There was something in Mornice that awoke a queer familiarity with another episode of his life, but when he tried to place the impression it would not develop. Was it perhaps with scatter-brained little Eunice Terry, whom he had disillusioned about the stage? No! For beyond the “Nice” at the ends of their Christian names there was little enough semblance. Mornice had her head screwed on the right way, whereas Eunice had nearly had hers screwed off. One morning a rehearsal had been called for some minor alterations, and Eliphalet was sitting with his back against a scene-flat, when he heard Mornice’s voice on the other side. “Poor Ken,” she was saying. “Oh, dear, what a sad and gloomy face!” “You know how to cure it,” came the answer. “I? I only seem to make it worse.” “That’s true. You’re playing with me, Morny, and I’ve had enough of it.” “Well, if you’re too old to play, go and sit in the corner with a book.” “For God’s sake chuck fooling. After all, you can’t afford to turn me down like this, and I’m not the chap to put up with it for ever.” It was a graceless speech, and Eliphalet was astonished at the girl’s answer. “You old silly, I don’t want to turn you down. I’d like you to be happy as the rest are.” “Well, make me happy, then.” “’Course I will—if I can.” “If you can! Look here, Morny; come and have supper with me after the show to-night.” She did not reply, and he went on: “Why, hang it, you must have been out to supper scores of times.” “Yes, I have—scores and scores.” “Will you come, then?” There was more than eagerness in his tone. “I may as well, I suppose. Very well, then—yes.” “At last! And that’s a bargain, isn’t it? There’s no going back now? Where would you like to go? Cecil?—Savoy? Just say, and I’ll ring up for a room at once.” “A room! What for?” “We shan’t want to be disturbed.” “Shan’t we? Now look here, Ken; if I come to supper with you we sup in the main restaurant, or not at all.” “Oh, yes, I know all about that. You can safely leave the arrangements to me.” “Right; I will. And I’ll leave you the supper, too.” “What do you mean?” “I’ve taken a very intense dislike to you. I think you are an absolute low little rotter.” Eliphalet, on the other side of the piece of scenery, murmured a prayer of thanksgiving. “You do?” said Kenneth. “Well, if that’s so, you won’t be disappointed. I may not be great shakes in the company, but I can promise to make it none too pleasant a place for you—unless you say you are sorry.” It was all very ill-conditioned and childish. “The only thing I’m sorry about,” said Mornice, “is that I didn’t smack your face days ago.” She marched off, the picture of outraged dignity. And Eliphalet, as a student of nature, reflected that the young man had received a more valuable lesson than all his ’Varsity training had provided, and, when the rancour had abated, would profit very greatly therefrom.