It had no
application, in the compromise of practice; it didn't apply even to
his play, which he was conscious he had already outlived and as to
which he foresaw that, in the coming weeks, frequent alarm would
alternate, in his spirit, with frequent esteem. When he went down to
the dusky daylit theatre (it arched over him like the temple of fame)
Mr. Loder, who was as charming as Mrs. Alsager had announced, struck
him as the genius of hospitality. The manager began to explain why,
for so long, he had given no sign; but that was the last thing that
interested Wayworth now, and he could never remember afterwards what
reasons Mr. Loder had enumerated. He liked, in the whole business of
discussion and preparation, even the things he had thought he should
probably dislike, and he revelled in those he had thought he should
like. He watched Miss Violet Grey that evening with eyes that sought
to penetrate her possibilities. She certainly had a few; they were
qualities of voice and face, qualities perhaps even of intelligence;
he sat there at any rate with a fostering, coaxing attention,
repeating over to himself as convincingly as he could that she was
not common--a circumstance all the more creditable as the part she
was playing seemed to him desperately so.
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