And suddenly a sensation of absolute and marvellous terror seized Edward Henry. He was more afraid than he had ever been--and yet once or twice in his life he had felt fear. His sense of true perspective--one of his most precious qualities--returned. He thought: "I've got to get out of this." Well, the door was not locked. It was only necessary to turn the handle, and security lay on the other side of the door! He had but to rise and walk. And he could not. He might just as well have been manacled in a prison-cell. He was under an enchantment. "A man," murmured Elsie, "a man can never realize the loneliness--" She ceased. He stirred uneasily. "About this play," he found himself saying. And yet why should he mention the play in his fright? He pretended to himself not to know why. But he knew why. His instinct had seen in the topic of the play the sole avenue of salvation. "A wonderful thing, isn't it?" "Oh, yes," he said. And then--most astonishingly to himself--added: "I've decided to do it." "We knew you would," she said calmly. "At any rate I did.... You'll open with it, of course." "Yes," he answered desperately. And proceeded, with the most extraordinary bravery, "If you'll act in it." Immediately on hearing these last words issue from his mouth he knew that a fool had uttered them, and that the bravery was mere rashness. For Elsie's responding gesture reinspired him afresh with the exquisite terror which he had already begun to conjure away. "You think Miss Euclid ought to have the part," he added quickly, before she could speak. "Oh! I do!" cried Elsie, positively and eagerly. "Rose will do simply wonders with that part. You see she can speak verse. I can't. I'm nobody. I only took it because--" "Aren't you anybody?" he contradicted. "Aren't you anybody? I can just tell you--" There he was again, bringing back the delicious terror! An astounding situation! But the door creaked. The babble from the stage invaded the room. And in a second the enchantment was lifted from him. Several people entered. He sighed, saying within himself to the disturbers: "I'd have given you a hundred pounds apiece if you'd been five minutes sooner." And yet simultaneously he regretted their arrival. And, more curious still, though he well remembered the warning words of Mr. Seven Sachs concerning Elsie April, he did not consider that they were justified.... She had not been a bit persuasive ... only.... VII