He regarded me with what I felt almost amounted to an air of mystery.
"Did you ever know a musical comedy that was?"
"Yours may be an exception to the rule."
He suddenly seemed to make up his mind to adopt an air of perfect frankness.
"I know whereabouts my piece is as well as anyone living, and I give you my word it's not a work of genius. It's a kind of a go-as-you-please sort of thing; you'll see what I mean when you've read it."
I did see; or, rather, it would be more correct to say that I did not see. I told him so when we met again.
"I found it so difficult to make out what it's all about; it seems so vague. Nothing that anybody does seems to have any connection with anything that anybody else does."
The way in which he received my criticism was charming; he did not show the slightest sign of being hurt.
"You think that's a fault?" he said.
"It does appear to be rather a disadvantage. You know when people go to the theatre they like to have some idea of what they're looking at."