"That is so," she lamented; and then they began to canvas the probable intention of the manager's note. She held out passionately to the end for the most encouraging interpretation of it, but she did not feel that it would have any malign effect upon the fact for him to say, "Oh, it's just a way of letting me down easy," and it clearly gave him great heart to say so.
When he went off to meet his fate, she watched him, trembling, from the window; as she saw him mounting the elevated steps, she wondered at his courage; she had given him all her own.
The manager met him with "Ah, I'm glad you came soon. These things fade out of one's mind so, and I really want to talk about your play. I've been very much interested in it."
Maxwell could only bow his head and murmur something about being very glad, very, very glad, with a stupid iteration.
"I suppose you know, as well as I do, that it's two plays, and that it's only half as good as if it were one."
The manager wheeled around from his table, and looked keenly at the author, who contrived to say, "I think I know what you mean."
"You've got the making of the prettiest kind of little comedy in it, and you've got the making of a very strong tragedy. But I don't think your oil and water mix, exactly," said Grayson.
"You think the interest of the love-business will detract from the interest of the homicide's fate?"
"And vice versa. Excuse me for asking something that I can very well understand your not wanting to tell till I had read your play. Isn't this the piece Godolphin has been trying out West?"
"Yes, it is," said Maxwell. "I thought it might prejudice you against it, if—"