'Mr Voke is not my father, sir.'

Buckmaster was surprised. 'Really? Did my eyes deceive me?'

'It's true that he has been like a father to me in some ways,' said the other, nervously, 'especially since his own son deserted the business, but we are in no way related. Mr Voke is my employer.'

'Ah, I see. And what form does that employment take?'

'We are silversmiths.'

It took a long time to draw him out. Hugh Kellow had clearly never met any Thespians before. Arresting upon any stage, Buckmaster and Kate were positively overwhelming in the smaller confines of a railway carriage, albeit one on the broader gauge of just over seven feet. The silversmith was uneasy and tongue-tied at first. He sat in the corner with an arm looped protectively around his bag. They slowly won his confidence, eliciting his name and destination from him. It was almost half an hour before he had the courage to look Kate full in the face. Buckmaster resorted to flattery.

'You have never trod the boards, I take it?' he began.

'No, sir,' replied Kellow, modestly. 'I've been to a few Penny Gaffs in London but that is all.'

Kate snorted. 'Contemptible places!'

'They provide a service, my love,' said Buckmaster, tolerantly. 'What they can never do, of course, is to reach the heights to which we soar. While they offer base amusement for the uneducated, we deal in true art, profound drama that can reach into the very soul of those privileged to watch.' He studied Kellow. 'Unless I am mistaken, you could have the makings of a fine actor.

'Not me, sir,' protested the silversmith. 'I lack any talent.'

'You have a good voice and a handsome face, two necessary attributes of any actor. If you can master the craft of a silversmith, you obviously have the dedication needed to train for the stage.' He looked across at Kate. 'Do you not agree?'