A slight fantasy- more Nathan than Priestley save for the flare of things theatrical and a faint savor of the Dickens of The Christmas Carol. The Scrooge of the story is an embittered, disillusioned playwright, Cheveril, who insists that the theatre is done for, that his cynicism in the Third Act of a play to be produced in the famous Old Theatre Royal of Barton Spa is justified, and who refuses even to see an eager young actress pleading for an interview. A doctor gives him a drug to relax his nerves, and for a few hours Choveril is translated into another century; time and space and characters play out their parts in a reality that is more real to him than life itself. Through Jonny Villiers and her brief and tragic career Cheveril finds that the theatre can never die, and that he is still able to give it another chance. An eerie story- in the Berkeley Square tradition- told with elusive charm despite its blurred outline, which however is in keeping with the quality of the story itself.