He lunched with her at her club in Dover Street, and then they taxied
to the Kingsway.
The door-keeper, the only living creature in the building, saving
themselves, seemed to share in the general depression hanging over
everything--the great, empty front of the house with its gloomy,
cavernous boxes and grim, grey gallery--the dark, dismal flies--the
chilly wings--all hushed and still, and impregnated with the sense of
desertion. But with this man beside her, who, she knew, would do
anything he could to help, the place did not look quite so bad to
Gladys as it had done the day before. There was a ray of light now
where, before, ebon blackness had prevailed.
Without delay Gladys rang up the Indian attendants on the telephone,
and occupied the time prior to their arrival by describing to Shiel
how each of the tricks was done.
Her pupil proved far more able than she had anticipated. After several
rehearsals he was able to go through the whole performance without a
hitch.
When they had finished, Gladys stretched out her hand impulsively. "I
don't know how to thank you enough," she said. "You are a brick, and
if only you do half as well this evening as you have done now, we
shall get on swimmingly--that is to say, as well as we can expect,
until we can arrange a fresh programme. If only you were an inventor!"
"If only I were. If only I had money!"
"Why, what would you do?" Gladys asked curiously.
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