Her attitude to him was that of a gay comrade. There were no more "gratitude" kisses--no hint of danger. She had referred only once again to his act of stopping the runaway horse and her wish to do something to show her thankfulness. This he had laughed at; now that the opportunity had come he was loath to use it; but in a subsequent conversation she had learned that he had written several plays, all unacted, perhaps even unread. One lay at that moment in the office of Ashford Billing, a prominent manager; she knew him, and promised to spur him to read Lionel's play himself. Lionel thanked her, but did not build any castles on so flimsy a foundation. He had been knocking at managers' doors too many years to have any illusions. So day followed day without anything to break the pleasant monotony. Lionel and Beatrice were rapidly cementing a friendship that was more than a friendship to him. Only the remembrance of Lukos kept him from showing something more of his real feelings--the remembrance of Lukos and the aloof friendliness of Beatrice herself. There was but one fly in the amber of that perfect week, and that was the attitude of Mizzi. Since the morning after his arrival Mizzi had waited on him with an air of courteous disapproval. She had been as polite as ever, as demure and piquant as could be wished, but she had been less communicative, less _sympathique_ with the stranger. Even in the presence of her mistress there was a suggestion of frigidity that was galling to a sensitive man. Lionel grudgingly admitted that perhaps he had been a little to blame, but, illogically enough, he resented the atmosphere of respectful condemnation. More than once he had tried to dissipate the unhappy misunderstanding, to restore things to a more friendly--but not too friendly--footing. In this he had not been successful. To his cheerful and carefully composed commonplaces Mizzi made the briefest of answers, and on one occasion there had been a distinct toss of the head and an unmistakable sniff. "Women are so unreasonable," he said to himself complainingly, after a sustained effort that fell flat; then with a pang of compunction, "Some women, I mean. I do wish Mizzi would be sensible.... It is very trying." Matters came to a head after he had been Miss Blair's guest for nearly a week. It was a Saturday, and his hostess went to the theater directly after lunch to get ready for the matinee. Lionel, provided with one of her cards, was to follow her and see the play, for as yet he had not watched her on the stage. The experience proved delightful, for the play was good and her acting excellent. After it was over he went back to the flat alone, for she meant to rest in her dressing-room until the evening performance.