“Speech! speech!” shouted the gallery. He looked up at them with a winning smile, and replied, “Of course.” There was a fresh burst of applause and a wave of laughter, and when it died away he began to speak in the manner of a man chatting with friends about a fireside: “It’s a charming play, isn’t it? Very charming. Tomorrow my learned critics will be saying so. They will say, perhaps, ‘The play’s the thing’; but I trust they won’t forget that the manner of its interpretation is possibly an even greater thing.” He stopped, smiled and said, half under his breath, “Render unto Cæsar—Good-night, everybody.” Eve waited in the foyer, her cheeks aglow with excitement. Presently she saw Wynne come through an iron door into the press of congratulation. Half the important stage people in London were thronging round him. His composure was remarkable. Under the influence of success he seemed to have grown up and moved as a man among men. A pretty, rather elaborate girl pressed forward to greet him with adulation, and Eve noted how he touched her cheek with a kind of possessive patronage, and turned aside to speak to some one else. The action was very unlike her preconception of his character. Presently he noticed her, and nodded a smile across the crowded room. “Like it?” his lips framed. And her eyes flashed back the answer. Seemingly this satisfied him, for he moved away. A little later on he noticed her again. “Don’t wait for me,” he said. “I’m sure to be late.” Eve walked out of the theatre alone. “Get me a cab,” she said to the commissionaire. “I’m sorry, madam, but there are very few tonight.” “That one,” she pointed to a taxi standing by the curb. “That is being kept for Mr. Rendall, madam.” “Oh, is it?” said Eve, and walked toward the Tube. XI As she turned into Jermyn Street a middle-aged man, walking briskly in the same direction, came level with her. He was in evening dress, and his coat was open to the night air. He wore a soft hat, and a pipe projected from his mouth at a jaunty angle. As he walked he sang to himself as one who is glad. Eve caught a glimpse of his features, and gave a little exclamation, whereupon the man turned and looked at her. “Hallo!” he said, “I know you—but—good heavens! I’ve got you. But what in blazes are you doing here by yourself, tonight of all nights?” “I’m walking home, Uncle Clementine.” “Then, begad! it’s meself will walk with you. Always talk Irish when I’m excited—at least I believe I do; but what’s it matter? I’m excited enough to talk double Dutch tonight—aren’t you?” “Rather,” responded Eve, for Uncle Clem awoke an echo of his mood in others. “I should think you were. Splendid! Top-hole! Lord! Lord! Lord! What a production! Aren’t you proud?” “Very.”