Brandon hardly dared to hope that the letter would succeed in its purpose. There was little in such an invitation to lure a regular man of the town from his accustomed round. But the unexpected happened. Pomfret, being “at a loose end” in Christmas week, found his way to Hart’s Ghyll, prompted, no doubt, by a generous desire to cheer up an old friend in the hour of affliction. The two men were curiously unalike. Pomfret was not a creature of delicate perceptions, or intellectual curiosity. Apart from a large and rich geniality, which endeared him to a wide circle of acquaintances, he was merely a shrewd, eupeptic man of business, whose supreme merit was, that he knew exactly how many beans made five. But a subtle bond may exist between diverse characters, if each is sound at the core, and in this case a humorous respect was paid to the other’s peculiar qualities. Brandon was delighted, and perhaps just a little flattered by the arrival of his sagacious friend on Christmas Eve. He had not dared to hope that a casual note, at such short notice, would lure a pagan and worldling from his orbit. But a divinity shapes our ends. His old fagmaster at school was the one man of practical experience to whom Brandon could turn in the difficult and unknown country he had now to traverse. Robert Pomfret had really been summoned to Hart’s Ghyll, not as he innocently and magnanimously believed, on the score of old friendship, but in his capacity of prosperous lessee of three West End theaters. It was not until Christmas Day was far spent that the host disclosed his fell design. Immediately after dinner he contrived to get the redoubtable Robert into the library on the plea of “a little advice on an important matter,” without his victim suspecting the trap that had been laid for him. Brandon, moreover, led up to the subject with the discretion of a statesman. And then, in order to get a direct and reasoned verdict, he read aloud the first act. His own experience of the stage was confined to one appearance with the O. U. D. S. in a very humble part. Moreover, his knowledge of general theatrical conditions was extremely slight. At the same time he knew that for a tyro to force the portals of the English theater was a superhuman task. But now, sustained by a very odd sense of the author’s plenary inspiration, he read with a devout eagerness which puzzled and rather intimidated Pomfret. However, he was still awake at the end of the first act. “What do you think of it?” asked Brandon. “Go on,” was the curt rejoinder. Sustained by this Olympian encouragement, Brandon passed to the second act. “Go on,” was still the command. With a puzzled attention, which he somehow yielded in spite of himself, Pomfret listened to the end of Act Four. And then the flushed, excited, triumphant reader asked his question again. “It’s certainly very unusual,” said Mount Olympus cautiously.