“This is rather a lark,” said Sir John, recovering.

“It is,” said Edward Henry, who now felicitously perceived that a lark it indeed was, and ought to be treated as such.  “It shall be a lark!” he said to himself.

Sir John dictated a letter to Miss Taft, and before the letter was finished the grinning Chung had laid a place for Edward Henry, and Snip had inspected him and passed him for one of the right sort.

“Had I said that this is rather a lark?” Sir John inquired, the letter accomplished.

“I forget,” said Edward Henry.

“Because I don’t like to say the same thing twice over if I can help it.  It is a lark though, isn’t it?”

“Undoubtedly,” said Edward Henry, decapitating an egg.  “I only hope that I’m not interrupting you.”

“Not in the least,” said Sir John.  “Breakfast is my sole free time.  In another half hour I assure you I shall be attending to three or four things at once.”  He leant over towards Edward Henry.  “But between you and me, Alderman, quite privately, if it isn’t a rude question, what did you come for?”

“Well,” said Edward Henry, “as I wrote on my card, I’m the sole proprietor of the Regent Theatre—­”

“But there is no Regent Theatre,” Sir John interrupted him.

“No.  Not strictly.  But there will be.  It’s in course of construction.  We’re up to the first floor.”

“Dear me!  A suburban theatre, no doubt?”

“Do you mean to say, Sir John,” cried Edward Henry, “that you haven’t noticed it?  It’s within a few yards of Piccadilly Circus.”

“Really!” said Sir John.  “You see my theatre is in Lower Regent Street and I never go to Piccadilly Circus.  I make a point of not going to Piccadilly Circus.  Miss Taft, how long is it since I went to Piccadilly Circus?  Forgive me, young woman, I was forgetting—­you aren’t old enough to remember.  Well, never mind details....  And what is there remarkable about the Regent Theatre, Alderman?”

“I intend it to be a theatre of the highest class, Sir John,” said Edward Henry.  “Nothing but the very best will be seen on its boards.”

“That’s not remarkable, Alderman.  We’re all like that.  Haven’t you noticed it?”

“Then secondly,” said Edward Henry, “I am the sole proprietor.  I have no financial backers, no mortgages, no partners.  I have made no contracts with anybody.”

“That,” said Sir John, “is not unremarkable.  In fact many persons who do not happen to possess my own robust capacity for belief might not credit your statement.”

“And thirdly,” said Edward Henry, “every member of the audience—­even in the boxes, the most expensive seats—­will have a full view of the whole of the stage—­or, in the alternative, at matinees, a full view of a lady’s hat.”

“Alderman,” said Sir John, gravely, “before I offer you another egg, let me warn you against carrying remarkableness too far.  You may be regarded as eccentric if you go on like that.  Some people, I am told, don’t want a view of the stage.”