embark. You
have doubtless heard me speak of a very wealthy and talented young friend
of mine--Mr. Harold Phipps?"

Quin admitted without enthusiasm that he had, and that he also knew him.

"Well, Mr. Phipps,--or Captain, as you probably know him,--after a short
medical career has found it so totally distasteful that he is wisely
returning to an earlier love. As soon as he gets out of the army he and I
are going to collaborate on a play. Of course I have technic at my
finger-tips. Construction, dramatic suspense, climax are second nature to
me. But I confess I have a fatal handicap, one that has doubtless cost me
my place at the head of American dramatists to-day. I have never been
able to achieve colloquial dialogue! My style is too finished, you
understand, my diction too perfect. Manager after manager has been on the
verge of accepting a play, and been deterred solely on account of this
too literary quality. I suffer from the excess of my virtue; you see?"

Quin did not see. Mr. Martel's words conveyed but the vaguest meaning to
him. But it flattered his vanity to be the recipient of such a great
man's confidence.

"Well, here's my point," continued his host impressively. "Mr. Phipps
knows nothing of technic, of construction; but he has a sense for
character and dialogue that amounts to genius. Now, suppose I construct a
great plot, and he supplies great dialogue? What will be the inevitable
result? A masterpiece, a little modern masterpiece!"

Mr. Martel, soaring on the wings of his imagination, failed to observe
that his listener was not following.

"Does--does Miss Eleanor know about all this?" Quin asked.

"Alas, no. I had no opportunity to tell her. Ah, Mr. Graham, I must
confess, it hurts me, it hurts me here,"--he indicated a grease-spot just
below his vest pocket,--"to be separated from that dear child just when
she needs me most. She should be already embarked in her great career.
Ellen Terry, Bernhardt, Rachel, all began their training very early. If
she had been left to me she would be behind the footlights by now."

"They'll never stand for her going on the stage," said Quin
authoritatively. It was astonishing how intimate he felt with the
Bartletts since he had put two of them to bed.

"Ah, my friend," said Mr. Martel, shaking his head and smiling, "what can
be avoided whose end is purposed by the mighty gods? Eleanor will follow
her destiny. She has the temperament, the voice, the figure--a tr