DEAR LAURENCE,—I am afraid that you went away yesterday afternoon under a misapprehension. I do not see my way to offer any financial contribution toward the production of your play. I myself passed a long apprenticeship before I was able to get one of my plays acted, and I do not think that you can expect to do otherwise. Do not imagine that I am casting any doubts upon the excellence of Thomas. If it is as good as you claim, you will have your reward without any help from me. Your idea of getting acquainted with the practical side of the stage is a good one. If you are not already engaged in the autumn, I think I can offer you one of the minor bishops in Joan of Arc.
Your affectionate brother-in-law,
JOHN TOUCHWOOD.
DEAR ELEANOR,—I must say decidedly that I do not perceive any likelihood of George's health deriving much benefit from a voyage round the world. If he is threatened with sleeping sickness, it would be rash to expose him to a tropical climate. If he is suffering from a sluggish liver, he will get no benefit from lolling about in smoking-saloons, whatever the latitude and longitude. I have repeatedly helped George with his schemes to earn a living for himself and he has never failed to squander my money upon capricious race-horses. You know that I am always willing to come forward on behalf of Bertram and Viola; but their father must show signs of helping himself before I do anything more for him. I am sorry that I cannot offer you a good part in Joan of Arc; there is really nothing to suit you for I presume you would not care to accept the part of Joan's mother. However, it has now been decided to produce Lucretia in April and I shall do my best to persuade Grohmann to offer you a part in that.
Your affectionate brother-in-law,
JOHN TOUCHWOOD.
John did not receive an answer to either of these letters, and out of an atmosphere of pained silence he managed to conjure optimistically an idea that Laurence and Eleanor had realized the justice of his point of view.
"You do agree with me that they were going too far?" he asked Miss Hamilton; but she declined to express an opinion.
"What's the good of having a confidential secretary, if I can't ask her advice about confidential matters?" he grumbled.
"Are you dissatisfied with me?"
"No, no, no. I'm not dissatisfied. What an exaggeration of my remark! I'm simply a little puzzled by your attitude. It seems to me—I may be wrong—that instead of ... well, at first you were always perfectly ready to talk about my relations and about me, whereas now you won't talk about anything except Joan of Arc. I'm really getting quite bored with Joan of Arc."
"I was only an amateur when I began," she laughed. "Now I'm beginning to be professional."