Well, he scornfully pitied Rose Euclid. He blamed her for not having accomplished the miracle of eternal youth. He actually considered that she had cheated him. "Is this all? What a swindle!" he thought, as he was piecing together the shivered fragments of his ideas into a new pattern. He had felt much the same as a boy, at Bursley Annual Wakes once, on entering a booth which promised horrors and did not supply them. He had been "done" all these years.... Reluctantly he admitted that Rose Euclid could not help her age. But, at any rate, she ought to have grown older beautifully, with charming dignity and vivacity--in fact, she ought to have contrived to be old and young simultaneously. Or, in the alternative, she ought to have modestly retired into the country and lived on her memories and such money as she had not squandered. She had no right to be abroad. At worst, she ought to have _looked_ famous. And, because her name and fame and photographs, as an emotional actress had been continually in the newspapers, therefore she ought to have been refined, delicate, distinguished, and full of witty and gracious small talk. That she had played the heroine of "Flower of the Heart" four hundred times, and the heroine of "The Grenadier" four hundred and fifty times, and the heroine of "The Wife’s Ordeal" nearly five hundred times, made it incumbent upon her, in Edward Henry’s subconscious opinion, to possess all the talents of a woman of the world and all the virgin freshness of a girl. Which shows how cruelly stupid Edward Henry was in comparison with the enlightened rest of us. Why (he protested secretly), she was even tongue-tied! "Glad to meet you, Mr. Machin," she said awkwardly, in a weak voice, with a peculiar gesture as she shook hands. Then, a mechanical nervous giggle--and then silence. "Happy to make your acquaintance, sir," said Mr. Seven Sachs, and the arch-famous American actor-author also lapsed into silence. But the silence of Mr. Seven Sachs was different from Rose Euclid’s. He was not shy. A dark and handsome, tranquil, youngish man, with a redoubtable square chin, delicately rounded at the corners, he strikingly resembled his own figure on the stage; and, moreover, he seemed to regard silence as a natural and proper condition. He simply stood, in a graceful posture, with his muscles at ease, and waited. Mr. Bryany, behind, seemed to be reduced in stature, and to have become apologetic for himself in the presence of greatness. Still, Mr. Bryany did say something. Said Mr. Bryany: "Sorry to hear you’ve been seedy, Mr. Machin!" "Oh, yes!" Rose Euclid blurted out, as if shot. "It’s very good of you to ask us up here." Mr. Seven Sachs concurred, adding that he hoped the illness was not serious. Edward Henry said it was not. "Won’t you sit down, all of you?" said Edward Henry. "Miss--er--Euclid--" They all sat down except Mr. Bryany.