"By Jove! it's four o'clock! That is the time I had promised to be at the theatre.... I must fly!"
"Are you off?" said Philip; "I'll go with you. I want some fresh air; I feel stifling, staying all day in this confounded studio. Don't worry, darling," said he to Dora, on seeing her look at the picture that he had begun almost to take a dislike to. "I will finish the picture when I come back. As I said, there is only an hour's work to do to it."
"Where in the name of fortune have I put my manuscript?" exclaimed Lorimer.
"Here it is on the table," said Dora. "Is there a woman with a past in it?"
"A past?" said Lorimer. "Four pasts, and fine ones too. Quite enough to make up for all possible defects in the play. My dear Mrs. Grantham, I shall not put in appearance here again until I have written a play with an angel in it."
"Never mind the angel," said Dora. "Have a real, true woman—that's good enough for anybody."
"Oh, well, never mind; with all her pasts, you know, this woman has a great future."
"I hope so, for your sake. Good luck."
Philip and Lorimer got into a cab and went off waving their hands to Dora.