'I've been through this before somewhere,' he thought, while Jane Map wrung his hand. 'Was it in a previous existence? No. The Alhambra!' What made him remember the Alhambra was the figure of little Doxey sheepishly joining himself and Jane. Doxey, with a disastrous lack of foresight, had been in the opposite wing, and had had to run round the stage in order to come before the curtain. Doxey's share in the triumph was decidedly less than half.... 'No,' Henry said later, with splendid calm, when Geraldine, Jane, Doxey, and himself were drinking champagne in Jane's Empire dressing-room, 'it wasn't nervousness. I don't quite know what it was.' He gathered that the success had been indescribable. Jane radiated bliss. 'I tell you what, old man,' said Doxey: 'we must adapt _The Plague-Spot_, eh?' 'We'll see about that,' said Henry. Two days afterwards Henry arose from a bed of pain, and was able to consume a little tea and dry toast. Geraldine regaled his spiritual man with the press notices, which were tremendous. But more tremendous than the press notices was John Pilgrim's decision to put _Love in Babylon_ after the main piece in the bill of Prince's Theatre. _Love in Babylon_ was to begin at the honourable hour of ten-forty in future, for the benefit of the stalls and the dress-circle. 'Have you thought about Mr. Doxey's suggestion?' Geraldine asked him. 'Yes,' said Henry; 'but I don't quite see the point of it.' 'Don't see the point of it, sweetheart?' she protested, stroking his dressing-gown. 'But it would be bound to be a frightful success, after this.' 'I know,' said Henry. 'But why drag in Doxey? I can write the next play myself.' She kissed him. CHAPTER XXVIII HE SHORTENS HIS NAME One day Geraldine needed a doctor. Henry was startled, frightened, almost shocked. But when the doctor, having seen Geraldine, came into the study to chat with Geraldine's husband, Henry put on a calm demeanour, said he had been expecting the doctor's news, said also that he saw no cause for anxiety or excitement, and generally gave the doctor to understand that he was in no way disturbed by the work of Nature to secure a continuance of the British Empire. The conversation shifted to Henry's self, and soon Henry was engaged in a detailed description of his symptoms. 'Purely nervous,' remarked the doctor--'purely nervous.' 'You think so?' 'I am sure of it.' 'Then, of course, there is no cure for it. I must put up with it.' 'Pardon me,' said the doctor, 'there is an absolutely certain cure for nervous dyspepsia--at any rate, in such a case as yours.' 'What is it?' 'Go without breakfast' 'But I don't eat too much, doctor,' Henry said plaintively. 'Yes, you do,' said the doctor. 'We all do.' 'And I'm always hungry at meal-times. If a meal is late it makes me quite ill.' 'You'll feel somewhat uncomfortable for a few days,' the doctor blandly continued. 'But in a month you'll be cured.' 'You say that professionally?' 'I guarantee it.'