Thanks to Ford's timely advance he was back in his
old rooms in Fitzroy Street. All was as it had been. He was working at his
play every evening, waiting for Rose's footsteps on the stairs. And yet a
change had come into his life! He believed now that his feet were set on
the way to fortune--that he would soon be happy.
He stared at the bright flame of the lamp, he listened to the silence. The
clock chimed sharply, and the windows were growing grey. Hubert had begun
to drowse in his chair; but he had promised to rewrite the young girl's
part, Ford having definitely refused to intrust Rose with the part of the
adventuress. He was sorry for this. He believed that Rose had not only
talent, but genius. Besides, they were friends, neighbours; he would like
to give her a chance of distinguishing herself--the chance which she was
seeking. All the time he could not but realise that, however he might
accentuate and characterise the part of the sentimental girl, Rose would
not be able to do much with it. To bring out her special powers something
strange, wild, or tragic was required. But of what use thinking of what was
not to be? Having made some alterations and additions he folded his papers
up, and addressed them to Miss Massey.
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