“No. I don’t think that, exactly. But I don’t think there’s any sense in doin’ a play where you can’t--can’t--well, make it good lookin’. These plays where there’s nothin’ but a perfec’ly ordinary family havin’ a fight and all that--A show ought to be something more.--You get the music in an opera. Carmen’d be a fine hunk of bosh if you didn’t have the music and the Spanish clothes. Just a dirty yarn!... There’d ought to be somethin’ good lookin’ in a play.... Nobody believes a play but girls out of High School.... If you can’t have poetry like Shakespeare you ought to have something--something pretty--I don’t mean pretty--I mean--” Olive stopped the music. Mark descended rapidly and went on, “I don’t care about these two cent comedies, either.” “You don’t like comedy?” “Not much. Truth is, I don’t catch a joke easy. I’ve tried readin’ Molière but it sounds pretty dry to me. Haven’t tried--Aristophanes?--I guess that’s deeper’n I could swim--” “Rot! You mustn’t let yourself--what is it?--be blinded by the glory of great names. Any one who can see the point in Patience can understand Aristophanes.... But you haven’t much humour. But you’ve played in comedy?” “Some. I’d just as soon.” Olive began “Anitra’s Dance” knowing that he liked melodrama and watched his eyes brighten, dilating. She said amiably, “A fine comedian’s the greatest boon in the world. Women especially. Is it true that women who’re good in comedy are usually rather serious off the stage?” “Can’t say--Well, my wife was pretty damn serious!” His huge sigh made Olive laugh. She asked, “You’ve no children?” “No. Guess that was the trouble.--Play that Peer Gynt Mornin’ thing.” “I’ve played enough,” said Olive. “You say Mr. Carlson sent you over to look at some plays for him? He must trust your judgment.” Mark answered happily, “Sure. He says that if I take to a play so’ll every one else. He says I’ve got lots of judgment about plays.” Olive shut the piano and rose. Her face wrinkled off into laughter. She said, “You dear thing! I dare say he’s quite right about that. Good night.” She strolled out of the drawing room and Mark could see her passing up the long stairs. She moved splendidly against the white panels. One wrist caressed the rail. The black gown dragged gently up the rosy treads. She vanished slowly into the dark and Mark said, “Golly,” as he went to get his hat. He wandered over to the bar of the Black Swan and drank cold ale while he meditated. He mustn’t fall in love. Eddie Bernamer and Joe disapproved of affairs with married women. They were right, of course. And nothing must interfere with his tutelage. And Ilden was at sea. But this was vexatious! He wished she did not stroll so lazily up stairs, across gardens. He wished that her hair wasn’t black.--He found himself blushing at breakfast when she came in with a yellow garden hat on the black of her hair. Now that he’d begun to think of it she looked rather like Cora Boyle.