When Sally left Detroit on the following Saturday, accompanied byFillmore, who was returning to the metropolis for a few days in order tosecure offices and generally make his presence felt along Broadway, herspirits had completely recovered. She felt guiltily that she had beenfanciful, even morbid. Naturally men wanted to get on in the world. Itwas their job. She told herself that she was bound up with Gerald'ssuccess, and that the last thing of which she ought to complain was theenergy he put into efforts of which she as well as he would reap thereward.

　　To this happier frame of mind the excitement of the last few days hadcontributed. Detroit, that city of amiable audiences, had liked "ThePrimrose Way." The theatre, in fulfilment of Teddy's prophecy, had beenallowed to open on the Tuesday, and a full house, hungry forentertainment after its enforced abstinence, had welcomed the playwholeheartedly. The papers, not always in agreement with the applauseof a first-night audience, had on this occasion endorsed the verdict,with agreeable unanimity hailing Gerald as the coming author and ElsaDoland as the coming star. There had even been a brief mention ofFillmore as the coming manager. But there is always some trifle thatjars in our greatest moments, and Fillmore's triumph had been almostspoilt by the fact that the only notice taken of Gladys Winch was by thecritic who printed her name--spelt Wunch--in the list of those whom thecast "also included.""One of the greatest character actresses on the stage," said Fillmorebitterly, talking over this outrage with Sally on the morning after theproduction.

　　From this blow, however, his buoyant nature had soon enabled him torally. Life contained so much that was bright that it would have beenchurlish to concentrate the attention on the one dark spot. Business hadbeen excellent all through the week. Elsa Doland had got better at everyperformance. The receipt of a long and agitated telegram from Mr.

　　Cracknell, pleading to be allowed to buy the piece back, the passage oftime having apparently softened Miss Hobson, was a pleasant incident.

　　And, best of all, the great Ike Schumann, who owned half the theatres inNew York and had been in Detroit superintending one of his musicalproductions, had looked in one evening and stamped "The Primrose Way"with the seal of his approval. As Fillmore sat opposite Sally on thetrain, he radiated contentment and importance.

　　"Yes, do," said Sally, breaking a long silence.

　　Fillmore awoke from happy dreams.

　　"Eh?""I said 'Yes, do.' I think you owe it to your position.""Do what?""Buy a fur coat. Wasn't that what you were meditating about?""Don't be a chump," said Fillmore, blushing nevertheless. It was truethat once or twice during the past week he had toyed negligently, as Mr.

　　Bunbury would have said, with the notion, and why not? A fellow mustkeep warm.