Her eyes danced at him. "Oh, it's nothing," she said. "We're all of us too excited to talk sense. Paul, isn't it absolutely priceless?" "I can't tell you what I feel," said Paul. "Tressor shook hands with you, and said good-night and that he'd clear off, and you were to let him know when you were going down to Fordham," explained Arnold belatedly. "Oh, yes, so he did. I say, Mortimer did 'Herod' well, didn't he? And d'you know, that finish is good, isn't it? It was wonderful to-night. In the end, it seemed to me that I hadn't written it, hadn't even seen it before." "Magic of an excited house," commented Arnold. "Well, you ought to be a happy man. You're a lucky one, anyway." "I know. I am. I am both. And I'm awfully grateful to you two." Arnold put his head out of the window. "Here we are," he cried, half in and half out of the taxi. "We've done nothing." Paul turned suddenly to the girl. "You did everything," he said, with vivid realisation. It had been Ursula's wish to give Paul a triumphant supper at her flat the night of his success. It was not to be a big affair, the three of them and Muriel Lister only, and Paul had eagerly assented, realising a little how intolerable any other programme would be. So now Ursula went ahead upstairs, and when Paul and his friend came in, was drawing her gloves off before the fire and chatting with her friend. "Here he is," she cried. "Now Muriel." Muriel Lister took an eager pace forward and held out her hand. "Mr. Kestern," she said, "I don't know how to congratulate you. You've done far more than devise a successful play, far more than write some wonderful poetry. You've preached a new religion, do you know that? You're rightly called Paul; you're an apostle." Paul laughed. "That's the one role I've sought all my days," he said, "but I thought I should never play it." "Well, you have. All London will know it to-morrow. You've said the thing the churches are afraid to say. You've said what we've been trying to preach for years. And what's more, you've said it in such a way that people will listen and see. Oh, I do congratulate you!" "My dear Muriel," said Arnold, "you're intolerable. A parson is bad enough, but a woman parson is worse. Whatever you girls may feel, I'm dying for eats and drinks, and I bet the successful author is too, only, probably, he's too shy to say so. Let's eat first and talk it over afterwards." Muriel chuckled and turned to Ursula. "What a pig he is," she cried, "but perhaps he's right. We're all four too exalted for life at present. Let's eat, and we shall grow sane. It's a parable. Come on, my dear; shall I dole out chicken?" They gathered round the table in a corner of the big studio and fell to, talking reminiscently and mostly all at once the while. Finally Paul pushed his chair back a little and laughed aloud. "What is it now?" mumbled Arnold, still busy.