It was an hour later, while he still sat dreaming in the sunshine by the open window, that a gentle tap came at the door, and Daddy entered. The visit was a surprise. Usually, until time for _dejeuner_, he kept his room, busily unwumbling stories. This was unusual. And something had happened to him; he looked different. What was it that had changed? Some veil had cleared away; his eyes were shining. They greeted one another, and Rogers fell shyly to commonplaces, while wondering what the change exactly was. But the other was not to be put off. He was bursting with something. Rogers had never seen him like this before. 'You've stopped work earlier than usual,' he said, providing the opening. He understood his diffidence, his shyness in speaking of himself. Long disappointments lay so thinly screened behind his unfulfilled enthusiasm. But this time the enthusiasm swept diffidence to the winds. It had been vitally stirred. 'Early indeed,' he cried. 'I've been working four hours without a break, man. Why, what do you think?--I woke at sunrise, a thing I never do, with--with a brilliant idea in my head. Brilliant, I tell you. By Jove, if only I can carry it out as I see it----!' 'You've begun it already?' 'Been at it since six o'clock, I tell you. It was in me when I woke-- idea, treatment, everything complete, all in a perfect pattern of Beauty.' There was a glow upon his face, his hair was untidy; a white muffler with blue spots was round his neck instead of collar. One end stuck up against his chin. The safety pin was open. 'By Jove! I am delighted!' Rogers had seen him excited before over a 'brilliant idea,' but the telling of it always left him cold. It touched the intellect, yet not the heart. It was merely clever. This time, however, there was a new thing in his manner. 'How did you get it?' he repeated. Methods of literary production beyond his own doggerels were a mystery to him. 'Sort of inspiration, eh?' 'Woke with it, I tell you,' continued his cousin, twisting the muffler so that it tickled his ear now instead of his chin. 'It must have come to me in sleep----' 'In sleep,' exclaimed the other; 'you dreamt it, then?' 'Kind of inspiration business. I've heard of that sort of thing, but never experienced it----' The author paused for breath. 'What is it? Tell me.' He remembered how ingenious details of his patents had sometimes found themselves cleared up in the morning after refreshing slumber. This might be something similar. 'Let's hear it,' he added; 'I'm interested.' His cousin's recitals usually ended in sad confusion, so that all he could answer by way of praise was--' You ought to make something good out of that. I shall like to read it when you've finished it.' But this time, he felt, there was distinctly a difference. There were new conditions.