hand.

"He's a genius in his own way!" Lake swore.

Claude was tempted to reply:

"No doubt. But he's not a genius in my way."

But he refrained. What would be the use? And Charmian agreed with
Alston. She and Crayford were the closest, the dearest of friends. He
admired not only her appearance, which pleased her, but her capacities,
which delighted her.

"She's no rester!" he would say emphatically. "Works all the time. Never
met an Englishwoman like her!"

Charmian almost loved him for the words. At last someone, and a big man,
recognized her for what she was. She had never been properly appreciated
before. Triumph bur