Edith controlled her expression, and said it was a very good idea.
'Such a play,' said Bruce. 'A really strong, powerful piece—all wit and cynicism like Bernard Shaw—but, full of heart and feeling and sentiment, and that sort of rot. It'll have all sorts of jolly fantastic ideas—like Peter Pan and The Beloved Vagabond, but without the faults of Locke and Barrie—and it's going to be absolutely realistic and natural in parts—like the Sicilians, you know. However, I don't mind telling you that my model—you must have a model, more or less—is going to be Bernard Shaw. I like his style.'
'It's the most lovely idea I ever heard of. What theatre are you going to produce it at?'
'That depends. For some things I should prefer His Majesty's, but I'm rather fond of the Haymarket, too. However, if the terms were better, I might give it to Charlie Hawtrey, or even Alexander, if he offered me exceptionally good royalties.'
'Oh! Are you going to have it put up to auction?'
'Don't talk nonsense. What do you mean? No, I shall simply send a copy round to all the principal people and see what they say.'
He walked up and down the room once or twice.
'The reason I'm so determined not to let Bourchier have it is simply this: he doesn't realise my idea—he never could. Mind you, I believe he would do his best, but his Personality is against him. Do you see, Edith?'
'I see your point. But—'
'There's no reason why it shouldn't be quite as great a success as The
Merry Widow.'