He explained the cause of his delay. His English was without accent, but at times suddenly entangled itself in curious Gallic constructions.

“Then I propose we begin at once,” he announced. “The second act tonight, then, if we have time, the third act⁠—from the book. And I expect the second act to be letter-perfect⁠—let‑ter-per‑fect. There is nothing there but that.” He held up his hand, as if to refuse to consider the least dissention. “There is nothing but that⁠—no other thing.”

All but Corthell listened attentively. The artist, however, turning his back, had continued to talk to Laura without lowering his tone, and all through Monsieur Gerardy’s exhortation his voice had made itself heard. “Management of light and shade”⁠ ⁠… “color scheme”⁠ ⁠… “effects of composition.”

Monsieur Gerardy’s eye glinted in his direction. He struck his playbook sharply into the palm of his hand.