Mr. Sarradet was there this time, and he was grumpy. Marie seized a chance to whisper that her father was "put out" because Raymond had left business early to go to a race-meeting and had not come back yet – though obviously the races could not still be going on. Arthur doubted whether this were the whole explanation; the old fellow seemed to treat him with a distance and a politeness in which something ironical might be detected; his glance at the white waistcoat did not look wholly like one of honest admiration. Marie too, though as kind and cordial as possible, was perhaps a shade less intimate, less at ease with him; any possible sign of appropriating him to herself was carefully avoided; she shared him, almost ostentatiously, with the other girls, Amabel and Mildred. Any difference in Marie's demeanour touched his conscience on the raw; the ingenious argument by which he had sought to acquit himself was not quite proof against that.
Nothing, however, could seriously impair the interest and excitement of the occasion. They clustered round Mr. Beverley; Joe Halliday saw to that, exploiting his hero for all he was worth. The author was tall, gaunt, and solemn-faced. Arthur's heart sank at the first sight of him – could he really write anything funny? But he remembered that humorists were said to be generally melancholy men, and took courage. Mr. Beverley stood leaning against the mantelpiece, receiving admiration and consuming a good deal of the champagne which had been produced in his special honour. Joe Halliday presented Arthur to him with considerable ceremony.
"Now we're all here!" said Joe. "For I don't mind telling you, Beverley, that without Lisle's help we should be a long way from – from – well, from standing where we do at present."
Arthur felt that some of the limelight – to use a metaphor appropriately theatrical – was falling on him. "Oh, that's nothing! Anything I could afford – awfully glad to have the chance," he murmured, rather confusedly.
"And he did afford something pretty considerable," added Joe, admiringly.
"Of course I can't guarantee success. You know what the theatre is," said Mr. Beverley.
They knew nothing about it – and even Mr. Beverley himself had not yet made his bow to the public; but they all nodded their heads wisely.
"I do wish you would tell us something about it, Mr. Beverley," said impulsive Amabel.
"Oh, but I should be afraid of letting it out!" cried Mildred.
"The fact is, you can't be too careful," said Joe. "There are fellows who make a business of finding out about forthcoming plays and stealing the ideas. Aren't there, Beverley?"
"More than you might think," said Mr. Beverley.
"I much prefer to be told nothing about it," Marie declared, smiling. "I think that makes it ever so much more exciting."
"I recollect a friend of mine – in the furniture line – thirty years ago it must be – taking me in with him to see a rehearsal once at the – Now, let's see, what was the theatre? A rehearsal of – tut – Now, what was the play?" Old Mr. Sarradet was trying to contribute to the occasion, but the tide of conversation overwhelmed his halting reminiscences.
"But how do you get the idea, Mr. Beverley?"
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