Belfry. Well, The sketch was good; I liked it and the man. The play was good, too--better than the stuff We're acting; but I saw how out of it, Instead of something that would crown his fame---- Sir T. The poet's? Belfry. Yes, the poet's! Out of his play, That might have been a stage-mark for a brace Of centuries or so, I saw there could be shaped A popular success to overrun The English-speaking world for just two years, Extract a ton of money, and be forgotten For ever after: which is what we want. Sir T. Indubitably. Belfry. A commodious hack I keep, transferred the scene, the folk, to Spain From England, changed the age, and vulgarized The whole. The trick was done; the money flows. Sir T. And what about the poet? Belfry. He trusted me; He has no claim. Sir T. I think the law---- Belfry. We all Risk that. Sir T. You shameful Yankee salesman! Play Your tricks elsewhere. Belfry. Don't hear you; business first. Sir T. I've some here to attend to. Will you join The others on the stage? No? Well; good night. Belfry. I'll have your theatre yet! [Goes out.] Sir T. Never. Good night. [Re-enter Abbot with Boulder.] Are you the gallery? Boulder. I am, Sir Tristram. Sir T. What did it? Is there anything to tell? Boulder. There is, Sir Tristram. Sir T. Tell it, please. Boulder. Before The curtain fell I saw a woman's head, A lady's, on the stair. Sir T. What do you mean? Boulder. It seemed to rest upon the topmost step From where I stood and watched. Abbot. The lady climbed No further than the middle of the stair-- That's what he means, I think. Her head Appeared just in the entrance. Boulder. My meaning, sir. The palest face I ever saw: her eyeballs Turned about and showed the whites; she gasped For breath and drew a deep one. While I watched, Wondering what might be right, her eyes came down, Dull, dead, and horrible, and she hissed like hell. Then everybody hissed. I hissed myself. I beg your pardon: I could no more keep From hissing than I could from crying out When once a dervish stabbed me at Khartoum. The gallery felt the same; I asked those near What set them on it, and they said they heard A hideous hiss that made them hiss like hell. Sir T. So. And the lady? Boulder. Vanished into space. Sir T. Or down the stair. You knew her? Boulder. No, Sir Tristram. Sir T. Of course; your first night here. Boulder. I couldn't help The hissing. Like something in a battle, hiss It went and everybody hissed. Sir T. No need To trouble; I conceive the thing. Boulder. We hissed Because we couldn't help it.