gentlemen who want to produce themselves in public by lime-light, and to other ladies and gentlemen who are bored and stupid and don't know what to do with their evening. It's a commercial and social convenience which may be infinitely worked. But important artistically, intellectually? How can it be—so poor, so limited a form?"
"Dear me, it strikes me as so rich, so various! Do you think it's poor and limited, Nick?" Sherringham added, appealing to his kinsman.
"I think whatever Nash thinks. I have no opinion to-day but his."
This answer of Nick Dormer's drew the eyes of his mother and sisters to him, and caused his friend to exclaim that he was not used to such responsibilities, so few people had ever tested his presence of mind by agreeing with him.
"Oh, I used to be of your way of feeling," Nash said to Sherringham. "I understand you perfectly. It's a phase like another. I've been through it—j'ai été comme ça."
"And you went, then, very often to the Théâtre Français, and it was there I saw you. I place you now."
"I'm afraid I noticed none of the other spectators," Nash explained. "I had no attention but for the great Carré—she was still on the stage. Judge of my infatuation, and how I can allow for yours, when I tell you that I sought her acquaintance, that I couldn't rest till I had told her that I hung upon her lips."
"That's just what I told her," returned Sherringham.
"She was very kind to me. She said, 'Vous me rendez des forces.'"
