"I expect the Bowmans any minute," she assured him; "you aren't early. Do sit down, there's a good child, and don't stand fiddling your hat about; put it on the piano! Have you banqueted yourself?"
"To repletion. What did you think of Carew's notice in the Great Sixpennyworth on Saturday? Wasn't it swagger? 'The rôle finds an ideal exponent in Mr. Seaton Carew, an actor who is rapidly making his way into the foremost ranks of his profession'!"
"A line and a half," she said, "by a provincial correspondent! I shan't be satisfied till—— well!"
"I know—till you see him with sixteen lines all to himself in the Telegraph! No more will he, I fancy. He's red-hot on success, is Carew—do anything for it. So'm I; I should like to play Claude."
"Claude?" she exclaimed. "Why, you're funny!"
"Not by disposition," he declared. "Miss Westland is responsible for my being funny. When they said 'a small comedy-part is still vacant,' I said small comedy-parts are my forte of fortes! Had it been an 'old man' that was wanted, I should have professed myself born to dodder. But if it comes to choice—to the secret tendency of the sacred fire—I am lead, I am romantic, I have centre-entrances in the limelight. Look here: 'A deep vale, shut out by Alpine——' No, wait a minute; you do the Langtry business and let the flowers fall, while I 'paint the home.' Do you know, my private opinion is that Claude only took those lessons so that the widow shouldn't be put to any expense doing up the home. Haven't got any flowers? Anything else then—where are the cards?"
He found the pack on the sideboard, and pushed a few into her hand.
"These'll do for the flowers," he said; "finger 'em lovingly; think you're holding a good nap.
"Don't be so ridiculous!"
"I'm not," said Dolliver, with dignity; "I really want to hear your views on my reading. Where was I—er—er——