Following the reading there was a small party, thrown by the Management and thrown with a good deal of quiet splendour. It was held in the circle foyer with the bar in full array. The barman wore a snowy white shirt, flamboyant waistcoat and gold albert. There was a pot-boy with his sleeves rolled up to his shoulders like the one in Our Mutual Friend. The waiters were conventionally dressed but with slightly Victorian emphasis. Champagne in brassbound ice buckets stood along the mahogany bar and the flowers, exclusively, were crimson roses set in fern leaves.

Mr Greenslade was the host. Apart from the Company, Jeremy, Winter Morris, the publicity agents and the stage director and his assistant, there were six personages of startling importance from the worlds of theatre finance, the Press and what Mr Morris, wide-eyed, described as ‘the sort you can’t, socially speaking, look any higher than.’ From a remark let fall by Mr Greenslade, Peregrine was led to suppose that behind their presence could be discerned the figure of Mr Conducis who, of course, did not attend. Indeed it was clear from the conversation of the most exalted of the guests that Mr Conducis was perfectly well-known to be the presiding genius of The Dolphin.

‘A new departure for V. M. C.’ this personage said. ‘We were all astonished,’ (who were ‘we’?) ‘Still, like the rest of us, one supposes, he must have his toys.’

Peregrine wondered if it would have been possible for him to have heard a more innocently offensive comment.

‘It’s a matter of life and death to us,’ he said. The personage looked at him with amusement.

‘Is it really?’ he said. ‘Well, yes. I can see that it is. I hope all goes well. But I am still surprised by the turn of V. M. C.’s fancy. I didn’t think he had any fancies.’

‘I don’t really know him,’ said Peregrine.

‘Which of us does?’ the personage rejoined. ‘He’s a legend in his own lifetime and the remarkable thing about that is: the legend is perfectly accurate.’ Well-content with this aphorism he chuckled and passed superbly on leaving an aftermath of cigar, champagne and the very best unguents for the Man.

‘If I were to become as fabulously rich as that,’ Peregrine wondered, ‘would I turn into just such another? Can it be avoided?’

He found himself alongside Emily Dunne who helped in Jeremy’s shop and was to play Joan Hart in The Glove. She had got the part by audition and on her own performance, which Peregrine had seen, of Hermia in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. She had a pale face with dark eyes and a welcoming mouth. He thought she looked very intelligent and liked her voice which was deepish.

‘Have you got some champagne?’ asked Peregrine, ‘and would you like something to eat?’