“I shouldn’t worry about that.” “But I do—horribly.” He disposed himself in a position of some importance. “Mornice,” he said, “I have figured now in nearly forty productions, most of them successful. Think what that means. Am I to be crippled by a single false move? The idea is absurd. Where is your arithmetic, my dear? Ask young Ronald here, and he’ll show you the sum on paper. Maybe I shall have to cut things a trifle finer in consequence of this, but what of that? No, no, no—my sorrow was all for you, and since yours has ceased to be, why, then, our sorrow is bankrupt, and we are all glad again.” “You’ve shifted a weight from my mind,” said Ronald, with an outward breath. And Mornice hugged him ecstatically. “’T’any rate, I’m not going to be a drag on you any more,” she said, and told the tale of the American offer. “Yes,” said Eliphalet, “I think you ought to accept. It’s a selfish confession, my dear, and I want you to believe I would have done my best for you, but I haven’t the energy for much more work. Years tell, and I doubt if I could stand the strain of another big venture. I mean to do myself well—luxuriously—in that little cottage with the ivy-clad porch that stands back from the road. You’d have found it dull there, living with an old man.” “I’d have loved it—with you.” “Not a bit of it. No, you’d be kicking the glass to flinders in a week. I should try a young man instead of an old ’un. I should try him.” He tilted his head toward Ronald Knight. “I wish to God she would, sir,” said Ronald devoutly. “I don’t mind,” said Mornice. “Then do,” said Eliphalet; “and I shall be left without a care in the world, to enjoy an affluent old age.” “You mean that, Dads?” “’Course I do. But don’t go talking about it in the company, or everyone will be trying to borrow.” So they went out, laughing, who had entered in tears. “Manning,” said Eliphalet, when the stage-manager, according to his custom, looked in for final instructions, “what d’you think we could realise on the scenery and costumes?” “’Bout four hundred. Laon’s should be good for that.” “H’m! not bad. Tell ’em we’ll sell. Good night, Manning.” “G’night, Guv’nor.” He turned over the pages of his bank-book, and examined the balance. “Ought just to see me through,” he muttered; “and then—four hundred pounds!” God sends happy thoughts when most they are needed, and a vision arose of two young people laughing happily as they passed from the room. “We pulled off that scene, old boy,” he said. “Fairly brought the house down.” CHAPTER XII THE FINAL CURTAIN A keen eye would have failed to detect Eliphalet Cardomay’s real feelings during the last week of his last tour. Outwardly he presented the appearance of a man at ease with his conscience and at peace with the world.