production at another theater. Yes, I feel sure that rebuilding the Windsor would be your best course.”
There was a pause.
“What do you think, Roly-poly?” asked Miss Verepoint, as Roland made no sign.
“Nothing would delight me more than to rebuild the Windsor, or to take another theater, or do anything else to oblige,” he said, cheerfully. “Unfortunately, I have no more money to burn.”
It was as if a bomb had suddenly exploded in the room. A dreadful silence fell upon his hearers. For the moment no one spoke. R. P. de Parys woke with a start out of a beautiful dream of prawn curry and Bromham Rhodes forgot that he had not tasted food for nearly two hours. Miss Verepoint was the first to break the silence.
“Do you mean to say,” she gasped, “that you didn't insure the place?”
Roland shook his head. The particular form in which Miss Verepoint had put the question entitled him, he felt, to make this answer.
“Why didn't you?” Miss Verepoint's tone was almost menacing.
“Because it did not appear to me to be necessary.”
Nor was it necessary, said Roland to his conscience. Mr. Montague had done all the insuring that was necessary—and a bit over.
Miss Verepoint fought with her growing indignation, and lost. “What about the salaries of the people who have been rehearsing all this time?” she demanded.
“I'm sorry that they should be out of an engagement, but it is scarcely my fault. However, I propose to give each of them a month's salary. I can manage that, I think.”
Miss Verepoint rose. “And what about me? What about me, that's what I want to know. Where do I get off? If you think I'm going to marry you without your getting a theater and putting up this revue you're jolly well mistaken.”
Roland made a gesture which was intended to convey regret and resignation. He even contrived to sigh.
“Very well, then,” said Miss
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