Then I'm old-fashioned. I hate leaving things to the last
moment; but seemingly there's only one proper moment in these
theatrical affairs, and that's the very last. I'm afraid there'd be
too much trusting in providence for my taste. I believe in trusting
in providence, but I can't bear to see providence overworked. And
I've never even tried to be intellectual, and I'm a bit frightened of
poetry plays--"
"But you've not read my play!" Carlo Trent mutteringly protested.
"That is so," admitted Edward Henry.
"Will you read it?"
"Mr. Trent," said Edward Henry, "I'm not so young as I was."
"We're ruined!" sighed Rose Euclid, with a tragic gesture.
"Ruined?" Edward Henry took her up smiling. "Nobody is ruined who
knows where he can get a square meal. Do you mean to tell me you don't
know where you're going to lunch to-morrow?" And he looked hard at
her.
It was a blow. She blenched under it.
"Oh, yes," she said, with her giggle, "I know that."
("Well you just don't!" he answered her in his heart. "You think
you're going to lunch with John Pilgrim. And you aren't. And it serves
you right!")
"Besides," he continued aloud, "how can you say you're ruined when I'm
making you a present of something that I paid L100 for?"
"But where am I to find the other half of the money--L2250?" she burst
out. "We were depending absolutely on you for it.
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