The next letter was from Agnes, begging him to write occasionally to Jack; the next from Lady Lane, wondering when he was coming to Lashmar. A firm of topical photographers respectfully begged leave to send a representative by appointment to interview Mr. Lane and to enrich their gallery with a few camera-studies of the house and of the author at work. The other letters were invitations and charitable appeals.
At ten o'clock he telephoned to ask when he could see Barbara, but was told that she had not yet been called. After two more unsuccessful attempts, he sent a note by hand, inviting himself to tea, and spent the rest of the morning at work on the manuscript of his novel. Shortly before luncheon his interviewer arrived with an assistant bearing a camera, and for half an hour the flat was filled with the smoke and powder of the magnesium flares. Eric submitted sheepishly to being "discovered" looking (in profile) out of his dining-room window, to being "interrupted" at his desk (three-quarter face), to being found taking a moment's respite for thought and a cigarette (full face, with his back to the smoking-room fire); finally he was dressed up in hat and coat and shewn to be saying good-bye in the hall. While the assistant packed up his camera and tripod, Eric allowed himself to be interrogated on his past and future work, his plans and views of art.
"Have you anything new?" asked the interviewer. "I've got all the old stuff out of 'Who's Who'."
Eric spoke vaguely of the novel, the play and the course of lectures in America, remembering the threadbare commonplaces of such illustrated interviews as he had read; it were fruitless to fancy that he could vary the form or fact of what was being so industriously scribbled down.
"Nothing expected for some months? I must work up the back stock. I shall want you to tell me in a minute what started you writing plays.… Now, about your engagement?"
"My engagement?" Eric echoed.
The man nodded and moistened the end of his pencil in anticipation.
"Why, that's what I'm here for! I don't say," he added apologetically, "that this stuff wouldn't stand by itself—or come in useful, anyway."
"I'm afraid I don't quite follow."
The man looked at him in patient surprise.