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As she had explained, she had nothing to wear, and was therefore obliged to fall back on the final resource of every woman in her state. For in this connection "nothing to wear" signified "nothing except my black silk" at any rate in the Five Towns. "Mr. Marrier my wife. Nellie, this is Mr. Marrier." Mr. Marrier was profuse: no other word would describe his demeanour.
Among the exciting mail which Marrier had collected for him from the Grand Babylon and elsewhere, was the following letter: "BUCKINGHAM PALACE HOTEL. "DEAR FRIEND, We are all so proud of you. I should like some time to finish our interrupted conversation. Will you come and have lunch with me one day here at 1.30? You needn't write. I know how busy you are. Just telephone you are coming.
The upturned lights and the ringing hosannahs had roused him to a full sense of sin, but he had not quite recovered all his faculties when Marrier startled him. "Yes, yes! Of course! I was coming," he answered a little petulantly. But no petulance could impair the beaming optimism on Mr. Harrier's features. To judge by those features, Mr.
"Right!" said Mr. Marrier. "Strike!" "Don't strike!" contradicted Carlo Trent. "Strike, I tell you! We must get on with the second act." The voices resounded queerly in the empty theatre. The stage was invaded by scene-shifters before the curtain could descend again. Edward Henry heard a tripping step behind him. It was the faithful typewriting girl. "I say," he said.
A line of waiting automobiles began a couple of yards to the north of the main doors and continued round all sorts of dark corners and up all manner of back streets towards Golden Square itself. Marrier had had the automobiles counted and had told him the number, but such was Edward Henry's condition that he had forgotten.
His assured optimism slipped away from him. He grew uneasy, darkly preoccupied, and inefficient. At last, when the clock in the room struck four, and Edward Henry failed to hear it, Mr. Marrier said: "I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to excuse me now." "Why?" "I told you I had an appointment for tea at four." "Did you? What is it?"
A man in a dirty white apron drew back the heavy mass of the curtain about eighteen inches, and Carlo Trent stepping forward, the glare of the footlights suddenly lit his white face. The applause, now multiplied fivefold and become deafening, seemed to beat him back against the curtain. His lips worked. He did not bow. "Cam back, you fool!" whispered Marrier.
"Evidently!" Edward Henry concurred. "But shall you have to give up any other engagement in order to take charge of The Muses' Theatre? Because if so " Mr. Marrier replied: "No." Edward Henry observed: "Oh!" "But," said Marrier, reassuringly, "if necessary I would throw up any engagement you understand me, any in favour of The Intellectual Theatah as I prefer to call it.
Marrier's authority forced a way. The first man Edward Henry recognized in the tumult of bodies was Mr. Rollo Wrissell, whom he had not seen since their meeting at Slossons. "Mr. Wrissell," said the glowing Marrier, "let me introduce Mr. Alderman Machin, of the Regent Theatah." "Clumsy fool!" thought Edward Henry, and stood as if entranced. But Mr.
Edward Henry and Mr. Marrier worked together admirably that afternoon on the arrangements for the corner-stone-laying. Characteristically, Mr. Marrier happened to have a list or catalogue of all London in his pocket, and Edward Henry appreciated him more than ever. But towards four o'clock Mr. Marrier annoyed and even somewhat alarmed Edward Henry by a mysterious change of mien.
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