"Pinero knows his trade," he admitted.

"Galsworthy, Brieux."

"Galsworthy is a pamphleteer. Brieux is no artist. He is a surgeon. They have nothing to say to Broadway. Broadway swallows the pills they offer because of their names, but they might just as well give them the sugar drip they want, for all the good it does."

"Well, they get heard, anyhow. What's the use of writing a play if it isn't acted? Of course we'll sell your plays."

"But if we don't, where will you be?"

"Oh, I'll be all right. I mean to support myself, anyhow, and you, too, if the plays don't go."

He laughed.

"You are an amusing mite. Queer I never noticed you before."

"You'll like me, if you continue to be aware of me. I'm nice," she laughed up at him, and he smiled back.

"How do you intend to make this fortune, may I ask?"

"I haven't decided yet. Of course I can dance. If worst came to worst, I can make a big salary dancing."

"Dancing?" he exploded.

"Yes, didn't you ever hear of it? With the feet, you know, and the body, and the eyes, and the arms. So!"

She twirled about him in a circle, like a gay little figurine. He watched her, fascinated.

"You can dance, can't you?"

"I can. At times I am quite inspired. Now, if you and the Professor will be sensible, and let me go to New York and take a job, I could support us all in luxury. You could write and he could figure."

"I don't see that it is any business of ours what you do, but I certainly won't let you support me."

"Do you really mean it isn't your business?"

"Why should it be?"

"Well, if I am your wife, and his daughter, some people would think that it was distantly related to your business."

"Why New York? Why not here?"

"In this town they think I am crazy now. But if I burst out as a professional dancer----Wow!"

"That's so. It's a mean little town, but it's quiet. That's why I stay.

It's quiet."

"You wouldn't mind my being away, if I went to New York, would you?"

"Oh, no. I'd be busy."

"That's good. I really think you are almost ideal."

"Ideal?"

"As a husband. They are usually so exacting and interfering."

"I've not decided yet to be your husband."

"But you are it."

"Suppose you should fall in love with somebody else?"

"I'm much more apt to fall in love with you."

"Heaven forbid!" he exclaimed, and came to her side quickly. "Bambi, promise me that no matter what happens you will not do that. You will not fall in love with me."

She looked at him a minute, and then laughed contagiously.

"I am serious about this. My work is everything to me. Nothing matters but just that, and it might be a dreadful interruption if you fell in love with me."

"I don't see why, unless you fell in love with me."

"No danger of that," said he, and at her laugh turned to her again. "If ever you see any signs of my being such a fool as that, you warn me, will you?"

"And what will you do then?"

"I'll run away. I will go to the ends of the earth. That particular madness is death to creative genius."

"All right. I'll warn you."

"I've got to begin to polish my first draft to-day, so I'll go upstairs and get at it."

"Will you be gone two days this trip?"

He turned to smile at her.

"Some people would think you were eccentric," he said.

"They might," she responded.

"I am almost sane when I polish," he laughed. "It's only when I create that I am crazy."

"It's all right then, is it? We go on?"

"Go on?"

"Being married?"

"Well, I have no objection, if you insist, but you'd better think over what I told you. I think you have made a mistake; and you shall never support me."