ight to
keep it up, even among friends. It don't do to risk anything, and the
least said soonest mended."

He went on his way, leaving Roland completely mystified.

Voices from his sitting-room, among which he recognized the high note of
Miss Verepoint, reminded him of the ordeal before him. He entered with
what he hoped was a careless ease of manner, but his heart was beating
fast. Since the opening of rehearsals he had acquired a wholesome
respect for Miss Verepoint's tongue. She was sitting in his favorite
chair. There were also present Bromham Rhodes and R. P. de Parys, who
had made themselves completely at home with a couple of his cigars and
whisky from the oldest bin.

"So here you are at last!" said Miss Verepoint, querulously. "The valet
told us you were expected back this morning, so we waited. Where on
earth have you been to, running away like this, without a word?"

"I only went----"

"Well, it doesn't matter where you went. The main point is, what are you
going to do about it?"

"We thought we'd better come along and talk it over," said R. P. de
Parys.

"Talk what over?" said Roland: "the revue?"

"Oh, don't try and be funny, for goodness' sake!" snapped Miss
Verepoint. "It doesn't suit you. You haven't the right shape of head.
What do you suppose we want to talk over? The theater, of course."

"What about the theater?"

Miss Verepoint looked searchingly at him. "Don't you ever read the
papers?"

"I haven't seen a paper since I went away."

"Well, better have it quick and not waste time breaking it gently,"
said Miss Verepoint. "The theater's been burned down--that's what's
happened."

"Burned down?"

"Burned down!" repeated Roland.

"That's what I said, didn't I? The suffragettes did it. They left copies
of 'Votes for Women' about the place. The silly asses set fire to two
other theaters as well, but they happened to be in main thoroughfares
and the fire-brigade got them under control at once. I suppose they
couldn't find the Windsor. Anyhow, it's burned to the ground and what we
want to know is what are you going to do about it?"

Roland was much too busy blessing the good angels of Kingsway to reply
at once. R. P. de Parys, sympathetic soul, placed a wrong construction
on his silence.

"Poor old Roly!" he said. "It's quite broken him up. The best thing we
can do is all to go off and talk it over at the Savoy, over a bit of
lunch."

"Well," said Miss Verepoint, "what are you goin