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Updated: June 15, 2025
He wanted to be alone by himself for a day or two in a place where there were no papers with advertisements of revues, no grill-rooms, and, above all, no Miss Billy Verepoint. That night he stole away to a Norfolk village, where, in happier days, he had once spent a Summer holiday a peaceful, primitive place where the inhabitants could not have told real revue from a corking effect.
"Very well, then," said Miss Verepoint, rightly interpreting this behavior as his final pronouncement on the situation. "Then everything's jolly well off." She swept out of the room, the two authors following in her wake like porpoises behind a liner. Roland went to his bureau, unlocked it and took out a bundle of documents.
Over the little lunch with which she kindly allowed Roland to entertain her, to celebrate the purchase of the theater, Miss Verepoint outlined her policy. "What we must put up at that theater," she announced, "is a revue. A revue," repeated Miss Verepoint, making, as she spoke, little calculations on the back of the menu, "we could run for about fifteen hundred a week or, say, two thousand."
The talented pair appeared to be unaware of Roland's existence. Miss Verepoint struck the business note. "Now you stop, boys," she said. "Tie weights to yourselves and sink down into those chairs. I want you two lads to write a revue for me." "Delighted!" said Bromham Rhodes; "but " "There is the trifling point to be raised first " said R. P. de Parys.
All my friends say, 'Billy Verepoint's a funny girl: if she likes any one she just tells them so straight out; and if she doesn't like any one she tells them straight out, too." "And a very admirable trait," said Roland, enthusiastically. Miss Verepoint sighed. "P'raps it is," she said pensively, "but I'm afraid it's what has kept me back in my profession.
"You don't mind my going on about my troubles, do you?" asked Miss Verepoint, solicitously. "One so seldom meets anybody really sympathetic." Roland babbled fervent assurances, and she pressed his hand gratefully. "I wonder if you would care to come to tea one afternoon," she said. "Oh, rather!" said Roland. He would have liked to put it in a more polished way but he was almost beyond speech.
Yes, I feel sure that rebuilding the Windsor would be your best course." There was a pause. "What do you think, Roly-poly?" asked Miss Verepoint, as Roland made no sign. "Nothing would delight me more than to rebuild the Windsor, or to take another theater, or do anything else to oblige," he said, cheerfully. "Unfortunately, I have no more money to burn."
Miss Verepoint fought with her growing indignation, and lost. "What about the salaries of the people who have been rehearsing all this time?" she demanded. "I'm sorry that they should be out of an engagement, but it is scarcely my fault. However, I propose to give each of them a month's salary. I can manage that, I think." Miss Verepoint rose. "And what about me?
It was about this time that Roland proposed to Miss Verepoint. The passage of time and the strain of talking over the revue had to a certain extent moderated his original fervor. He had shaded off from a passionate devotion, through various diminishing tints of regard for her, into a sort of pale sunset glow of affection.
I want to talk to him." That was Roland's first introduction to Miss Billy Verepoint. "I've been wanting to have a chat with you all the evening, Mr. Bleke," she said, as Roland blushingly sank into the empty chair. "I've heard such a lot about you." What Miss Verepoint had heard about Roland was that he had two hundred thousand pounds and apparently did not know what to do with it.
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