r twenty minutes, and then they'll want a speech from you. Now, I
won't say a word! Just think out a few sentences; don't try to be
original or clever; just thank them--the usual thing--as conventional as
you can make it." Her solicitous voice trembled and broke. "My own
darling, I am so happy to see you happy! I'm so proud of you! _Our_
play! Oh, Eric, thank God for you and all your sweetness to me!"

He looked up with startled eyes, suddenly tired.

"You're an angel, Babs! But you always give me a guilty conscience, when
you're like this. I think of the things I might have done and haven't;
and I think of the things I have said and done, which I might have
spared you."

"Well, go on giving me your love! Why _you_ should talk as if you owed
_me_ anything . . ."

A moment later he was alone, with the memory of her lips still trembling
on his. He lighted a cigarette and paced up and down the passage,
thinking out his speech. She had left the box-door open, and, as the
curtain fell, he took up his position where he could see the house
applauding. Loud and continuous, gloriously continuous, came the
clapping. The curtain was drawn aside, and the players came forward,
one by one. A crescendo of cheers greeted Manders, dying down until he
could utter his smiling six sentences of acknowledgement. Then there was
a pause. The lights were still lowered. Simultaneously in rasping barks
came the call of "Author! Author!"

Barbara turned her head and blew him a kiss with the finger-tips of both
hands.

"I suppose I'd better put in an appearance," he drawled, stamping on his
cigarette-end. "Don't be offended if I don't look at you, Babs; you'd
make me forget all I was going to say."

* * * * *

"_Affection is the most insidious form of self-indulgence._"--From
the Diary of Eric Lane.

CHAPTER FIVE

MORTMAIN

"Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky.

My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
Though grief and passion there rebel;
I only know we loved in vain--
I only feel--Farewell!--Farewell!"
LORD BYRON: "FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER."

1

"I don't ask you to say it's a good play," Eric observed to Barbara, as
they rumbled slowly home from the O'Ranes' supper-party, "but is it less
bad than the other?"

Any natural di