"It isn't right, it isn't fair, it isn't playing the game, Dick," she protested, resolutely releasing herself from his embrace after listening for a long time, with throbbing heart, to his song of triumph. "Poor, dear Mr. Bingle! He is doing it out of the goodness of his heart. I am not a 'star' and I am not 'big' enough to be featured on Broadway. It would be a sin to let him put his money into a certain failure. I will not listen to you, Dick. Much as I love you, I still have a conscience and it will not allow me to sacrifice that simple soul. Why, don't you know what would happen? The critics would go into convulsions over the attempt to foist a silly little--" "But, hang it all, Amy, you've got it in you to surprise New York," he cried earnestly. "I KNOW you can do it. Good Lord, I wouldn't take a nickel of Mr. Bingle's money if I didn't believe you could make good. Why, I've got a conscience too, much as the confession may surprise you." "You are carried away by excitement, dear," she said softly, patting his cheek. "Just stop and think for a minute. Who am I? What have I ever done? Where have I--" "But can't you see that the PLAY will be the making of you? The part is a wonder. You can't help creating a sensation with such a role to carry you along. Now, I'm not conceited--not a bit of it--but I do know this much: this play and this part are going to turn Broadway upside down." "I could agree with you, dear, if you had some one like--oh, well, if you won't allow me to talk, I--please let me say it, Dick." His kisses had played havoc with her ideas. "Now, DO listen to me! It's all very well to SAY that I am qualified to turn Broadway--" "Of course, we don't have to 'star' you at the outset," he interrupted, suddenly resorting to reason. "We needn't feature any one at the start. If you make good--and I know you will--why, the papers will see to it that your name goes up in electric lights over the little old front door. I daresay you're right in going slow, dear. I am so excited that I don't know whether I'm on my feet or my head. Now, let's talk it over calmly, sensibly, sanely. The upshot of the whole matter is this: my play is to be produced and you are to play the part of Deborah. We don't have to ask any beastly theatrical manager to read the play and we don't have to go down on our knees to get a job for you. Mr. Bingle is going into this thing with his eyes, open. He tells me he has faith in the play and in you, and as he happens to have a great many millions of dollars we ought to have faith in him. He will put the piece on in bang-up style. He realizes that there is a chance for failure, but so does every man who puts his money into a theatrical production. It is part of the game. It is up to you and me, Amy, to see that Mr. Bingle comes out of this thing a winner. He--" "Wait, dear," she interrupted, her fair brow-clouding. "What of Mrs. Bingle? What will she say to this exploit of his?"