The potential gold-mine, and certainly her mass of hair was in itself a large enough nugget, was licking jam from a sticky finger like a child at a school-treat.
“All right, Ron,” she said. “Go on now about the play.”
Thus adjured, Ronald drew breath for fresh adventures.
“D’you remember, sir, a few years ago buying a play?-‘A Man’s Way’ it was called. You never put it on.”
“I remember—yes. A fine, vigorous piece of work. I made some alterations to the text. But somehow it wasn’t satisfactory. But why?”
“It was written by a cousin of mine. I happened to mention your name, and he showed it to me. By Jove, it’s magnificent! Now, as it was in the original form, that play, with Morny as the wife——”
“Oh, come! A very, very difficult part, my dear boy.”
“You haven’t seen her on the film.”
“H’m! Well, I must look it up.”
“It’s here,” said Mornice. “I rummaged it out of your basket.” She produced the MS. from beneath a sofa cushion.