“One of the props, you know. It got mislaid. I'm certain it wasn't my fault...”
“How could it have been your fault?” asked Sally wonderingly. Love seemed to have the worst effects on Fillmore's mentality.
“Well—er—you know how it is. Angry woman... blames the first person she sees... This paper-knife...”
Fillmore's voice trailed off into pained silence.
“Mr. Faucitt said Elsa Doland was good.”
“Oh, she's all right,” said Fillmore indifferently. “But—” His face brightened and animation crept into his voice. “But the girl you want to watch is Miss Winch. Gladys Winch. She plays the maid. She's only in the first act, and hasn't much to say, except 'Did you ring, madam?' and things like that. But it's the way she says 'em! Sally, that girl's a genius! The greatest character actress in a dozen years! You mark my words, in a darned little while you'll see her name up on Broadway in electric light. Personality? Ask me! Charm? She wrote the words and music! Looks?...”
“All right! All right! I know all about it, Fill. And will you kindly inform me how you dared to get engaged without consulting me?”
Fillmore blushed richly.
“Oh, do you know?”
“Yes. Mr. Faucitt told me.”