"Why didn’t she telephone me? That’s the whole point." And, all his irritation restored by this one outstanding fact, he entered the apartment with the dignity of a justly offended person. She was seated by the fire in an easy-chair, and she did not rise as he entered. She was bending eagerly forward, an open manuscript in her hand, and, without turning, she made a little sign to him to be seated until she should have finished. "Wonderful!" she cried at last, dropping the play in her lap. "It is wonderful!" she repeated, her whole body vibrating with the enthusiasm of her mood. "Wonderful—astonishing—what a scene!" And, tapping the manuscript with a gesture of decision, she exclaimed: "I will play that part—it will be an enormous sensation!" Her mind still obsessed by the thought of the newly discovered masterpiece, she turned toward Beecher, who was seated like a ramrod on the edge of his chair. "A marvelous play! Really, that Mr. Hargrave is a coming man." Forgetting her previous estimate, she rushed on: "Isn’t it strange—I always knew he would do it, from the very first! What is extraordinary is the subtlety of it—how he twines two or three emotions together in the same scene. What a glorious chance for an actress! I must telephone the office." As she rose, a slip of paper which she had been using as a marker fluttered to the floor. She picked it up, recognized it, and handed it to him. "Oh, yes, here’s your check!" she said. "I put it there so as not to forget it. Thanks very much. I’ll explain in a minute. I must telephone Stigler; I’m all excited!" Beecher, more annoyed by this revelation of her professional life than by the rub to his vanity, took the check and pocketed it—not having pronounced a word since his arrival. She considered him carefully from the corner of her eye as she took up the telephone; but her personal emotion was too buoyant for trivial interruptions. Stigler, her manager, was out, and she put down the receiver with a jar of impatience. She looked at Beecher again, and, perceiving that there was an explanation due, sought at once to shift the responsibility. "Do you know, really, you were ridiculously alarmed last night," she said, a spirit of opposition in her voice. "I don’t know what made you so panicky." "Of course," he said sarcastically, "I realize now that I should never have stirred you up, when everything was so calm. It’s strange that I did not explain to you the natural reasons for Mr. Garraboy’s not calling you up—but then, I usually lose my head at such times." "You are angry!" she said. "What a strange idea! On the contrary, it was a charming experience to enter Mr. Garraboy’s office and be so delightfully reassured that everything was so prosperous with him." She did not like irony, or know how to combat it, so she frowned and said: "I telephoned you." "Why should you do that? You might have deprived me of the pleasure of meeting your charming friend, Mr. Garraboy."