The dream-maker man

In a richly paneled drawing‑room, an imperious Marchesa presides over a tedious literary recital, her sharp tongue flinging witty barbs at the canon of Carlyle, Macaulay, and Swinburne. Miss Wayne, a modestly appointed young woman, reads aloud while the Marchesa’s faded aristocratic poise oscillates between bored disdain and sudden amusement. The dialogue crackles with dry humor, turning a simple reading into a battle of wit and lingering nostalgia for a world that has already slipped away.

When the reading ends, the Marchesa invites Miss Wayne to stay, offering tea, sherry, and a curious promise that the old lady’s eccentricities may conceal a deeper talent—she claims to be a “dream‑maker,” a woman who can shape reality through charm rather than fact. As the young woman hesitates, the audience senses an undercurrent of mystery: what sort of wishes does the Marchesa fulfill, and what price might they bear? The opening sets a tone of elegant absurdity, hinting that the seemingly mundane encounter could spiral into a series of uncanny errands that test both characters’ perceptions of truth and desire.