"And you—"
"O, I love it. I ought to have been an Indian. I love to sit in the sun and read Shakespeare."
"'Twas I taught you to love Shakespeare, was it not?" he asked fondly.
"'Twas you first talked to me of him. And then I saw Mr. Booth act. That was glorious. The characters seemed to have a new life after that: they live and move before me when I read the plays, as they never did before. How well you are looking, Herrick! Are you working as hard as ever?"
"Harder, dearest. I write more than ever, and I have the House for my only recreation. Don't look frightened, Rena; hard work suits me. I thrive upon it. I have two secrets to tell you, love."
"Secrets—not dreadful ones?" she asked, with clasped hands.
"Far from dreadful. First, I am beginning to save money. Yes, Rena, I have a hundred pounds in the bank. Secondly, I have written a play, and Colley Cibber and his committee at Drury Lane have promised to produce it for me in the autumn."
"O Herrick, how delightful! Let me see your play. You have brought it, haven't you?"
"No, dearest; the manager has the manuscript."
"What is it about?"