"I confess I was surprised by his cordial greeting."
"Oh, he's quite shifted his point of view. He thinks The Morning may 'catch 'em' on other grounds."
"And you—you are radiant. I expected to find you worn out. You dazzle me."
"You mustn't look at me then. Look at the avenue. Isn't it fine this morning?"
He took her hint. "It is glorious. I feel that I am again at the centre of things. After all, this is our one great city, the only place where life is diverse enough to give the dramatist his material. I begin to understand the attitude of actors when they land from the ferry-boat, draw a long breath, and say, 'Thank God, I'm in New York again.'"
"It's the only city in America where an artist can be judged by his peers. I suppose that is one reason why we love it."
"Yes, it's worth conquering, and I'll make my mark upon it yet," and his tone was a note of self-mastery as well as of resolution. "It is a city set on a hill. To take it brings great glory and lasting honor."
She smiled up at him again, a proud light in her eyes. "Now you are your good, rugged self, the man who 'hypnotized' me into taking Lillian's Duty. You'll need all your courage; the critics are to be out in force."
"I do not fear them," he answered, as they whirled into the plaza and up to the side entrance of the hotel.
"I've engaged a room for you here, Douglass," said Hugh, and the new note of almost comradeship struck the playwright with wonder. He was a little sceptical of it.