thing I have ever seen.” 

 “I don’t know what plays you have seen, but I feel you’re right.” 

 “Perhaps the second act’s better,” said Jill optimistically. 

 “It’s worse. I know that sounds like boasting, but it’s true. I feel like getting up and making a public apology.” 

 “But … Oh!” 

 Jill turned scarlet. A monstrous suspicion had swept over her. 

 “The only trouble is,” went on her companion, “that the audience would undoubtedly lynch me. And, though it seems improbable just at the present moment, it may be that life holds some happiness for me that’s worth waiting for. Anyway I’d rather not be torn limb from limb. A messy finish! I can just see them rending me asunder in a spasm of perfectly justifiable fury. ‘She loves me!’ Off comes a leg. ‘She loves me not!’ Off comes an arm. No, I think on the whole I’ll lie low. Besides, why should I care? Let ’em suffer. It’s their own fault. They would come!” 

 Jill had been trying to interrupt the harangue. She was greatly concerned. 

 “Did you write the play?” 

 The man nodded. 

 “You are quite right to speak in that horrified tone. But, between ourselves and on the understanding that you don’t get up and denounce me, I did.” 

 “Oh, I’m so sorry!” 

 “Not half so sorry as I am, believe me!” 

 “I mean, I wouldn’t have said …” 

 “Never mind. You didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know.” The lights began to go down. He rose. “Well, they’re off again. Perhaps you will excuse me? I don’t feel quite equal to assisting any longer at the wake. If you want something to occupy your mind during the next act, try to remember my name.” 

 He slid from his seat and disappeared. Jill clutched at Derek. 

 “Oh, Derek, it’s too awful. I’ve just been talking to the man 

 Prev. P 37/312 next