"But how did you know I’m not like the rest?" asked Edward Henry. The line which she was taking had very much surprised him, and charmed him. The compliment, so serious and urgent in tone, was intensely agreeable, and it made an entirely new experience in his career. He thought: "Oh! There’s no mistake about it. These London women are marvellous! They’re just as straight and in earnest as the best of our little lot down there. But they’ve got something else. There’s no comparison!" The unique word to describe the indescribable floated into his head: "Scrumptuous!" What could not life be with such semi-divine creatures? He dreamt of art drawing-rooms softly shaded at midnight. And his attitude towards even poetry was modified. "I knew you weren’t like the rest," said she, "by your look; by the way you say everything you _do_ say. We all know it. And I’m sure you’re far more than clever enough to be perfectly aware that we all know it. Just see how everyone looked at you to-night!" Yes, he had in fact been aware of the glances. "I think I ought to tell you," she went on, "that I was rather unfair to you that day in talking about my cousin--in the taxi. You were quite right to refuse to go into partnership with her. She thinks so too. We’ve talked it over, and we’re quite agreed. Of course it did seem hard--at the time, and her bad luck in America seemed to make it worse. But you were quite right. You can work much better alone. You must have felt that instinctively--far quicker than we felt it." "Well," he murmured, confused, "I don’t know--" Could this be she who had too openly smiled at his skirmish with an artichoke? "Oh, Mr. Machin," she burst out, "you’ve got an unprecedented opportunity, and, thank Heaven, you’re the man to use it! We’re all expecting so much from you, and we know we sha’n’t be disappointed." "D’ye mean the theatre?" he asked, alarmed as it were amid rising waters. "The theatre," said she gravely. "You’re the one man that can save London. No one _in_ London can do it! ... _You_ have the happiness of knowing what your mission is, and of knowing too that you are equal to it. What good fortune! I wish I could say as much for myself. I want to do something! I try! But what can I do? Nothing--really! You’ve no idea of the awful loneliness that comes from a feeling of inability." "Loneliness!" he repeated. "But surely--" He stopped. "Loneliness," she insisted. Her little chin was now in her little hand, and her dim face upturned.