They caught up their hats and hurried each other silently out of the room.
And that was the beginning of a success in life that realized all Don's dreams. Polk had found "something" in his "Winter"; he had found, in fact, the promise which the years were to develop, and he took the process of development in hand. The story of Don's progress has already been followed by the dramatic critics—to various conclusions, for they are still uncertain whether he is "a possible successor to the Shakespeare of 'The Tempest' and 'The Midsummer Night's Dream,'" or only "an emasculated lyric-opera librettist with a disordered fancy and a naturalistic technique." He says himself, to Margaret: "I don't know—and I don't care—what I am. At one time I thought I was a fool—because everyone else thought so. Now they tell me I'm a genius—and, naturally, I 'ha' ma doots.'" In either case, he has found himself; he has found his work; he is happy.
He has kept his promise to Miss Morris. She came back from San Francisco to play the lead in "The Magic Ring," and she made her name in it. When she married Kuffman, she was already known as the most beautiful woman on the American stage"; Kuffman has worked all the oracles to make her famous, and though some of the critics still complain that she is stiff, the public is convinced that she is a great and classical tragedienne. To Don she has become a somewhat pathetic puzzle. Her husband worships her—worships her "like a graven image" as Bert Pittsey says. It was Pittsey who nicknamed the pair "Pygmalion and
