"And will it be any worse a play because you act a small part in it?"
"No," she said shortly.
"I expect you think it's a play that people ought to go and see, don't
you?"
"I do, Mr. Socrates," she admitted.
He wondered what she could mean, but continued:
"What does it matter what it is that brings the audience into the
theatre, so long as they get there and have to listen?"
She sighed.
"It's no use discussing with you," she murmured. "You're too simple
for this world. I daresay you're honest enough--in fact, I think you
are--but there are so many things that you don't understand. You're
evidently incapable of understanding them."
"Thanks!" he replied, and paused to recover his self-possession. "But
let's get right down to business now. If you'll appear in this play
I'll not merely give you two hundred pounds a week, but I'll explain
to you how to get arrested and still arrive in triumph in London
before midnight on Sunday."
She recoiled a step and raised her eyes.
"How?" she demanded, as with a pistol.
"Ah!" he said. "That's just it. How? Will you promise?"
"I've thought of everything," she said musingly. "If the last day was
any day but Sunday I could get arrested on landing and get bailed
out and still be in London before night. But on Sunday--no--! So you
needn't talk like that."
"Still," he said, "it can be done.
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