When at last he paused, he was outside a theatre.

The name of Ibsen occupied a prominent place upon the boards.

From somewhere among the hidden cells of his memory came a glimmering recollection--a word or two read at random, an impression, only half understood, yet the germ of which had survived.

Ibsen! A prophet of truth, surely! He looked eagerly down the placard for the announcements and the prices of admission.

And then a sudden cold douche of memory descended upon his new enthusiasms.
There was Ellen!.