There was enthusiasm in his voice and fire in his eye. But the train had not travelled many miles before the enthusiasm died and a queer gnawing doubt assailed him. Was it possible, after all, these gentlemen were right? Would it not, perhaps, be better to slip away from the haste and turmoil of active life and seek out that little villa of his own? After all, he had fought nobly and successfully, and surely the right to repose had been well earned? There was standing to his credit at the bank enough, and more than enough, to assure a comfortable competence to the end of his days. Perhaps, too, he was a little tired. He had run without stopping for so many, many years. Then he thought of his boasts to the syndicate. “We’ll challenge ’em, old boy, and we must make good!” There was Mornice, too, to be considered. He had promised her a big chance, and it was up to him to meet the bill. Ronald Knight had come over to spend the day with Mornice (a not infrequent occurrence), and they rose, apparently from the same chair, as he entered the room. Maybe they were a shade embarrassed, for neither one nor the other asked how the meeting had gone, but, instead, gave themselves over to expressions of almost unnatural delight at his return. Consequently, tea passed without the subject being mentioned. Glancing from one to the other, Eliphalet was conscious of an air of supreme excitement shared between them. “Well,” he asked, “has the Mornice film been—what is the word?—released yet?” Ronald Knight shook his head. “N-no, not yet. Matter of fact, we’ve had rather bad luck—very bad. No one seems to care for the story.” Eliphalet smiled rather cynically, and the young man hastened to add: “But Morny has made an enormous success. Terrific! We had a private projection.” “A what?” “A private show.” “Ah, yes! Well?” “With big-wigs from the best firms, and they are absolutely unanimous that she’s _it_.” Mornice tried not to look too proud, but the artifice was transparent. Eliphalet frowned a little. “I am glad,” he said. “She is certainly very capable—of better things.” “Yes; I know you hate movies,” said Mornice. He nodded. Ronald started afresh. “A success like that, even at a private proj-show, means a great deal, and——” “And,” Eliphalet cut in, “you are now going to tell me she has had some flattering offers and ask me to let her accept them, knowing very well that the last time I allowed her to do so was on the undertaking that she returned to the legitimate at the end of the engagement.” Ronald’s reply was unexpected. “That’s just what I—what she—what I’m sure we all feel she ought to do.” “I want to, awfully,” exclaimed Mornice; “in something—— Oh, you go on, Ronny.” “It is only that people—people in the show believe there is such big stuff in her that makes me suggest it.” He hesitated. Eliphalet leaned back in his chair and smiled indulgently to help him along.