"What a wonderful mind you must have, Sir Henry, to think of these things!" I said, enthusiastically.
"Miss Witherup," said the actor-knight, impressively, "this is an age of wonderful minds, and there are so many of them that he who wishes to rise above his fellows must be careful of every detail. Would I have been a knight to-day had it not been for my care of details? Never. It would have gone to Willie Edouin, or to my friend Tree, or to some other actor of the same grade. My principle, Miss Witherup, is not original. I look after the details, and the results take care of themselves. It is the old proverb of the pennies and the pounds all over again."
"It is wisdom," I said, oracularly. "But it must be wearing."
"Oh no," said Sir Henry, with a gesture of self-deprecation. "There are so many details that I have had to make up a staff of advisers. As a matter of fact, I am not a man. I am a combination of men. In the popular mind I embody the wisdom, the taste, the culture, the learning of many. In fact, Miss Witherup, while I am not London, London finds artistic expression in me."
"And you are coming to America again?" I asked, rising, for I felt I ought to go, I was so awed by the humble confession of my host.
"Some day," said he. "When times are better."
"Why, Sir Henry," I cried, "you who have just given £20 to your property-man can surely afford to cross—"
