"It was read," answered Lorimer. "I received a very encouraging letter from the manager of the theatre. My play, it appeared, showed a deplorable ignorance of stagecraft, but was well written and full of fine and well-conceived situations. However, horrors followed one another so closely that it was to be feared that the audience would scarcely have time to draw breath and dry their tears. Finally, the letter terminated with a piece of good advice. This was, in the future, not to kill all my dramatis personæ, so that, at the fall of the curtain, there might be someone left alive, to announce the name of the author, and bring him forward!"
"It was most encouraging," said Dora, in fits of laughter.
"That is not all," added Lorimer; "I received, a month later, an invitation to a dinner given by the Society of Dramatic Authors, and found myself amongst the leading authors and actors of the day."
"You must have been proud," said Dora.
"Proud, my dear madam," said Lorimer; "if you would form an idea of what I felt, try to imagine a little shepherd of Boeotia asked to dine with Jupiter, to meet all the gods of Olympus."
"Now, come, tell us about your new play," said Philip.
"Oh, well, you know, I hope it will be a success, but you never know what will please the great B.P. The dialogue is good, the characters are interesting, the situations are strong without being vulgar, the idea is new ... yes, I must say, I am sanguine."
"Bravo!" said Philip, "the theme is original."
"Perfectly original," said Lorimer. "I don't adapt Parisian plays for the Pharisian stage."
"It must be enchanting," cried Dora, "to see one's own creations in flesh and blood ... alive!"