“Phyllis,” said Clive to Rose-Ann one afternoon at Field’s where they had met by chance at the stationery counter, and had gone together to the tea-room for tea and talk, “complains to me that Felix hasn’t been to his work-room all this week; she seems to think he is idling away his time in the society of his wife, when he ought to be writing plays and letting her make coffee for him.” Rose-Ann laughed. “Whether it’s Phyllis’s coffee or not, he does seem to be getting some good work done. I really like that new play.” “‘The Dryad’? A lovely little thing. Why don’t you make him send it to Gregory Storm?” Gregory Storm was an enthusiast who was organizing a company of amateurs to give plays by Schnitzler and Wedekind and other moderns, and Felix had vainly been urged by Clive to submit some of his one-act plays to them. “I’m not going to ‘make’ Felix do anything,” Rose-Ann said impatiently. “Make him yourself, if you want him to! I _won’t_ manage his career for him.” “Afraid he’ll blame you if it fails?” Clive asked maliciously. “No—afraid he’ll blame me if it succeeds!” she laughed. “You’re right,” said Clive. “I never saw any one so afraid of success.” “Oh, it’s not success he’s afraid of. It’s rather, I think, that he’s afraid of enjoying himself! You know, Clive, he really is a Puritan!” “Harsh words, Mrs. Fay! On what grounds do you accuse Felix of the horrid crime of Puritanism?” “You know perfectly well what I mean, Clive! You were saying that Felix hadn’t been to his work-room this week. And you know why. It’s because he’s afraid of Phyllis. Isn’t it absurd!” “Absurd? Not at all! I’m very much afraid of her, myself!” “Well, I’m not! Felix ought to know that I’m just as fond of Phyllis as he is, and that I can perfectly well understand how nice it is to have her around. I like to have her make coffee for me, and sit at _my_ feet. And suppose he did kiss her—she’s very kissable; I wish he would, and get over being afraid of her.” “No use, Rose-Ann; he never will. And what’s worse, she never will, either. She’s just as much afraid of him as he is of her. I’m afraid theirs is a hopeless passion!” They both commenced to laugh at the absurdity of it all. 4 Phyllis and Clive had quarrelled again, and Phyllis felt in need of encouragement in her Clive-less way of life. She leaned on Rose-Ann for philosophic guidance, and the two girls spent many evenings together in the studio; while Felix, without the sustenance of Phyllis’s coffee, worked at revising “The Dryad,” which he had decided to submit to Gregory Storm. But one evening Phyllis came in disconsolately, and said to Felix: “I’ve been to the studio and Rose-Ann isn’t there!” “She’s at the printer’s,” said Felix, “reading page-proof.” He pushed back his manuscript. “Do you want to make me some—” “Coffee? No,” said Phyllis, “but you can take me out and buy me a cocktail or something; and—and give me some spiritual guidance. I need it!”