Il 
 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE 
 
 Joseph Whitmore Barry 
 dramatic library 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 TWO FRIENDS 
 
 OF Cornell University 
 1934 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 5182.L6 1905 
 
 Letty, an original drama in four acts and 
 
 3 1924 013 536 523 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 3536523 
 
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---:_^-0 PLAY. 
 
 . a » 
 
 GREAT SUCCESS AT THE DUKE 
 OE YORK'S THEATRE. 
 
 CAST. 
 
 Kevin Letchmere Mr. H. E. Irving 
 
 Ivor Crosbio Mr. Ivo Diiwtod 
 
 Coppluger Drake Mr. Dorrington Grimston 
 
 Bprnari Mandeville Mr. Fred Kerr 
 
 Blchard Perrj- Mr. Dion Bouclciult 
 
 Nealo (A Commercial Travelier) ....Mr. Ciiarlea Troode 
 Ordish (Agent for ati InBurance Companv) 
 
 Mr. (ieraiu RobertBtiaw 
 
 Ifnirt^ (Mr. ti*?1rtimere'3 Servant) Mr. Clayton Greene 
 
 PrMdrIc) (A Maltro d'nOtei M. Bdouard Oarceail 
 
 "H'ters Mr. W. H. nilsh aod Mr. Waiter Hark 
 
 Mrs. Ivor Crosble Mis.<) Sarali Brooke 
 
 Lclty Sliell Mis3 Irene Vanl-.ragh 
 
 Marlon Allardj-oo Miss Beatrice Forbes Robertson 
 
 (Two Cierks at Dupdale's) 
 Hilda Ounnlns (An Assistant at Madame Watldns's) 
 
 Mies Nancy Price 
 A Lady's-maid Miss May Onslow 
 
 The eagsrly expected production of Mr. 
 Piuero's n<?w play, " Lctty," at the Duk© of 
 York's took place last night undor ciroum- 
 stancies of unusual distinction. The play 
 itself is remarkable, even among Mr. 
 Pinero's plays; and the enorttious success 
 of Mr. H. B. Irving and Miss Irene Van- 
 brugh in ' the principal parts produced 
 something approaching to a sensation. 
 The plot of the drama is, indeed, in some 
 ways one of the strangest that has ever been 
 presented to a modern audience. 
 
 In the first act we are introduced to Nevill 
 Letchmere, who is awaiting in his rooms a 
 visit from Letty, who is to be accompanied 
 Ijy two friends. Letchmere's sister-in-law, 
 Mrs. Ivor Crosbie, comes to tell him that 
 she is in trouble with her husband on ac- 
 count of her intimacy with Coppinger 
 Drake. She is obliged to dismiss Drake, 
 but has consented to dine with him on the 
 night of his departure; and, with an instinct 
 of self-preservation, as she is going away 
 she asks her brother to accompany her. 
 i The three "young ladies" then come, but 
 I the proposed bii-thday festivity in Letty's 
 honour ia spoiled by a sudden fainting 
 ' attack. While the other girls are attending 
 her in another room, Letchmere receives a 
 visit from Mr. Mandeville, Letty's employer, 
 a vulgar (3ad, who has obviously designs on 
 the girl, and ie jealous of Letchmere's friend- 
 ship for her. 
 
 The second act (jpens with a friendly tea 
 
 party given by oae of the " young ladies " 
 
 on the roof of her lodsinsrs to three young 
 
 . ....... ..., — '".,;•; -'"i^sfarity reigns, 
 
 blended of 
 
sirimps and eaiiisa«'« nsug- j 
 
 But we find that ccor .n^stiw is.sm ax:. ■;.,»■)=-} 
 quieting news fro::i z.z: cic,;™ ;;_..;; - -. » 
 health, and she stays apart from the others. 
 She ie joined by Letchmere, with whom she | 
 has a painful interview, as he advises her 
 to many her employer if shecan, and admits 
 that h© himself is married, although sepa- 
 rated from hie wife. As he goes away Man- 
 devillo apijears, and definitely proposes 
 marriafje; and Letty, in the pain of her dis- 
 appointment about Letchmere, and be&anse 
 she is ill and in debt, brings herself to ac- 
 cept his revolting offer of marriage. They 
 eeparate with, an appointment for a supper 
 party the 6amo evening at the Caf^ 
 E^genoe. 
 
 In the third act we 9e<e the ending of Ivor 
 Crosbie's dinner party of three and the be- 
 ginning of Mr. Mandeville'e eupper party. 
 B.y an accident they taVe place in the aame 
 private room, and NeviU Letchmei'e, as he 
 is leaving, is tempted to desert his sister 
 and stay to watch Letty with her noisy 
 friends. He makes one of the party; but 
 Mandevilie becomes intoxicated at the eud 
 and has a brawl with the manager. Under 
 cover of this Letchmere implores Letty to 
 come and live with him, as she cannot 
 endure the prospect of union with Mande- 
 vilie. He makes an appointment for ber 
 to return to his roonjs ae soon as Mande; 
 ville has seen her home. 
 
 THE QUE AT SCENE. 
 
 In the fourth act is the most powerful 
 scene in the play— that between this girl 
 who has come to give herself and the liber- 
 tine who loves her. They are neither of 
 thoin really happy in this proposed consnm- 
 mation; the curious quality of their pas- 
 sion — at once cold and burning, steely and 
 fiery— makes that impossible. 
 
 But while they are still making plans for 
 happiness Letchmere receives a note from 
 hia sister informing him that she has, after 
 all, decided to run away with Drake. It 
 is quite consistent with Letchmere's charac- 
 ter that this should shock him, for he has 
 loved his sister, and she has hitherto kept 
 hei-self free from the reproach of all his 
 family — the reproach of being a "rotten, 
 bad lot." And while h© is still shocked by 
 the news of her fall and the sense that he, 
 by leaving her at a critical moment, may 
 have had some hand in it, Letty seizes the 
 chance to offer him, as it were, salvation 
 from the family 5tain by saving her honour 
 — by forcing him to be good to a women ' 
 for onoe. In the condition to which he is ' 
 wrought up the sacrifice ia possible for him, > 
 and he makes it. She leaves him and re- 
 turns to her lodgings. 
 
 It is at this point in his drama that Mr. 
 Pinero solves the psychological difficulty 
 into which he hni brought his heroine and 
 himself by donlintr the audience what oau" 
 only bo desrribed as a f-liidge-hammer blow. ' 
 For he presents 
 perfectly amazint _ . } 
 
„„.,...,„,,,^ .,.-10 MiiisMiBGrrant yoting men 
 1.'.^^ — -^ i.i»o Diivjij ^iiis was an insignifi- 
 cant pliotogiapher, Perry ;■' a clownish and 
 grotesque person who seemed then to be 
 merely a piece of incidental furniture to 
 the scene. And it is to this person that in | 
 the epilogu* we find Letty married. L«tty, j 
 who had been pale and passionate, stormy j 
 and spiritual, grown suddenly plump and 
 buxom and commonplace — the wife of a 
 grotesque photographer. 
 
 One can hardly conceivo anything more 
 brutal and, one feels bound to add, in- 
 artistic. We had seen this girl in a per- 
 fectly natural and inevitable dilemma; she 
 was importuned to marry an ineffable 
 " bounder " with whom marriage for her 
 would have been hell; she loves and ie loved 
 by a man whom she cannot marry, and wo 
 aro asked to accept as a result that she mar- 
 ries a third person, hitherto insignificant, 
 marriage with whom had never even been 
 thought of before. And we are asked also 
 to believe that such a sordid development 
 is a happy and human one for Letty. That 
 it might poesibly hapnen in real life is all 
 i that can be said in defence of such a story ; 
 I but a feebler defence for a piece of dramatic 
 Art could hardly be conceived. 
 
 The fabric of the play itself has Mr. 
 Pinoro's inimitable cleverness and bril- 
 liancy. His is a kind of inversion of Sheri- 
 dan's art; ho takes a group of slangy, 
 " smart, simple, and vulgar people, throws 
 two passionate characters in relief against 
 'them, and sets the whole fabric glittering 
 and scintillating with wit. Like Sheridan's, 
 Mr. Pinero's plays are always plays of 
 manner; only where Sheridan's were the 
 comedies of good manners, Mr. Pinero's are 
 ! often the dramas of bad manners; and the 
 1 resultant artistic effect is for that all the 
 ;more remarkable. 
 
 ' It will be so«i that much of tho interest 
 of the play depends on the character of 
 Letohmere; and in this the admirable art 
 of Mr. H. B. Irving shines indeed. He ia 
 jone of the very few actors who can coM- 
 Ibine the most elaborate technique with an 
 j appea/ancs© of simplicity and naturalnees. 
 'But just as tho character grows and 
 IstrongtheBs and develops in his hands, so 
 ,t:he shock to the audience is the more grose 
 iwhen we suddenly find this fine character 
 ! extinguished, only to reappear as a man 
 who IS going away to die. Ho dies for no 
 human Or dramatic reason; he dios simply 
 because Mt. Pinero does not know what to 
 do with him, 
 
 t Miss Irene Vanbfugh made a wonderful 
 study of the not wholly attractive Character 
 of Letty, The lights and shadows of 
 temperament, the tremors of doubt and re- 
 solve, the transient struggles of the soul— 
 these she renders most sensitively and ex- 
 quisitely; but her love ie never a simple, 
 warm, primitive emotion; it is a bleached 
 passion, with more of bitterness in it than 
 • ■ . . -- passion of a 
 
 — -■ — lappily mar- 
 f the woman 
 
who would 6ttve takr r- :; ■,:: :, ;.r~ ; . 
 The scene In the 
 
 fully good, and clir- - - 
 
 tneri'imont, and th« ituittiiiuii ut a w«ii- 
 known London restaurant, even to the ehape 
 j of th« wine-g;la6S<?s and the manner of tne 
 ; niS,itro d'hotel, is extremely cleve*'. 
 j The whole Cast is an admirable cn». It 
 ' is essentially an actor's play, and e sentially 
 ■ a play for Mr. Irving and Miss Vanbrugh, 
 
 'LETTY'PROFODIIDLY 
 INTERESTS LONDON 
 
 «. 
 
 Mr. Pinero's New Play Brings Forth 
 
 Extended Comment and Press 
 %j^^^ Criticism, s^ ^^i^ 
 
 A TRUE PENDANT TOy "IRIS" 
 
 The Climax, Highly Wrought as It Is, 
 
 'olonged and A 
 
 tive Applause. 
 
 '. • ' • Elicits- Prolonged and Apprecia 
 
 f ■ fSPECIAL CABLE TO' THE HS1RAIJ5.] 
 
 If The Heeald's European edition pub- 
 
 tlishes the following from its correspond- 
 
 ["ent:^ 
 
 ; DONDOX, Friday.— "Ixjtty," produced last 
 'night at the Duke of Trtrk's Tlieatre, under 
 Mr. Charles Frohman's management. Is 
 ithe first play from the pen of Mr. i 
 lArthur W. Pinero since "Iris" and the one I 
 la. In a sense, a pendant to the other. 
 Iris sacrificed respectaMlity for the pleas- 
 ant things of life, Letty prefers respect- 
 
 'ahility. Both suffer from their choice. 
 
 "Ijetty" did not arouse entliusiasm in 
 last nig-ht's audience as did the "Gay Lord 
 Quex," but, on the other hand, it did not 
 disappoint, as "Iris" had done, and after 
 every act there was long continued ap- 
 plause, , 
 
 I liOniloii Fi'CHS Opinion. 
 
 I According to the Dally Mall the plot of 
 the drama is one of the strangest ever 
 presented to a modern audience. NeviU- 
 Letchmere (Mr, H. B. Irving) Is a mar-'j 
 rled man, separated from his wife, and-i 
 he has struck up a close friendship with! 
 Letty (Miss Irene Vanbrugh), a girl em-j 
 ployed In a bucket shop. He Is much her 
 superior in station and she Is unaware of 
 
 I his beirtg married. When she learns this 
 
 'later, shfe,, in dlsr_ 
 offer of the hanc_ 
 
:-- rJlebrates the en-! 
 and some of herj 
 
 . ' ■" __'_ :;:id a supper. i 
 
 Mandeville is excessively vulgar, and atj 
 supper, after drinking freely, he makes' 
 such an exhibition of himself that Letty 
 rtltrows him over and goes to Letchmere's 
 rooms, ' preferring a life of dishonor with 
 Ijetohmere to an existence \sith Mande- 
 ville. 
 
 During their interview word Is brought 
 to Letchmere that his married sister has 
 run away from her husband. It is quite 
 consistent with Letch'mere's cliaracter that 
 this should shock him, for he has loved 
 his sister and she has hitherto kept her- 
 self tree from the reproach' of all his fam- 
 ily, the reproach ot being a "bad lot." 
 Offer of Lelty. 
 While he is still shocked by the news of 
 her fall, for whlcli' he Is partly responsible, 
 Letty seizes , tile chance to offer him, as 
 I it wer.e, salvation from the family stain by 
 (Saving h«r honor by forcing him to be 
 I good to a woman for once. In the condi- 
 ition to which he is wrought up the sacri- 
 fice is possible for him and he makes it. 
 She leaves him and returns to her lodg- 
 ings. This is the end of the fourth act. 
 
 In an epilogue which is supposed to take 
 place two and a lialt years later Letty is' 
 married to a good hearted but unlovable 
 photographer, excellently played by Dion 
 Boucicault. 
 
 The Daily Telegraph says:— "The first 
 act went with the utmost spirit, thanks 
 especlallj^ to the- happy-, unctuous humor 
 of Hilda Gunning, a dressmaker's assist- 
 ant, capitally acted throughout by Nancy 
 Price. Then came an act more tlian ordi- 
 narily tame and dull, whlcli was heroically 
 S3,ved right at the close by Fred Kerr, as 
 the 'rounder.' Bernard Mandeville, and 
 the remarkably fine and beautiful acting 
 of Irene Vanbrugh, as tlie heroine. 
 
 "As for the hero^ Mr. Plnero does not 
 choose to give him a real chance till the 
 fourth act. Then, it is true, the oppor- 
 tunity comes, and Mr. H. B. Irving rose 
 with it. Then for some fifteen minutes tlie 
 hopse is thrilled with a strongly dramatic 
 scene, full of fire and vigor and rite with 
 the keenest interest, when, in the person 
 of Nevlll Letchmere, who is stung to the 
 quick by his sister's desertion of her home 
 and his own miserable consciousness of his 
 'responsibility in her downfall, Mr. Irving 
 igave us tense, breathless aJid genuine emo- 
 itional excitement, the real grip of the 
 iStrenuous drama." 
 
 Criticism of the Play. 
 1 The Daily News .*ava-— "Tt (= not a very 
 ...... ■■■:■.,-, .^',-'~ of charac, 
 
 _.,,.. — — '-^i-^es us. He 
 
seems to have gc:,:.: :::.: _; :_j . 
 
 world through ugr- :-::-~zz ;; -.- ■ -. 
 
 for all his skill -of 
 
 able power of keeping the Interest of his 
 audience, one begins to long for a touch 
 ot sympathy, a spontaneous moment of 
 generous humanity to sweeten this in; 
 many ways faithful but in essence unreal 
 picture of men and women." 
 
 The Daily Chronicle says: — "However 
 opinions may differ respecting the theme' 
 of 'Letty,' the general vigor and bold- 
 ness of the play cannot fall to be ad- 
 mitted," 
 
 The Morning Post says;^"It is a repul-; 
 slve picture, therefore it makes for moral- 
 ity. The audience was profoundly atten- 
 tive, a sincere compliment to the author;! 
 the actors were frequently recalled and! 
 there was much applause at the end. Mr.; 
 Pinero was called for, but he did not ap-i 
 
 I 
 pear. 
 
 iV, OCTOBER 9, 1903 
 
 PINERO'S "LETT!" 
 I PLEASES L 
 
 j — ' — 
 
 I New Play's Ending Secures: 
 
 Popularity Jeopardized by 
 
 One Daring Scene. 
 
 ^Copyright, 1903, hv the ^Pr&s® PiiTills^hlng: Campany, 
 
 New York ■World.) 
 
 (Special cable D!spa,tch to The World.) 
 
 LONDON, Oct. 8.— Arthur Pinero's new 
 play "Letty," presented in the Duke of 
 York's Theatre to-night by Charles 
 Frohm'an, Is a drama of passion, which 
 ends morally if not altogether happily. 
 
 Letty Is a delicate, high-strung, 
 pleasure-QoviTigr girl clerk, who fails In 
 love with and is loved by Letchmere, a 
 [Wealthy admirer. Wlien she anticlpat.'s 
 a marriage proposal from him and jie 
 dJscloses tliat he Is married she is torn 
 by conflicting emotions, but ultimately 
 aigrees to follow his advice and accept ttie 
 honorable advant-t'A m. mi . i .^ 
 gar employ.er. -Siis .?....., . 
 .(brutal conduct 
 
■lesseu 'Jy tetoh-^ 
 ler to go to his'I 
 jfUCTims, wcere a scene of imtense piassion 
 lis enaioted, Letty being ultimately saved 
 by seeing Letchmerfe halt maddenea 
 with sorrow and despair at hearing tihat 
 his sister has eloped. 
 
 The epilog-ue, thirty months la,ter, 
 nnds Letty njiarried to a photographer, 
 who figured very amiably earlier in the ■ 
 play. Lotchmere. broken in health. I 
 goes unltnowingly with his sister to ' 
 the studio to be photographed. He and \ 
 Letty have an cxti'emely touching in- 
 terview in which she thanks him fer- 
 vidly for having .vllowed hex to leave | 
 his rooms unharmed that fateful night.' 
 It Is suggested rather than .stat«rt 
 that their love still lives, and the our-, 
 tain falls as sihe leans wearily against 
 the dooir throug-h whicli lie has passed 
 out of her life forever. 
 
 Irene Vanbrugh played finely in the 
 dilBcult acting part of Letty. 
 
 H. B. Irving was at bis best in the 
 emotional soenes. 
 
 Nanciv Price 'made a great hit a.s the 
 tiandisome 'milliner's girl with no 
 troublesome moral principles sjnd a 
 ready flow of worldly wisdom. Dion 
 Bouclcault invested the slight skft-' 
 I of the photographer with true artistic 
 i merit. 
 
 ! The play was enthusiastically received. 
 l Tlie ending secures its popularity, whic' . 
 j t'lie daring scene in Letchmsre's rooms | 
 I might otherwise .leopardize. The dia- 1 
 I logue is 'brilliant and the characters are ] 
 [marked by Pinero's usuaj decision and'' 
 insight. I 
 
 PINERO HAS A SUCCESS 
 IN A PLA Y WIT H A MORAL 
 
 Frohman Presents "Letty," Which j 
 Teaches That Virtue Begins at Home. 
 
 Special Cnble to Tiew Yorl£ lAmeriean. 
 
 Ijondon, Oct 8. — In "Letty," which Mr. 
 Frohman produced at the Duke of York's 
 Theatre to-night, Piuero departs from his 
 usual custom of presenting a play with- 
 out morals, for "Letty" Is distinctly a play 
 with a. moral, though Pinero does not reach 
 it until the last act. Meanwhile he gives 
 some startling glimpses of immorality as 
 a certain phase oX aristocratic life in 
 London. 
 
 Like Barrle, Pinero preaches, but his 
 sermon in "Letty" is so full of brilliant 
 and witty passages that the most blase 
 playgoers sat up. Pinero's moral is that 
 virtue, like charity, belongs at home. 
 j H. B. Irving, as Letchmere, an arlsto- 
 'crat : Irene \an Brough, as Letty, and 
 Nancy Price, as a vulgar cockney girl, won 
 the honors of the night. The play was an 
 instantaneous hit, and Is destined to du-, 
 plicate the success of "The Gay Lord, 
 Quex." 
 
Mm^'§0tkB 
 
 TUESDAY, OCTOBER 30, 1903. 
 
 LONDON DRAMA. 
 
 Mr, Pinero's Play of Bad Manners, 
 iuith Its Dubious Moral. 
 
 London, Oct. 10. 
 
 Mr. Plnero succeeds In interesting his audi- 
 ences intensely, even when he persists in writ- 
 ing disagreeable plays of bad manners. One 
 reason is his genius for dramatic construc- 
 tion; another is his sense of character; but per- 
 haps the strongest is his power of reproducing 
 on the stage the energies, temptations, emo- 
 tions and experiences of life. His new play, 
 "Letty," produced at the Duke of York's Thea- 
 tre this week, deals with the same painful sub- 
 ject as "Iris," his previous work, namelj-, the ^ 
 temptations to which handsome young women ' 
 are exposed when they are reduced by poverty 
 to the direst straits. The conclusion is a dif- 
 ferent one. The girl,_ instead of being turned 
 into the street in disgrace while her resentful ' 
 lover smashes the furniture in a whirlwind of 
 passion, escapes through a sudden appeal to his 
 magnanimity, and finally marries an old ac- 
 quaintance of humble birth, who had lent 
 money to her when she sorely needed it. It is 
 a commonplace and sordid story, with no better 
 moral than thic— that pretty girls ought not to 
 look above their own class, but marry within 
 St, even if there be no more available suitor 
 than an eccentric, good natured photographer. 
 Nevertheless, It has the breath of life — albeit 
 the tainted breath of foul and degenerate life— 
 and is intensely dramatic, with a powerful sit- 
 uation in the fourth act and with fine oppor- 
 tunities for effective acting. The dramatic 
 critics do not venture to describe it as a great , 
 play, but they agree in saying that only Mr. 
 Pinero could have written it, and that his power 
 as a playwright has not declined. ,,, 
 
 So unpleasant a story may best be told brief- 
 ly. Letty is the daughter of a defaulting so- 
 licitor and a clerk In e 
 
 has attracted the admi'J: , :: 
 
(i«, !.«« .aai-tners ana a moat brutal ' arid vulgar 
 ,, ..-,. „ ^.„^ „.« ^. ,^.,^..y terms with Letch- 
 
 Nmere, a well born debauchee, who Is not In a 
 position to marry her, since he has a wife, but 
 [has neglected to mention the fact. In the first 
 lact Letchmere entertains her and two of her 
 ^friends at his rooms, and is warned by Mande- 
 jVlUo that the truth about his marriage will be 
 disclosed unless he promises "to keep off the 
 graas." The Intruder is dismissed insolently, 
 and an appointment is made for another birth- 
 day party at Hilda Gunning's, and sealed with 
 a kiss. This appointment Is kept In the second 
 act on the roof of the lodging house, where Let- 
 ty Is receiving the congratulations of her fellow 
 lodgers, a commercial traveller, an insurance 
 agent and a photographer, from all of whom she 
 has borrowed money. Letchmere startles her 
 with a confession that he is already mar- 
 ried and with a proposal that she shall ta^e the 
 brutal ruffian, Mandeville, as her husband. Hu- 
 j mlliated by the failure of her schemes, for she 
 has been dressing smartly and lix-ing beyond 
 her means in the hope of marrying Letchmere, 
 she accepts reluctantly MandeviUe's coarse, 
 overbearing offer - of marriage. The third act 
 brings together at a cafS Letchmere. who has 
 been dining with a married sister, Mrs. Crasbie, 
 ind Mandeville's party from the lodging house, 
 who have been celebrating his engagement by 
 a night at the Alhambra. The two rivals are 
 spurred, on by jealousy, and Letchmere asks 
 Letty to meet him that night at his rooms. In 
 the fourth act she agrees to live with Letchmere 
 rather than marry the repulsiva Mandeville. A 
 [messenger suddenly brings In a note from his, 
 ■ , sister confessing that she has left her husband 
 I and eloped with a lover. Warned by this reve- 
 lation of the degenerate Letchmere stock, Letty 
 snatches her hat and coat and begs him to i«t 
 her go, and with a passionate em.brace they sep- 
 arate. The epilogue supplies the sequel— her 
 marriage to the good natured photographer. 
 
 A more cynical and pessimistic study of Eng- 
 lish life, high and low can hardly be imagined 
 than this play offers. The Letchmeres are rep- 
 resented as a well born family of degenerates. 
 Incapable of resisting evil and corrupting ten- 
 dencies. The married sister is eulogized by -the 
 rake as the only honest one among them, and 
 8he falls from grace as soon as her brother's, 
 protection is momentarily withdrawn. Letch- 
 mere him.self has barely enough good feeling 
 :n ;i.xtm Heart to allow his ; 
 ailed hy his de- 
 it; _i v;,-., ;.•;.;. iself. and in the 
 
epilogue he is a phj 
 .Junder stress of consu 
 ;rich bucket shop proi-nt^vi. ...n. m., v^ucn^c- 
 ness, vulgarity and bluster, is a creature so des- 
 picable that an honest marriage with him be- 
 comes impossible after the pitiable and lovable 
 Letty has been engaged to him for a few hours. 
 The two rivals are strongly contrasted, and so 
 also are the girl's intimate companions — the 
 virtuous and Independent Marion AUardyce, 
 who seeks to protect and gave Letty, and the 
 sensual ana vulgo.r Hilda Gunning, who envies 
 her for every opportunity for wrong doing, en- 
 courages her in degradation, and in the epilogue 
 emerges triumphant, strident and overbearing 
 in shamelessness. Letty herself is superior to 
 her surroundings, and while she borrows money 
 from her good-natured fellow lodgers, the pho- 
 tographei", the insurance agent and the com- 
 mercial traveller, despises them until she is con- 
 vinced that the fates are against her, and that 
 Bhe will be safer and more comfortable if she 
 remains among people of her own station. Even 
 the three lodgers, with all their delicate con- 
 sideration for a pretty girl who persisted in 
 dressing too well and running Into debt, have 
 the common taint of vulgarity, and take advan- 
 tage of the engagement supper to advertise 
 their business and solicit patronage from a 
 wealthy blackguard. Mr. Pinero seems to find 
 only the weak spots in human character and to 
 enlarge them. Brilliant as his work as a 
 playwright undoubtedly is, and intensely in- 
 teresting as his dramas invariably are from 
 skill in construction and character drawing, the 
 right minded spectator goes away from such a 
 play as "Letty" with a depressing feeling that 
 whatever is is wrong. 
 
 Mr. Pinero writes plays for actors and per- 
 sonally coaches them in the interpretation of 
 his characters. "Letty" was most brilliantly 
 produced at the Duke of York's and the acting 
 was of the highest order. Miss Irene Vanbrugh 
 as the heroine played with sureness of method 
 and ,fine variety. It was a most vivid and 
 realistic impersouation, with moments of great 
 emotional power, and the transition from the 
 Impulsive, ambitious schemer of the bucket shop 
 to the demure and staid wife in the pho- 
 tographer's shop was adequately denoted. Miss 
 Nancy Price's acting as the vulgar cockney 
 dressmaker's assistant was the greatest achieve- 
 ment of the opening night, and, while touched 
 with caricature, was essentially true and most 
 
 subtle in mettfOd. St 
 
 trained with palnstakine cAras iu i;,.-. 
 
rJBpbSl and other 
 y coached by him 
 for their pnncipa,! successes. The audience's 
 interest in the play never flagged, foul as was 
 the atmosphere, while she was on the stage 
 tossing her head, toying with her skirts and 
 revelling in vulgarity and intrigue. As Letch- 
 Imere, Mr. H. B. Irving played with sardonic 
 jhtimor a,ni unfailing resource in the lighter 
 I scenes, and with intensity of passion in the 
 great act of the midnight assignation, and iVIr. 
 ', Fred Kerr was most powerful in his impersona- 
 tion of the brutal Mandeville. Mr. Dion Bouci- 
 , cault was most amusing as the genial, talkative 
 photographer, and Mr. Jerrold Kobertshaw was 
 i an effective foil as the grim, melancholy insur- 
 : anee ag;«at. A play remarkabla for the flrm- 
 jness and decisiveness of the character drawing 
 wns most brilliantly acted by a picked com- 
 pany. 
 
 The warmest admirers of Mr. Pinero's art as 
 an ing€n!ou3 playwright and master of stage 
 situation must regret that he persists In -writ- 
 inrr unwholesome pl^ys like "The Gay Lord 
 Quex," "Iris" and "Letty." He degrades his 
 high powers by the sinister and cynical use 
 which he makes of them, and he sends his 
 audiences into the streets with tainted breath 
 and with a sense of shame that they have al- 
 lowed themselves to be entertained by the vul- 
 gar intriguers and worn out degenerates of the 
 stage. Not even the social moral of "Letty," 
 that a pretty working girl should be content 
 with a commonplace marriage with a man of 
 her own sort, can Justify the detailed study of 
 immoral living and thinking among high and 
 low, rich and poor. The feeble m.oral, distorted 
 with snobbishness as it is, cannot be reconciled 
 v/Ith Letty's profuse expression of gratitude to 
 the selfish debauchee who had suffered her to 
 escape from his practised hands when he was 
 reproaching him.self for having deserted his 
 sister and allowed her to run av.-ay with another 
 rake as bad as himself. A false note is struck 
 when Letchmere is converted into an heroic 
 personage because he has had a single moment 
 of decency and magnanimity in the course of a 
 sinister career of self-indulgence, and it is to 
 be feared that the typewriters and shopgirls 
 who take refuge in the pit for an evening's en- 
 tertainment will not be impressed with the dig- 
 nity of marriage v.'hen the humdrum duties of 
 the photographer's gallery and nursery are con- 
 ttrasted with thp life nf iiiTriirio".= ease and Con- 
 
 - ._;;: ;y"s rich lover 
 , rt- Mfct a, wiTifSisse Jt would be if 
 
one could go to one i ■ m,. .,..,„.„ 
 plaj's without having &r, ri:__vv 
 and a pervading sense oi loui uuuid. 
 
 W' 
 
 MR. PINE RQ'S NF W PLAY. 
 
 " Letty " Enthusiastically fteceived Last 
 
 Evening In London. 
 
 London Times— New York Times 
 Special Cablegram. 
 
 LONDON, Oct. 9.— The Times says 
 that in " Letty," produced at the Duke 
 of York's Theatre last evening', Arthur 
 W. Pinero has reverted to his earlier 
 manner. It is a play of incident and 
 character, not a cTontrlbution to the 
 drama of ideas, though it may be said to 
 have its unpretentious little thesis that i 
 it is better to resign yourself to orthodox j 
 domesticity than to sell your peace of 
 mind for a career of guilty splendor. 
 
 But, says The Times, it is Mr. Pinero's 
 chief aim to tell a straightforward story ' 
 for its own sake. " Letty " Is not great, 
 but an extremely interesting play. Letty 
 is a clerk in a " bucket shop," who has 
 made the acquaintance of Letchmere, a 
 gentleman who she hopes is going to 
 marry her. He loves her, but he is mar- 
 ried. Her employer, Mandeville, loves 
 her, too, and wants to marry her. He is 
 a " bounder," but Letty accepts him 
 when Letchmere confesses that he is 
 married. 
 
 Then there is a scene In a restaurant, 
 where Mandeville, filled with champagne, 
 makes a scandalous scene and disgusts 
 Letty, and Letchmere, who is there with ] 
 another party, takes her away to his j 
 rooms. They agree to elope, when a mes- ' 
 sage comes saying that Letchmere's mar- 
 ried sister has eloped. The news causes j 
 a revulsion of feeling, and Letty and i 
 Letchmere part. 
 
 The epilogue shows Letty married to a 
 worthy if vulgar photographer and 
 Letchmere in consumption. 
 
 The play is admirably acted, especially 
 by Irene Vanbrugh and H. B. Irving, 
 though the latter is a little too solemn. 
 Mr. Kerr Is delightful as the " Bounder," 
 as is Nancy Price as a vulgar shop girl. 
 The play was enthusiastically received. 
 
■«»■••*■ ^■^^ *M TLjuiii ^Jrp^,^ 
 
 DAILY EDITION. 
 
 JicTv YorU, Monday, October 26, 1»0."$. 
 
 PINERO'S FINE ART 
 IS SHOWN IN "LETTY" 
 
 In Some Respects This Is the Greatest 
 i of All His Plays. 
 
 IN OTHERS, A STEP BACKWARD 
 
 Story Is That of a Typewriter's Love 
 
 Affair and Is Powerful Until 
 
 the Epilogue. 
 
 ( LONDON, Oct. 25.— As he grows older 
 land less content with his position as the 
 foremost of Engrlish playwrights, Pinero 
 seems to take more and more delight in th.> 
 technique of his craft, scorning anything 
 easy of attainment and keeping his eye 
 chiefly on tlio experienced playgoer, who 
 has long since tired of conventional effects 
 and wants expert workmanship rather than 
 raw materials. So it is that the plot of 
 "Letty," the play in which Pinero has been 
 absorbed ever since "Iris" was written two 
 years ago, and which has been produced 
 here under the F"rohman management, is 
 meagre and unpromising when set forth 
 In newspaper type— as unconvincing as some 
 theme from Brahm's without the harmony 
 with which the composer has glorified It. 
 
 Letty Is a $6-a-week typewriter in a 
 London bucket shop. A good girl, Letty, 
 with taste and temperament and qualities 
 that have won the affection of Nevill Letch- 
 mere, gentleman. The obvious thing would 
 be unmitigated \-lllany from this gentle- 
 man and ultimately triumphant virtue for 
 the typewriter, witli a robust hero to take 
 her in his arms for the final tableau. But 
 the obvious thing does not attract Pinero. 
 His Nevill Letchemere is as honorable and 
 admirable a gentleman as the blood of 
 generations of rich, bad Letchmeres will 
 permit. 
 
 -: )f the family. 
 
 ^^Il0i.' .. .V.-;: tJi.rtv tosM! j-emember, was 
 
N«'viii's sistsr. wKo' 
 a brute of a husbant , 
 with the "other mari. jjuauCiBss wnen tne j 
 heir of the Letchmei'es tlrst met Letty, 
 through a chance encounter, he had fol- 
 lowed her with the idea she was not above ' 
 
 ,a vulgar intrigue; but, discovering her in-! 
 Hate refliiemcint and superiority in mlndj 
 and heart, he had honestly fallen in love' 
 with her instead and thus "won her honest 
 love in return. She had half-starved her- 
 self and run recklessly in debt that she 
 might have the gowns in which to take 
 little' strolls and suppers with him without 
 causing him to be ashamed of her. But, 
 alas, Letchmere was a grass-widower and 
 Letty didn't know it. 
 
 This Is the foundation for the play, dex- 
 terously developed by Pinero in his first, 
 act, which takes p ace In Letchmere's bach- 
 e.or apartment, where an Innocent after- 
 noon birthday party Is on for Letty and 
 two other girls of her station in life. In 
 the second act. Ingeniously staged on the 
 root of a cheap lodging house, Leity re- 
 ceives from Letchmere, not the offer of 
 marriage she has dared to expect, but a 
 voluntary confession that he is married 
 already, and fatherly advice to her to be- 
 come the wife of the proprietor of the 
 bucket shop, a "bounder" who has been 
 
 .pestering her. "Never," .says poor Letty. 
 "Well," says Letchmere, "you know vhere 
 
 ' my rooms are. I'll take care of you." 
 "Never," says poor Letty again. Driven 
 
 to desperation by debt, illness and a broken 
 
 ( heart, slie accepts the bucket-shop man. 
 
 IN A SUPPER ROOM. 
 The third act takes place on the evening 
 of the same day in a private supper room 
 'Of a fashionable restaurant. Letchmere's 
 beloved sister is saying goodby forever 
 to the "other man," and has begged her 
 Indulgent brother to stay by and keep her 
 from faltering. As the trio leaves enter 
 Letty and her humble friends, guests of 
 her betrothed. The bucket-shop man begs 
 Letchmere to stay and drink a toast to , 
 the bride-to-be, and the young man con- i 
 sents for love of Letty, leaving his sister 
 and the "other man" to finish their good- 
 toy alone. The manners of the host prove 
 to be unthinkable. He Is a 'bounder" 
 beyond example. Letty is in torture. 
 
 "You can't marry such a brute as thgLt," . 
 whispers Letchmere. ! 
 
 "No, I can't," moans Letty. ,. ' 
 
 i "You've lost your placca in his . shop. 
 You're ill and hopele.«)sly in debt. You 
 have nowhere else to turn. I love you. ; 
 Come to me." ' 
 
 Act four is almost equal to the great 
 scene In "The Gay Lord Quex." We are 
 back In Letchmere's rooms at midnight ort' 
 I the same evening. Letiy has comp there in 
 a desperate and passionate, mood, caring. 
 I nothing about the liberal settlement of i 
 [which Letchmere talks, and asking only 
 'his love. Assured on this point, she Is 
 'about to surrender completely, when word 
 (arrives that Letchmere's sister has eloped , 
 'with the "other man." He even forgets 
 .Letty in his transport of wrath and grief. 
 
 ;A11 "that he says of his k'hi':?!-- i ■ • 
 
 .black future that he p 
 equally to Letty. and 
 »her mood of abandont-i.... „:. 
 
a struggle wTtTi 
 er forth. She re- 
 ^^iviPSS and passion, 
 ind again he- leado her forth, though It 
 tears out his heait to do so 
 
 EPILOGUE NOT SO GOOD. 
 
 Practically that is all. Even Pinero's 
 genius cannot wholly save the epilogue 
 from being a trifle tedious. It is supposed 
 to take place two and a half years later, 
 and is like the final chapter in an old-fash- 
 ioned novel, in whicli the fates of all the 
 characters are rounded up with a para- 
 graph apiece. Suffice it to say that Letty 
 Is married comfortably, though not ro- . 
 mantlcally, to a funny little photographer, 
 who had supplied comedy for acts two and 
 three. In a last farewell to Letchmere, on 
 his way to a consumptive's grave, she pro- 
 fesses herself happy. 
 
 Pinero's genius for vivid characterization 
 never shone forth to greater advantage 
 than in this play. Even "Mrs. Tanqueray" 
 was not a greater marvel of workmanship. 
 But, while Letty makes a possible advance, 
 on even Quex and Iris in deftness and 
 delicacy, it certainly takes a step back- ' 
 ward in strength, especially in the epilogue. 
 Of the performance of H. B. Irving and 
 Irene Vanbrugh in the principal parts it 
 would be well-nigh impossible to speak too 
 highly. 
 
II 
 
 I TTTV" pf'^"'''"*^ ' 
 
 LlI I I OUUIILU 
 
 m] SUCCESS 
 
 William Faversham in "the" Scene of 
 
 the Production Has Twelve 
 
 Curtain Recalls. 
 
 PLAY IS TYPICAL OP PINERO 
 
 - ■ . . » 
 But the "Young Person" Can Take Her 
 Mother to See This Play at 
 the Hudson. 
 
 HUDSON THEATHiE.— L.ETTT, a drama in 
 four acts and an epilogue, by Arthur W. 
 Pinero. 
 
 NevIU Letchmere iW'Uliam Faversham 
 
 Ivor CroffMe Ito Dawson 
 
 C^jpplu^ex Dr'aiie Frant Goldsmith 
 
 Bfimtard Maa'derille.. u^rthtir Playfair 
 
 Richard Perry Fritz Williama 
 
 N^ale. ....... .- - Tom Terrise 
 
 Ordiish 'Sidney Herbert 
 
 Rugjz "Wiallace Widdecombe 
 
 Fr6d6iiic Hear! De Ban-y 
 
 waiters... | .^nje^t c<>Tvles 
 
 'MV!i. Ivor Orosble Katberine Florence 
 
 lyett.T Shell Oaa-lottn Nlllson 
 
 JIarlon Allai'dyce Olive Oliver 
 
 'Hlldia Gllnnin>: Julie Opp; 
 
 A Lady's Maid Margery Taylor 
 
 The Hudson Theatre was brilliantly re-' 
 iopened last night in the production of 
 Arthur W. Pinero's much heralded play, 
 "Letty," and In the reappearance of Will- 
 [1am Faversham. The eclat of London ap-, 
 proval does not, of course, always spell' 
 New Tork success, yet this "passion; 
 drama" of Mr. Pinero's, Judged on its! 
 dramatic merits and hy the reception dti 
 met last night, quite justified here its' 
 L/ondon reputation and should be one of! 
 the season's "good things." With one or, 
 two exceptions the cast was a strong! 
 one, perhaps the strongest with which Mr. 
 Faversham has ever been connected. He' 
 and Ms associates met the warmest kind 
 of welcome and. which Is of greater value, 
 the beartlcs't approval of their efforts as 
 th« evening progressed. In fact, in one 
 istosne In the fourth act Mr. Faversham 
 ■had an opportunity of which he availed 
 himself so thoroughly that the house "rose 
 at him" and he had twelve recalls. He 
 !has done nothing batter ' 
 tMs scene. 
 
~; rapea deep 
 
 |b L ^- '^e I contrived 
 
 ^" ^ ^-^ ^^ .«'>:^ oi»-u<xLimi&. It Is in 
 
 te -warkimanshdp of ita dialogue that the 
 
 leoe falls belorw some of the playwright's 
 earlier suocesaes. Tihe topic la the old 
 .perilous "sioicial" one, tout it is deftly 
 iiandted. It will "do" rather Ibetteir for 
 the "young iperson" than th« "Gay Dord 
 Quex," though the moral purpose is aJbout 
 as obscure. 
 
 Mr. Faversham is provided with a part 
 which fits him as well as the similar one 
 he played in "Aristooracy" many seasons 
 :a§ro. that of the gentlemanly reprobate. 
 It gives play to his finesse and to his 
 mannerisms— and for plenty of cigarette 
 indulgence. ' 
 
 It seeims unchivalrous to say so, but 
 truth to tell, were he better supiported in 
 the ca.se of the title rOle than he Is by 
 Miss Nielson several of his opportunities! 
 iwould be 'benefited. Unfortunately she 
 jsomehiow ^missed the mark as Ijetty. Her 
 emotion>al moments were mot withO'Ut 
 power, but the part as a whole she made 
 disappointing and at times uniattractive. 
 
 Miss Opp, as Hilda Gunning, while effi- 
 cient, secured ill cast; .S'he assumed suffi- 
 ciently coarseness, but was coarse with- 
 out convincing abandon. Olive Oliver and, 
 Katherine Florence were thoroughly satis- 
 factory. Among the men IVitz Williarms 
 distinguished himself in a small but de- 
 lightful part, and Arthur Playfair gave a 
 vivid it "overdone" portrait of the London 
 "bounder." 
 
 The scene sets were good. The second, a' 
 glimpse into Cockeny Bohemia, being es^ 
 pecially effective. 
 
 In the audience were Mrs. Charles Avery 
 Doremus, Mr. and Mrs. A. H. Piatt, Mr. I 
 'and Mrs, R. H. Hatch, Mr. and Mrs. WUl-' 
 iam Heippenlhe'imer. Dr. Clarence C. Rice, 
 District Attorney William Travers Jerome, 
 former District Attorney Philbin, Mr. ana 
 jMrs. James S. Metcalf, Messrs Pheonix 
 llngraiham, Jesse P. "VVhiton Stuart, Ashton 
 (Lemoine, Pierre DorHlaird, Jr. ; Leonidas 
 iWestervelt, Cha.rles W, Kraiischaar, A. H. 
 iHammel and Dr. Jose M. de Bermingham. 
 
 SFIi^ $sz\xf j3xrrk ®xitie;S. 
 
 " All the News That's Fit to Print." ' 
 
 PUBLISHED EVERY DAT IN THE TEAR , 
 
 BY THE NEW TORK TIMES COMPANT. 
 
 41 Park Row, New York City. 
 
 NEW TORK, TUESDAY, SEPT. 13, 1904. 
 
 PINER0'S"LETTY" ! 
 
 AT THE HUDSON 
 
 ! 
 
 ■■t5'r^!''Ji:jii r^arscjiait to 
 
Hang Beside 
 
 CARLOTTA NILLSON'S TRIUMPH 
 
 A Rough and Unsatisfactory Ensemble 
 
 with a Few Good Moments — William 
 
 Faversham and Julie 0pp. 
 
 NEVILL, LBTCHMBRB William Faversham 
 
 IVOR CROSBIE Ivo Dawson 
 
 COPPINGEB DRAKE Franl< Goldsmith 
 
 BERNARD MANDEVILIiB Arthur Playlalr 
 
 RICHARD PERRY Fritz Wiillams 
 
 NBALB, a commercial traveler Tom Terries 
 
 ORDISH, insurance agent Sidney Herbert 
 
 RUG6, Mr, Letchmere's servant 
 
 Wallace Widdecombe 
 
 FREDERIC, a maltrc d'botel Henri de Barry 
 
 WAITERS. .Albert Cowles, John C. Tremayne 
 MRS, IVOR CROSBIE..... ..Katherino Florence 
 
 J.ETTT SHBL,D Carlotta Nillson 
 
 MARION ALJjABDTCE Olive Oliver 
 
 HILDA GUNNING, an assistant at Mme. 
 
 Watklns'3 , Julio Opp 
 
 A DADT'S MAID ..Marsery Taylor 
 
 The English master playwright has laid 
 bare another woman's soul. IjCSs dramatic 
 than the great tragedy of Paula Tanque- 
 ray, less finished and striking even than 
 that dramatic portrait, " Iris," the story 
 of Letty, has the advantage, from the point 
 of view of the public, of representing, it 
 not the triumph of virtue, at least its re- 
 ward. 
 
 Paula Tanqueray was a demi-m-ondaitie, 
 and because she aspired to be respectable, 
 died, a martyr to the hard conventions of 
 Rocial morality. Iris was a lady, gracious 
 and virtuous, but because her virtue was 
 soft and luxury-loving, not austere, she 
 was wrecked by the first great temptation. 
 Letty has the freedom and splendor-loving 
 soul of Iris, though she is a woman of 
 ''lumble life, and she is as sorely tempted. 
 But fate steps in, as it often does, and 
 .snatched her from temptation. In Paula 
 and Iris Mr. Pinero has shown us the 
 wages of sin. In " Letty " he has shown 
 us the rewards of virtue. It is the least 
 dramatic of the three plays, and the least 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 Letty is a typewriter In a bucket shop, 
 on a salary of " five and twenty shillings 
 the week." She loves pleasure and the 
 larfeer life. If the future held only what , 
 the present holds she would wish to die. , 
 She is spirited and engaging, and has at- i 
 tracted the desires of two men— Lechmere, 
 all of whose family have been a bad lot for i 
 generations, and MandevlUe, who Is a part- ( 
 ner in the bucket shop in which Letty i 
 works. j 
 
 Lechmere has made Lettv lovo him with, 
 out telling her that he is 
 In the rebound of the dl„,'.„ 
 
. - - : ":r, :s:: ::^c.::::^ is engaged to 
 
 -: , .:••; .;::; ;.;■ ■ -;: Impossible— a 
 
 uijuuuci- on ine oraer oi iris's luaJdonado, 
 and in desperation she flees to Liecliniere's 
 rooms at midnight to surrender herself to 
 him. There the god steps out of the ma- 
 chine, and Lechmere is moved to a moment 
 of nobility, in which he sends Letty back 
 to poverty and virtue. 
 
 In the prologue, which follows four full 
 acts, one sees Letty married to a humble 
 but amiable photographer, and happy In the 
 possession of the humdrum husband, a 
 humdrum child, and humdrum virtue, all 
 of which Mr. Plnero eloquently exalts as 
 the solid good of lite. This, in little, is the 
 substance of a play that lasted through 
 many tense moments and without a wink 
 of tedium from 8 till almost 12 last night. 
 
 The story obviously la.cks the element of 
 tense dramatic struggle, which made so 
 great a tragedy of " Mrs. Tanqueray." It 
 lacks the sense of brooding fatality which 
 at moments in " Iris " recalled the Greeks. 
 But for all this, the play is instinct with 
 life. Conventional mannerisms there are, 
 both in characterization and dialogue, upon 
 "Which which there is scant leisure to dwell, 
 but which strike one as strange, inexplic- 
 able in the work of a man who is unmis- 
 takably a master. 
 
 Yet while these seem to deflect the true 
 atmosphere of life, they in reality do not do 
 so. The ultimate Impression of " Letty " Is 
 of actual, vibrant realits, a document of 
 wide and deep human import. Mr. Pinero 
 has not read Dumas fils and Ibsen in vain. 
 Individual as is his point of view, and au- 
 thentic as are his powers of creative real- 
 ism, he takes his place in the train of the 
 great leaders in the Continental drama. 
 
 It is in the character of Letty that 
 Pinero's power is most signally evident. 
 Neither Ibsen nor Dumas surpasses this 
 Portuguese Englishman in the sheer power 
 of transmitting to the theatre the dreams, 
 the longings, and the agonies of a woman's 
 heart. In Miss Carlotta Nillson he has 
 found one of his ablest and most convinc- 
 ing exponents. 
 
 Prom the moment last season when this 
 gifted and temperamental young woman 
 swam into our ken as Mrs. Blvsted in Mrs. 
 Piske's " Hedda Gabler." it was evident 
 that our stage had been enriched by an 
 artist of the first water. Last night Miss 
 Nillson had her first great opportunity, and 
 she rose to it, standing head and shoulders 
 above the rest of the cast, and taking a 
 place in the forefront of English-speaking 
 players. 
 
 Something of Letty' s youth and personal 
 charm she lacked. But the sense of this 
 always sarik away in the presence of the 
 great theatric moments. It was so when 
 Letty discovered that the man she loved 
 was married. It was so again "vfhen she 
 was revolted and stunned by Mandeyille's^ 
 brutality. 
 
 It was so when she mutely surrendered 
 to Lechmere; when she raised herself above 
 herself in his moment of sincerity and went 
 away from him: when she confronted him 
 at last, and renounced all that he had 
 meant of the beautv and .splendor of life 
 in her humble happiness. There was not a 
 touch of overacting, of porcine" the note. 
 
 - :)tion was 
 
 the sheer 
 
 ,, .: _ --.^ --- 1-3 re?t of 
 
ilhe cast. Mr. Pavers "JSir" 
 
 (Sug-gesting- the g^ntlem - . . JS 
 
 mimique was of a robu^ 
 
 nary pha.'ie of life. At tne ena or cne rourcn 
 act, where the tall from virtue of the last 
 of the Lechmens, his sister, awakened the 
 spark of truth, he threw power and convlc- I 
 tiou into a striking tirade, but even here ' 
 lie lost a due sense of the character by 
 throwing out too freely the emotional stop 
 
 I to the lo.^s of the half cynical irony the 
 passage demanded. He played it as Vir- j 
 ginia Harned played Iris — with an eye to ' 
 the dynamics rather than to tlie nuances ; 
 of the tlieatre. 
 
 In the subordinate characters the exag- 
 gei'atlon.'3 of the players were, it must be ad- 
 mitted, abetted by the conventionality of ■' 
 tlie author's strokes of characterization. 
 There were times when the play became 
 Dumas with British boiled potatoes, Ibsen 
 with the Brussels sprouts of coclcneydom, 
 Julie Opp's part was a mere English varia- 
 tion of the stage type that has descended 
 from the Prudence of " I^a Dame aux Ca- 
 melias.'" vulgar, mercenary, and greedy of ' 
 things to eat and to drinlj. Miss Opp played 
 it with vigorous theatric sense, marred by 
 what may be charitably put down as the ex- 
 aggeration of a first performance. 
 
 The part of Mandeville was equally exag- 
 gerated both by the author and by Mr. 
 Arthur Playfair. What Oscar Arche. the 
 admirable Maldonado, might make of it wiU 
 perhaps never be known. As now played ' 
 
 I its values are effective only in the most 
 obvious sense. 
 
 In the part of Letty's sensible middle- 
 class co-worker Olive Oliver gave one of 
 the two fully artistic performances of the 
 evening, and was rewarded by a round of 
 richly deserved applause. As Lechmere'G 
 sister, Katherino Florence was handsome, 
 smart, and effective. 
 
 Among the common run of trivialities 
 that prevail on our stage, " Letlv " is 
 worthy of the attention oC all intelligent 
 
 1 playgoers for its deep and abiding sense of 
 reah'ty and the illuminating art of Miss 
 
 r Nillson. 
 
 PINERO'S "LETTY" PRODUCED. 
 
 THE STORY OF A WORKING OIRL 
 WITH YEARNINGS. 
 
 Letty Wished to Be a Lady, but Her licn- 
 tleman Friend Tnrncd Out to Be Mar- 
 ried — There's Where the Trouble Began 
 — Great Aotlns by WUUam Faversham. 
 
 Letty Shell was a clerk in the elegant! 
 establishment of Dugdale. She did not [ 
 fancy being a cleric. Her soul waa filled { 
 with soarings after tl. i_!>i.. i 
 
f the flnancial 
 it: on the gilded 
 vviuss oi a princess's shallop into the select 
 circles of Belgravia. She -was a-weary of 
 adding and subtracting. 
 
 She wished for compound interest and 
 u n l i m i ted credit at the modiste'R. Into 
 the life of this little birdling, beating its 
 dainty pinions and its interesting case of 
 tired heart against the sky line of east 
 liondon, came one Nevill Letchmere, who 
 was born a gentleman with a yellow streak 
 in him. 
 
 All the Letchmeres had gone wrong, and 
 this one had to have his turn. He had a 
 wife, of course, separated from him. He 
 did not tell Letty about her, and so the foolish 
 girl permitted herself to dream dreams of 
 being a real lady and riding in her own 
 carriage. About this time one Mandeville, 
 a bounder of the worat sort, but a member 
 of the Dugdale firm, announced in loud 
 tones that he, too, ^as in love with the 
 pallid Letty and wished to make her Mrs. 
 Mandeville, with a victoria to ride in. 
 Letly did not like the notion; she had the 
 taste to prefer the gentleman. 
 
 About this time the gentleman went to 
 the pitiable lodging house in which Letty 
 dwelt and found her with a party of cheap 
 lodging house characters, having a sausage 
 sandwich party on the roof. He told Letty 
 the truth about himself and urged lier to 
 accept the proposal of the bounder. Letty 
 told him in the most plaintive accents that 
 he might have mentioned the fact of his 
 Jnarriage earlier in the proceedings. 
 
 He admitted it, but went on playing 
 smooth and easy while he watched the effect 
 of his communications on the young woman. 
 Then he departed and left the stage clear 
 for the bounder, who proposed, was in- 
 dignantly rejected and the next minute 
 accepted, for Letty was deeply in debt, and 
 lie spoke of much money and a trip to Trou- 
 ville. 
 
 Meanwhile the gentleman's sister, a 
 married woman, was carrying on an affair 
 of her own with a youth of social distinc- 
 tion. She had a farewell dinner with the 
 youth, but with brother present, and then 
 went off with the youth to a dance. At 
 this moment enter the restaurant the 
 bounder, Letty and the lodging house 
 characters to have a betrothaj supper. 
 The bounder bounded outrageously, and 
 at length fell into a fight with the proprietor. 
 The gentleman told Letty she could never 
 stand that sort of life, and she agreed; 
 
 ■whArfMinr^Ti Via «^n+ V^/..,- t-^ ^^^ -^^^^-^^ .'q a Cab. 
 
 . -.■.- '■'■,-.' .'i.'j'jr much 
 
 to live 
 
 - - - monies. 
 
At this point came a '■ 
 stating that she had - 
 
 youth. The gentle'r^ " ' - 
 
 fected, and ■when Letly, aiso anectou auix 
 remorseful, begged permission to go home 
 Jind not continue to dwell with him, he con- 
 sented and wept against his centre doors 
 after she had departed. 
 
 Then came an epilogue showing what 
 happened to everybody after all these inci- 
 dents had worked themselves out. This 
 is not the place tor a disclosure of the sola- j 
 tion of the problem. . Those who desire to i 
 learn it must go to the Hudson Theatre 
 and see Arthur W. Pinero's play, "Letty," j 
 which was produced there last night. It | 
 IB the story of this play which has been | 
 briefly outlined. To narrate the interest- j 
 ing details would require a page. Mr. i 
 Pinero knows the craft of dramatic con- | 
 struction, which the industrious Paul Pot- I 
 ter says is a mere trick. Perhaps it is, ! 
 but sometimes it looks as if there were ' 
 something like conviction in it. j 
 
 At any rate, the author of that instructive i 
 and improving drama, " A^Tiy Women Sin, " i 
 was not so far away from the thought i 
 which dwelt in Mr. Pinero's mind when he , 
 set out to build "Letty." There are some,' 
 strong scenes and some cleverly drawn 
 characters in this drama, and it made a de- I 
 cided impression on last night's audience. 
 
 Letty herself suggests a neat combina- , 
 tion of Ibsen and Laura Jean Libbey, but 
 she is himian. She breathes and she lives. ; 
 Letchmere, too, is a man and has blood and . 
 heart. The other personages of the play j 
 are chiefly accessory. Even the bounder 
 is only a foil to the gentleman, but they | 
 are all made to move together in an action i 
 which while it is in progress carries in- 
 fluence with it. 
 
 William Faversham has done nothing 
 better than his Nevill Letchmere. In the 
 scene in which he received the news of 
 his sister's elopement he was admirable 
 in power and pathos. Carlotta Nillson as 
 Letty gave a capital imitation of Mrs. Fiske 
 as the unwelcome Mrs. Hatch, but this 
 was only in certain mannerisms. Her 
 acting had sincerity and force. 
 
 Arthur Playfair as the boimding Mande- 
 ville made a distinct hit, and Julie Opp was 
 excellent as a shop girl who would be a 
 lady. Olive Oliver imparted the needed 
 touch of feeling to one scene as the friend 
 of the erring Letty and Fritz Williams made 
 much of one of the lodging house charac- 
 ters. 
 
IX 1904. 
 
 "Letty," Pr|sented at the Hud- 
 son Last Night, Loses Ac- 
 i tion in Much Talk. 
 
 FAVERSHAM'S WORK OF 
 THE IWECHANICAL SORT. 
 
 iCarlotta Nillson, in Title Role, 
 
 Disappointing — Minor Parts 
 
 Are Better Played. 
 
 The prototype of Pinpro's heroine in 
 "Letts' is to be found In any one ot 
 the plays posing social problems since 
 that riextrous and prolific avithor con- 
 spired tvlth Henry Arthur Jones to set 
 a new dramatic fashion on t'.ie London 
 ■stage fifteen years ago. The variance 
 is not in her ethical phases, but merely 
 in the station in life siie oc<:upJes. 
 
 Siie is the presumably pure woman 
 beset by a series of distracting" circum- 
 stances and causht between the atten- 
 tions of a polished married scoundrel 
 a-id an equally rascally but coarser and 
 more impr>etentious villain. In her dilem- 
 ma she wavers from the paths of stiicL 
 propriety and naturally cleaves to the 
 n.ore ele^-ant of the two. Then comes 
 that Inevitable and indispensable visit 
 to his chambers at mldnig"ht. 
 
 What follows depends upon the mood 
 of the playwright and the Immediate 
 needs of the theatrical market. .Either 
 she comes forth a tearful testimony to 
 man's cupidity and woman's trustful- 
 ness, or she escapes to eke out a miser- 
 able life in pitiable and soul-rackmg 
 surroundings. 
 It is the latter case In "Letty, the 
 
 nas, 
 
 the 
 
 m - ■ -igue 
 
 t ally 
 
popular east— for Wfinain Faversliam, j 
 Fritz WlHiams. Cai-lotta. Ntlteon, JuHc ' 
 Opp and several imported players oc- 
 cupied the stage— called out an au- 
 dience second to none of tVie new year 
 iv theatricals. 
 
 Play Cleverly Coiistruete''- 
 
 The company won the usual amount 
 of indiscriminate applause and so did 
 the play, the latter not so much on ac- 
 count of the intrinsic dramatic value ol! I 
 its m.aterlal. but iiecause of the ha.n- I 
 dling- of It, tor Pinero Is a clever crafts-' 
 man and his plots have all the deilcute i 
 Intricacies of a Swiss watch. 
 
 l^U't "Let.ty," clever as it is in con- j 
 struotlon. la certain to be a hard dose 
 for subsequent audiences to swallcv/. ' 
 Its people, with the exception of Its one j 
 high-born rake, whicli falls to Mr. Fa- 
 versliam. belong to London lower middle 
 life. They are a, frowsy lot. Havin,<; 
 posed his problem, the author works 
 so minutely to analyze its psychology 
 that the action moves slowly to lis 
 denouement, and valuable time is wa.st- 
 ed conSitantly in unnecessary aads un- 
 dramatlc discussions. 
 
 Tiie climaxes are shart:>, but they are 
 not Invisible from, their approache.?. 
 The play has the flavor and athiosphere 
 of "Iris" without the latter's brutality; 
 It has the sinister trend of "The Gay 
 Lord Quex," yet is without that pla.y'E 
 constantly sustained brilliancy. 
 
 The casting ot Its leading roles is al- 
 m'ost fatal to i^t. Wlillaim Faversham, 
 who pla.ys NeviU Letchmere, the 
 polished rake — "rotten 'to the core," one 
 Of the characters calls him— acts me- 
 chanically and wlthouit Inspiration. 
 Carlotta Nillson, a new recruit to the 
 Frohman forces, who plays the title 
 role, practices repression to the obliter- 
 ation of force. They arc the pair who 
 are enamored and whose relations are 
 the backbone of ithe drama. What the 
 mutual attraction is, physical or tem- 
 peramental. Is a problem much more 
 difficult than the social question of the 
 drama, which, after all, is no question 
 a^t all. 
 
 Allnoi' Roles Better Handleil. 
 
 Other roles of less importance were 
 much better nlaycd. As the anaemin 
 photographer who eventually becomes. 
 Letty's husband Fritz Williams actedi 
 with much greater skill. Arthur Play-, 
 fair was capital as a coarse and pr.-- 
 tentlous "bounder," although he colored- 
 the role too vividly at times. As a lan- 
 guid and vulgar dressmaker's assistant 
 Julie Opp was exceedingly clever, and 
 others. Including Sidney Herbert. Tom 
 Terriss and Olive Oliver, played lesser i 
 parts with ex.actness and nicety. 
 
 The plot of "Letty" Is told in the 
 opening sentences ot this review. In its. 
 conclusion— and here lies the one oppor- 
 tunity which Mr. Favcrsham accepts 
 with signal success— Pinero Introduces j 
 a new means to h's end. Letty, who is 
 a "bucket-shop" keeper's clerk, be- 
 comes engaged to her vulgar and i-ich 
 employer, and then becomes disgusted 
 wilth his violent deportment in a res- ' 
 taurant. She f.alls under temptation 
 and goes at nildnig'ht to the rooms of! 
 the polislicd rake, whom she knows to 
 be married and whose purpose Is to j 
 pU.™ an elopement. j 
 
 But In the midst of the interview tlie 
 
j latter learns of hia sister's elopement 
 and -his evident disg-usc, once, tlie same 
 J condition re.ajnhes itiis own famiiv 
 teaclnes her the ooinion ho must enter- 
 tain of her. She leaves -him in a revul- 
 sion of feeling, and the opllogrue reveals 
 her as married to the eccentric ohoto- 
 grapher of her own social oircle with 
 her tenvpter. a victim of consumption. 
 ^ Sucli plays as "L,6tty," though clever 
 m their general plan, prey upon a false 
 sympathy. They teach a moral, hut it' 
 is the obvious one. -sin and vou will ' 
 suffer the conseauences of sin" is its' 
 iesson— a message tlrat consumes p-.v-li 
 time ana arouses little iiitere.9t In th= 
 tellinsr. 
 
 "LEm 
 
 n 
 
 I OFFMILTY. I 
 
 She Has a Present Instead 
 of a Past— It's an Uncom-' 
 fortable Play with a Point 
 Long Delayed, Says Alan Dale 
 
 BY ALAN DALE. 
 
 AETHUR WING PINHRO, generally 
 proclaimed to be the "greatest o^ 
 living English playwrights," who 
 has trotted out a long and vivid 
 series of luminous ladies' pasta, has 
 pursued slightly diCEerent but no less 
 "• omfortable" tactics In his latest 
 play, *'Letty." which had its first 
 metropolitan presentation at the beautiful 
 Hudson Theatre last night. There is no 
 lady with a past In "Letty." Instead 
 there Is an unsympathetic, luxury-loving, 
 silly little ninny of a creature, whom we 
 .ire asked to Tvatch as she writhes through 
 four acts in the toils of a cad. 
 
 The cad is, of course, a gentleman. Most 
 cads seem to be. But Pinero, taking a leaf 
 from Ibsen — a fascinating playwright for 
 sensationalists to steal from — is anxious to i 
 Impress upon us the fact that Letehmere i 
 comes from stock "rotten to the core." All 
 his family went wrong. A curly headed 
 crew of children all fulfilled a doom that 
 compelled a rotten family to go on being 
 rotten. 
 Ibsen with a vengeance — 'but Ibsen away 
 
frx)m his fiords and Tesm . \ 
 
 transferred to the land o: ::;::;; - 
 plum pudding— to the metropolis oi guu-)« 
 restaurants, where they switch off the elec- 
 tric lights at It p. m. on Saturdays. Oh, 
 ScandlnciTia! (Jh, London! 
 
 I will not accuse Mr. Plneio of trying toi 
 "prove" anything in "Letty." Artists do not 
 "prove," but the inevitable Inference after 
 seeing the play is that Letty was consid- 
 ered quite a heroine, because, after .=:katlng 
 upon the very thinnest kind of lee, she de- 
 clines to "liPep house" with the mariled, 
 "core-rotten" cad, and becomes the wife 
 of a cheap little respectable photographer, 
 and— a mother in due course. 
 
 This Is herolneism: Through three acts 
 Letty gargles and moans, engages herself 
 to a boarder and breaks with him when he 
 disgraces himself in a restaurant; files to. 
 Letchmcre's rooms at midnight, lets down 
 her hair, and is about to— about to— go the 
 ■way of Mrs. Tanqueray and Iris and other 
 perfect ladies, Tvhen — when — 
 
 News comes to the lover cad that his sis- 
 ter, the only un-rotten member of his fam- 
 ily, the sole survivor of rectitude, bad left;' 
 her hus'band and bolted with some other| 
 fellow! Letty, tottering on the verge, is 
 apparently aware of the simllaiity of the! 
 Bituatlons. Letchmere raves against hia sis-' 
 ter, and Letty, recognizing the fitness of 
 thinga. Is saved! ,; 
 
 Thereupon she promptly ' marries the j 
 blithering little ass of a photographer, and? 
 Letchmere develops consumption! There? 
 you are. It is not clear wliat Plnero meanti 
 to do. It \s only clear that he took a very , 
 long time doing It. Although some of that 
 time -was (ileasant, for Pinero is a -clever| 
 ■mechanic and a keen craftsman, much of itJ 
 was long dragged out, irrelevant, and glim- ' 
 merlng with a «ort of mock brilliancy- 
 Such a collection of uncomfortable people 
 to sit through three hours with! Such 
 types! Such a vulgar crew! Although in 
 Lcndon they talked of character-drawing 
 and all that sort of thing, there isn't n 
 character in "Letty." They are all carica- 
 tures, and ugly ones. The commercial 
 traveller and the Insurance man are hound- 
 e;'s; the photographer Is a nincompoop; 
 Mandevllle. who loves eLtty, is a black- 
 guard ; the shop girl is a sordid guzzler ; 
 the sister's husband is a brute flavored with | 
 a cur ; the sister's lover is a libertine ; the | 
 heroine is a bucket-shop clerk trembling on 
 the brink of courtezandom. As tor the I 
 "hero"— PIneru insists that he is "rotteul 
 ; to the core." 
 
 t I am sorry that Plnero fcas fsv-v f 
 heredity. Ibsen does it 
 ,The notion that children'" ^'-f' 
 
IHk- . . poppers 'have 
 
 ^E^^b «^".'«^ ^,^wi^co *s jjoiL ffl. 'iesson that an 
 ..«o..ou^uii tau uiive uome. Plnei'O tias 
 paid a deft compliment to the Scandiua- 
 Tian pessimist, but— was It worth while? 
 
 However, the main thing lacking In 
 "Letty'i was sympathy. The poor gell 
 Beemed to yearn so for a life of ease ! Two 
 handsome meals— one with very jinger-beery 
 looking champagne — were offered up to her 
 in the lirst and third acts. She ran in 
 debt to the tune of £20 for clothes (at the 
 champagne "feed" she wore black, if you 
 please!). We were asked to. feel plaintive 
 and sympathetic. All this luxury was so 
 dazzling, and she couldn't get it. 
 
 You wouldn't have turned a hair if she 
 had gone wrong. And to plough one's way' 
 through all that philosophy, and handsome { 
 I verbiage, just to see her turn aside at thej 
 last moment, and marry the little lunatic- 
 well, It was a triumph of virtue that 
 seemed very sudden. And a fine time she 
 would have of It with her photographer. 
 The flnis of Letty, written in apple dump-i 
 lings, really was too uncouth. 
 
 However, a Pinero play Is always an 
 "event." It is something to discuss, at any 
 rate, and nowadays the theatres don't give 
 us much. Although "Letty" is not up to 
 the Pinero mark, either in brilliancy, in- 
 terest or power of observation— it is more 
 of a pot-'boiler than a play — yet Pinero 
 lovers will see it, and the city Is full of 
 'em. It is Inferior to "The Gay Lord Quex," 
 inferior even to "Iris," which wasn't nice, 
 but— well, it IS Pinero. 
 
 It seems a pity that this playwright 
 dabbles so persistently in the troubled 
 waters of frailty. Ladies who have been 
 successfully tempted have kept men busy 
 for years. Heaven defend us from a similar 
 list of vascillating, near-tempted ones, in 
 Letty's class. And, by the way, a more un- 
 interesting sort of a gell is rarely met. 
 Why did ail the men in the play love her? 
 Was she a disease? 
 
 It was Miss Carlotta Nillson who played 
 Letty, very well indeed. There was a feli- 
 citous suggestion of repressing and febrile 
 activlt.v. But there was nothing ingenuous 
 and nothing English. Miss Nillson seemed 
 to have escaped from an Ibsen stove— one 
 of those wretched porcelain things — and 
 she was Christiania rather than London. 
 "Still, she gave a credilable pevformann-, 
 3nd one that will help her much. 
 I William Faversham, as the "rotten to the 
 iCore." ^as eas.v ;tnd r-ouviiiciiig. The part 
 'ctvo him one or two sood opportunities, 
 and he rose to the ottc.ision. shedding va 
 
 _ ! others 
 0pp. as 
 
tlie cockney mini 
 fiiil.y wantliiff. T 
 Self, hut Miss Op 
 
 apiiiennov. The ( h^ractt-r wuf-vulirdi and 
 vicious, relyluc upon its "comedy." Ar- 
 thur riayfair as the hoaraer was a bit 
 loo cxDiosive. Even blaelssuaids are not, 
 alvv.nys latielled. One can't always detect 
 them at first sight. Miss Katherlne Flor- ' 
 once, the little eloplns si.=tor, was rather^ 
 pretty; Fritz Wiliiaois was the photoRra- ' 
 pher. J 
 
 "Letty" comes to the point In Act IV. 
 only. You grope through a hopeless amount '. 
 of trash— very thoroughly beaten— before ! 
 that point emerges. Act IV. is the climax. 
 Act V. is the auti-cllmax. She is married 
 to the pbotographer. All your sympathy - 
 goes to the photograpber. \ 
 
 ^ieij)'1. wk Umto ^tihmm 
 
 TUESDAY, SEPl-EMBBR 13, 1904. 
 
 "LETTY" AT THE HUDSON. 
 
 "Letty." a drama In five acts, by Arthur Wing 
 Pinero, was shown for the first time In America at 
 the Hudson Theatre last night, with William 
 Faver.sham as the ostensible star and Miss Car- 
 lotta Nlllson in the title part. An audience of un- 
 usual size was In attendance, and a large measure 
 of applause followed each descent of the curtain. 
 Nevertheless, the performance of the drama was 
 disappointinp: in almost every respect, and fre- 
 quently BO inadequate to the demands of the play t 
 that one could hardly be sure these demands ex- 
 isted, whatever his faith in Mr. Pinero's skill. In- 
 sight and artistic restraint, and was constantly 
 blaming "I/otty" for failures to carry conviction 
 that at the next moment he felt to be the faults 
 of the players, Instead. Of one thing, however, i 
 there was a certainty— "Letty" never failed to In- I 
 terest. That much of Mr. Pinero's power was 
 manifest. 
 
 Indeed, It may be doubted if Mr. Pinero has lost ' 
 much or any of his teobnicaj cunning, or of his 
 sense of character. Certainly he has lost nothing 
 of his probing Interest in the vulgar, the sordid, 
 the morally rotten in English life, and. in spite of 
 the "happy" ending of "I>etty." he baa gained no 
 atoning cheerfulness or Brownfngesque optimism, 
 that would best suit him If he should fall heir to 
 any opilmlsm. He Is still the very limited Mr. 
 Pluero. who sots an essentially weak woman In 
 the midst of the tempt.atIons that are offered by es- 
 sentially wealc and base men, and then follows her 
 career with the remorE:~:=-= --"• •" ' ■ - - 
 server — notiiing more. 7- 7 - - ^ -- ■-/.- v ^^ 
 
phrase. Mr. Pinero 
 -=-■-.- J-.-- -"-sre he stood before, 
 jjeny IS the daughter of a defaulting solicitor aJid. 
 .'■a, clerk In a bucket shop, where she has attracted 
 the admiration of MandeviUe. one of the partners 
 'and a. bruta.i and vulgar cad. She la also on friend- 
 ly terms with Letchmere. a well born debauchee, 
 who is not in a position to marry her. since he has 
 a wife, but has neglected to mention the fact. In 
 the first act Letchmere entertains' her and two 
 of her friends at hla rooms, and Is warned by 
 MandevUle that the truth about his marriage will 
 be disclosed unless he promises "to keep off the 
 grass." The intruder l.s dismissed Insolently, and 
 an apointment is made for another birthday party 
 at Hilda Gunnmg's, and sealed with a kiss. This 
 appointment is kept, in the second act, on the roof 
 of the lodging house, where Letty is receiving the 
 congratulations of her fellow lodgers, a com- 
 mercial traveller, an Insurance agent and 
 a photographer, from all of whom she 
 has borrowed money. Letchmere startles her 
 with a confession that he Is already married and 
 with a proposal that she shall take MandeviUe as 
 her husband. Humiliated by the failure of her 
 schemes, for she has been dressing smartly and 
 living beyond her means in the expectation of 
 marrying Letchmere, she accepts the coarse, over- 
 bearing offer of marriage from the other man. The 
 third act brings together at a caf§ Letchmere, who 
 has been dining with a married sister, Mrs. Crosble, 
 and Mandeville's party from the lodging house, 
 who have been celebrating his engagement by a 
 night at the Alhambra. The two rivals are spurred 
 on by jealousy, and Letchmere asks Letty to meet 
 him that night at his rooms. In the fourth act, 
 coming at midnight to his apartment, she agrees to 
 live with Letchmere rather than marry the repul- 
 sive MandeviUe. A messenger suddenly brings In a 
 note from his sister, confessing that she has left 
 her husband to elope with a lover. Warned by this 
 revelation of the degenerate Letchmere stock Letty 
 snatches her hat and coat and begs him to let her 
 go. and with a passionate embrace they separate. 
 The epilogue supplies the sequel— her marriage 
 with the good natured and respectable photogra- 
 pher and her acceptance of a life among the lowly. 
 
 In the presentation of this drama Mr. Faversham 
 enacted the lover, Nevil] Letchmere, and almost his 
 entire performance was not only Inadequate, but 
 beside the character. Like most of Mr. Plnero'a 
 rakes, Letchmere Is no fool, but possessed of con- 
 siderable intelligence, polished manners, a turn for 
 epigram and a cynical sense of humor. Letch- 
 mere, In fact, may not wrongly be supposed to 
 have a kind of Intellectual paltry about him, that 
 gave to his wrongful wooing an added charm for 
 the girl. Something of this may be found In his own 
 words, more in the fact that Letty so passionately 
 loved him. But all these traits were beyond Mr. 
 Faversham's powers to suggest, so that he ejected 
 the loud MandeviUe with the air of a hero of melo- 
 drama rather than the polished, cynical superiority 
 of a man of the world, conscious of his superiority 
 and In full command of the situation 
 
 Miss Carlotta Nillson. as the heroine, however, 
 did not overact, as. Indeed, it was reasonable to 
 expect she would not. And In moments of poignant 
 feeling, whether of grief or Joy, she denoted with 
 compelling effect the passions that swayed her. 
 Her little cries, her little gestures, her bursts of 
 laughter were natural as life, and, like lite, irre- 
 sistible. 
 
SRi^JJi 
 
 DAILY Iv >, ::■ 
 
 NeTF York, Tucsany. Sept. 13, 1904. 
 
 "LETTY" IS DOLEFUL 
 AND MUCH TOO LONG 
 
 London's Enthusiasm Not Likely to| 
 Find an Echo Here. ' 
 
 FAVERSHAM'S ROLE NOT STRONG 
 
 Pinero's Drama, However/ Has a Strong 
 
 Cast and Is Staged Excellently in 
 
 the Hudson Theatre. 
 
 If the Big Ben chime that rang so mer- | 
 rUy in the second act of "Letty" in the f 
 Hudson Theatre last night had played out 
 the departing audience it would have 
 marked a quarter of midniglit. That is the 
 time when the good folk of Pelham Manor ! 
 and Plainfield are accustomed to scatter j 
 from theatre trains, and when the Harlem- 
 Ite begins to scold the head waiter for de- ' 
 layed rarebits and salads. "L.etty" is a 
 doleful play enough without dragging us 
 along until the hour when graveyards yawn. 
 
 London went into ecstacles over "Letty," 
 but there is small fear of New York in- 
 dulging in such enthusiasm. Some plays 
 arouse such lively interest we sit without 
 fidgeting for three and one-half hours, but 
 not so with "Letty." Our old entertainer, 
 Arthur W. Pinero, asks too mtich of our 
 patience. "Letty" is too long; it travels 
 too far around the clock; once started in 
 dialogue, Pinero chatters along to wearying 
 and aimless length. It is well cast and ex- ; 
 cellentiy staged, but what are these factors j 
 In a production if the play itself be lacking? j 
 
 To start with. Pinero has not given us much I 
 of a plot, and it is a "risky" plot. He takes 
 four acts and a(n opilo.ejuc, which in itself ia ; 
 a good, long act, to reveal his story. Of i 
 dramatic action there is none until the end 
 Of the second act. Until that point the play 
 Is about as exciting as a Quaker's meeting. 
 Pinero has not once ruffled our feelings. 
 Not once has he aroused us by a hearty 
 laugh, and as he set himself to pathos also 
 when he started to write the play, why on 
 earth did he not strive for a heart throb? 
 Perhaps he did; pe.rJiar.s ii.;- ■" " - - ' - ' '- 
 uproarious laughtu'- --un Lt^v;, ,,,, 
 the framing of thece '.rr-j :■. . 
 
gay and sad 
 
 ^I^^^WkHj^^^ iat'.;li ov i.-i-y 
 
 nerves in the 
 I wxoiiK way. 
 
 1 William Faver'^ham has bfen flshing 
 around tor a couple of seasons lor a play of 
 ; the catching qualities ot "Lord and Lady 
 Algy." It looked as if fortune had smiled 
 when the announcement was made that he 
 had been chosen to make the American 
 presentation ot the Plnero drama, but with 
 all thought ot the success ot "Letty" in 
 ■Xondon set aside, it appears as if the sil- 
 Vvery side of the cloud has not turned to 
 Ihim. 
 
 \ It is anything but a strong part Mr, Fa- 
 versham undertakes. It is not a sympa- 
 Jthetic character. His life lias been "biack; 
 j'he says his whole family is black, and his 
 chief concern is to blacken the character ot 
 'a frail little creature, Letty. The story 
 I centres around this pale-faced, harrowed 
 I maiden. She resists bravely at first, and 
 then she goes so far as to go to her tempt- 
 er's apartments at 2 in the morning to find 
 ■warmth from wet slippers in his pumps, 
 and to shake out her hair, as if in token of 
 total abandon. 
 
 This Is not a pretty scene, no matter how 
 Mr. Plnero may value his studies in mor- 
 jality. Stripped bare, the .incident is any- 
 1 thing but pleasant, and the dramatist's at- 
 !tempts to garnish do not speak of the ex- 
 Iperienceu craftsman. Note Pinero's method 
 ito excuse himself. The swinging doors are 
 1 closed fast on the couple, and a servant 
 'dares to knock, although bidden to liold 
 I himself distant. He comes with a letter, 
 •which he thinks is very important. The 
 I master 'opens it and reads that his own 
 sister has left her husband. Insjantly 
 ! Letty is forgotten. Plei^ tempter forgets 
 I even his own fallings; forgets that he has 
 chosen frivolity instead of his own wife 
 and child, and becomes the moral youth 
 ! of ,a- decade before. Kis sister! Fled her 
 home with another man! Oh, what will he 
 not do to that man! He is to blame. The 
 poor, poor little sister has done nothing: 
 the man — the man alone is responsible. In 
 raving outburst he is declaiming a brief 
 «galnst himself, and Letty, doing a little 
 rpcisoning for a change, kicks off the 
 pumps, pulls on her slippers, sticks a 
 couple of pins in her hair, departs and is 
 ■^vedded to a long-haired photographer. 
 
 As remarkable as the timely reformation 
 of Letty is the cause of her fall from 
 grace. She is engaged to a wealthy mei'- 
 chant, but his loud voice and his vulgarisms 
 are more than the fastidious girl can bear. 
 Though she has battled hard against temp- 
 tation until now, she capitulates to the pol- 
 ished villain. 
 
 'Carlotta Nillson is a clever actress. Her 
 performance of Letty was admirable, but 
 It did not overshadow the memory ot her 
 brief appearance with Mrs. Fiske in 
 "Heclda Gabler," last season. The fault 
 was not Miss Nillson's; it was Pinero's. 
 The programme told us Julie Opp was an 
 "assistant at Madame Wat-kin's," which in- 
 dicated exactly w-hat to expect. 
 
 Miss Opp went f i om simple to lavish 
 frocks, which was eminently fitting to one 
 ■who found it so easy to forsake Madame 
 "t^''atkin's for French maids and poodles. 
 However, the actress gave a capital per- 
 formance, and several times v/as applauded 
 heartily. 
 
sate|f]?iii^- 
 
 DAILY EDITION. 
 
 New York, Friday, Sept. 16, 1004. 
 
 PLAYER FOLK 
 
 Our theatric calm has been ruffled slightly 
 by Arthur Wins Plnero. "Letty" has not 
 aroused us to heated dir.cuss'on, like "Iris" 
 and "Paula Tanqueray." This writer, who 
 ' has been proclaimed in many quarters the 
 ; "master playwright of England," has shown 
 I, little evidence in his latest work of his 
 : lauded superiority, and, strange to say, 
 I "Letty" seems likely to go the conventional 
 Tvay of the numerous conventional plays 
 ; that flare for a few weeks In Broadway and 
 ! then are swallowed up In the darkness of 
 I. the "road." The hardest comment on Pl- 
 ■f nero embodies a comparison of his work 
 ', with that of Ibsen. ■ Poor old Ibsen! Must 
 he b% harried, even tortured, in his falling 
 Jdays? It Is "Ibsen profundity" on all oc- 
 j oaslons. until one begins to wonder If ther^ 
 [is a limit to public patience. Has It come 
 i 10 the point where no playwright may In- 
 j elude a pessiml.'^tlc Incident in his work 
 t^lthout being accused of touching Ibsen's 
 i mantle? Is every dramatist who prefers to 
 busy himself with the dark side of the sex 
 problem to be branded a* a base imitator? 
 Sommhlng like this has been insinuated In 
 [the case of Mr. Pinero and "Letiy." Be- 
 : cause Plnero flings a wealthy young rske 
 ( Into excitement and has him speak of all 
 J'his blood relations as "black sheep," we are 
 Mnformed the Englishman opes the Norse- 
 itnan. Humbug! Ibsen has not built a fence 
 around th> morbid ones of mankind. Law 
 I by injunction Is unknown In the realm ol , 
 ! tlie mind. Of course, there are irnitttors, 
 and p! i.^^iarists are to be despised; bui wliat 
 nonsense the Ibsen charge in this mstance! 
 Plnero i;? condemned because a man in a 
 frenzy swears all who bear his name are 
 mor.»l Irpe-rs. The allegcUon held against 
 Pinoro is absurd, unless :t be intended that 
 all rnoi !:als .steeped in f^il^; shaji be iicrded 
 together as Ibsen's exclusive dramatic prop- 
 erty. 
 
 Pinero has not threatened the Norseman's] 
 independence, but ho has interfered with 
 the right oi" every sewing circle to irrespon-. 
 sible talkativeness. Seldom have playgoers 
 been asked to sit through n play of such 
 long and dreary dialogue. Even Zangwiil's 
 puns are exous'abla in view of this Plnero 
 plethora of words. Had the playwright 
 given brevity to his play we might have 
 become deeply Interested in his plot. But j 
 how porsisteniy he chatters! He rambles; 
 tlirough the varied vocabularloa of an ef- 
 fusive photographer, f • - ■■ 
 a life insurance agem 
 
'Ulerks, wait-' 
 on to a total 
 J.n.1. ueot ^Ill^ motJey band would 
 !f6nversaUon, and it is too severe 
 a strain on oi.ir good nature when Mr, 
 Pinero not only accentuates thelr» inanity: 
 but starts tiiem to cliatterlns nimost end- 
 lessly. It is not necessary to 'Jive much 
 time to discussion of Letty herself. She Is 
 a girl of small consequence. Her mentality 
 is ordinary, and lier physical attractiveness 
 v/ould not lead a well-balanced man to in- 
 discretion. Interest is directed more to Iier 
 I untortunrte experiences. Letty Is not the 
 ' rem.Trltable woman one would look for in 
 a Pinero drama. She is of sad nature; 
 qxiiet. reserved: just the Itind of resigned 
 woman who would slave and starve for a 
 brute of a husband. Women of this type 
 are not particularly absorbing on the stage 
 or In real life. Letty is no dominant 
 creature: she docs not fit circumstances to 
 her will, but submits herself lielplessly to 
 them, iier despairing weakness is finally 
 demonstrated when she breaks her engage- 
 ment with a "bounder." by reason of his 
 exasperating commonness, and throws her- 
 self into the arms of a polLshed tempter. 
 It is only remorse provoked by noy.'s o£ iiie 
 sister's downfall that permits her to go and 
 marry the humble photographer. 
 
 Carlotta Nillson's portrayal of 3>tty 
 would be improved by more freedom of ac- 
 tion. She holds her emotions with too 
 ttfiht a r«ln. Emotional abandon always 
 fails in its object, and emotional restraint 
 is hardly less a fault. Miss Nillson should 
 be a little more of herself. Sne is not nat- 
 ural when she sets her face in gloom, and 
 If she be observant of the response of audi- 
 tors she will learn this by the quick ap- 
 preciation shown v^hen she gives i^erself to 
 a few brief periods of careless lavghter. 
 The reception of Miss Nillson as Letty is 
 of great importaaoe to her future. In a 
 sen.3e it decides what her dramatic fate is 
 to be in this country. She lias been kept 
 fresh in mind since she first spranpr into 
 preeminence last fall by superior aotmg of 
 Mrs. Elvsted In "Hedda Gabler." By som» 
 Miss Nillson has been called great, which, 
 paradoxical as it may seem, will hinder her 
 advancement. To spread the imi.resslon 
 that Miss Nillson is a Mrs. Fiske, for In- 
 stance, is to impose a handicap that the 
 young woman will find it diiTeult to over- 
 come. Told to look for greatness, playgoers, 
 as human nature goes, will be prone to con- 
 demn should their exps^'ctstion not be rea- 
 lized when first they aie the actress. 
 
 Miss Nillson's performance of Letty la 
 ifood enough to establish her artistic worth, 
 without irritating us with impulsive en- 
 thusiasm. She is a capable young woman, 
 and she will become a conspicuous figure 
 before long. But this time is not yet. Her 
 temperamental range has not been tested. 
 Of what merit is Miss Nillson as a 
 comedienne? Is there a mirthful buoyancy 
 to set in contrast with her forceful re- 
 straint? These points will rem In unde- 
 
 r elded until the actress settles th. m herself 
 
 in o r/<io nf ,.,i/io,- -.,.- — "- '■ - - : "-.ve ssen 
 
 ji;v25ea, the de- 
 
 * ■■' .o,«.-- ^... "ijove's 
 
 Letty. 
 
Tlm^ enough to cryataUiEc .... 
 
 have seen the lighter s 
 It '.a i problem whether -- ,- - .. .-, — 
 airiness about Miss NlUsun. >ii. [>r>-beni; sua 
 reminds one of Edith 'iVynne Matthison, 
 ,who seemed to be controlled in every light 
 ■rols she undertook last winter by the se-rl- 
 pusness of "Everyman." When on the 
 
 ?uestlon of Mies Nillson's art, does it seem 
 air to (five her as high a ratlnp as Miss 
 Matthisor? '-far'-lly. Miss Matthison has 
 the advantage In voice, face and flgure. 
 : Miss NilUon s face has not the mobile 
 shading of the other womTn's, and her 
 voice dees not sound with the same rich i 
 melody. Indeed, when the grave bearing ' 
 Of Mi»s Nlllscn sug-^ests this characteristic i 
 In Miss Matthison, further thought brings 
 the fear that the admirable Letty will tind ! 
 it well-rlgh Impossible to attain t^-.e ar- 
 tistic distinction of Everyman. 
 
 William Faversham walk.'j cjuietly through 
 the play. He does little more, in truth, for 
 only once does lie rouse himself from quiet 
 self-content. Then his excitement lasts a 
 I trifle of three minutes. Pinero could have 
 j plotted .with finer fitness for Mr. Faver- 
 sham, but this playwright never has thought 
 Of the "Matlnge girl." Now, when the Mis- 
 sourlan politician is in national evidence, 
 the part played by Paversham well may be 
 called a "fc^um siioe role." Pinero made 
 Nevili Letchmere a sly schemer against 
 v.'omen, and Faversham carries out the 
 idea of the dramatist by trt;ading silently 
 through the plot. As a tailor's model, the 
 actor will appeal .ts strongly as ever to hia 
 loyal admirers. As a concession to finicky 
 worshippers, however, Mr. Faversham 
 should get his hair cut Trim perfection is 
 not attained by stray strands falUng over 
 the collar. The actor is recommended to 
 place himself in the hands of a Ln rber, so 
 that at least the artistic eye may be with- 
 QUt grievance. WILLIAM BULJLOCK. 
 
 PINEHO'S "LETTY.' 
 
 The Latter Part of the Play Not as Suc- 
 cessful as the First. 
 
 Special Cable Despatch to The Sun. 
 
 London, Oct. 8.— Mr. Pinero '8 new play, 
 "Letty," was produced at the Duke of 
 York's Theatre to-night. The first two 
 acts were enthi;.siastically applauded and 
 the other three well received. ! 
 
 The story is serious, with bright romec'y 
 intei-aperaed, and to this the success of the 
 play will be due if siiccess comes to it. Mr. 
 Pinero did not appear at tlio end. 
 
LETTY 
 
Letty 
 
 An Original Drama 
 
 In Four Acts and an Epilogue 
 
 By 
 ARTHUR W. PINERO 
 
 All rights reserved under the International Copyright Act. 
 Performance forbidden and right of representation reserved. 
 Application for the right of performing this play viay be made 
 to the publishers. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 WILLIAM HEINEMANN 
 
 MCMV 
 
 UNIVLUL^n Y 
 
Letty 
 
 Copyright, 19045 by 
 ARTHUR W. PINERO 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 PLEASE READ CAREFULLY. 
 
 The acting rights of this play are reserved by the author. 
 Performance is strictly farbidden unless his express consent has 
 first been obtained, and attention is called to the penalties pro- 
 vided by law for any infringements of his rights, as follows : — 
 
 "Sec. 4966:— Any person publicly performing or representing any 
 dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained, 
 without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical composi- 
 tion, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages therefor, such 
 damages in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less than one hundred 
 dollars for the first and fifty dollars for every subsequent performance, as 
 to the court shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and 
 representation be willful and for profit, such person or persons shall be 
 guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction be imprisoned for a period 
 not exceeding one year." — U. S. Revised Statutes, Title 60, Chap. 3. 
 
Letty 
 
 THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY 
 
 Nevill Letchmere. 
 
 Ivor Crosbie. 
 
 CoppiNGER Drake. 
 
 Bernard Mandeville. 
 
 Richard Perry. 
 
 Neale, a Commercial Traveller. 
 
 Ordish, Agent for a7i Insurance Company. 
 
 RuGG, Mr. Letchmere' s Servant. 
 
 Frederic, A Maitre d' hdtel. 
 
 Waiters. 
 
 Mrs. Ivor Crosbie. 
 
 Letty Shell, 
 
 Marion Allardyce,, 
 
 Hilda Gunning, An Assistant at Madame Watkins s. 
 
 A Lady's-maid. 
 
 \ Clerks at Dugdale' s. 
 
 The scene is laid in London : — The First and Fourth 
 Acts at Mr, Letchmere' s Flat in Grafton Street, New Bond 
 Street ; the Second at a house in LangJiam Street; the 
 Third in a private room at the Cafe Regence ; and the 
 Epilogue at a photographer' s in Baker Street. The events 
 of the four acts of the dra7na, commencing on a Saturif.iy 
 in June, take place within the space of a few hours, he- 
 tween the Fourth Act and the Epilogue two years a7id six 
 months are supposed to elapse. 
 
LETTY 
 
 THE FIRST ACT 
 
 The scene represents a spacimis apartment, decorated and 
 furnished luxuriously and tastefully, upon the first 
 floor of a house in Grafton Street. On the right are 
 two windows overlooking the northern end of Albe- 
 marle Street. The window nearer the spectator is a 
 bay, the further window an ordinary one. Also on 
 the right, but in the wall at the back, is a double-door. 
 A portiere hangs in the recess of the doorway ; it is, 
 however, drawti aside and the door is open, affording a 
 ■view of a smaller chamber having the appearance of 
 a library and smoking-room, hrom the right centre 
 the back wall advances at a right angle for a few feet, 
 and then continues its course to the wall on the left. 
 In the advanced back wall is another double-door, also 
 open. Beyond is a corridor, on the further side of 
 which a third double-door gives admittance to a bed- 
 room. Within the bedroom a screen is placed before 
 the door so that the interior of this room is hidden. 
 The corridor runs away on the left as if leadiiig to an 
 enira7ice lobby. Near the fireplace, which is on the 
 left, stands a lafge table ; oit it is a nondescript fepast, 
 daintily set for four persons — the glass, silver, and 
 napety being of an elegant kind — consisting of a huge 
 cake, some dishes containing various fruits and sweet- 
 meats, and two decanters of wine. The cake is elab- 
 orately ornamented, and bears an inscription in green 
 letters upon a white ground. A settee and three chairs 
 are drawn up to the table. On the opposite side of the 
 7 
 
8 LETTY 
 
 room, fartly in the bay-window, are a grand piano- 
 forte and a music-stool, and, by the piano, standing out 
 into the room, are another settee, a small table, and 
 two chairs. One of the chairs is on the left of the 
 small table, the other behind it. A writing-table and 
 chair stand before the further window ; while the 
 spaces not provided for in this description are filled by 
 choice cabinets, figures in bronze and marble, arid 
 lamps of graceful design. 
 
 The light is that of a btilliant afternoon in the 
 height of summer. In the library the exterior blinds 
 are lowered, but in the nearer room they are almost 
 entirely raised and the fierce glare of the sun is seen 
 without. 
 
 [Note : — The descriptions of the scenery, and the 
 directions for the movements of the characters, are set 
 out as from the point of view of the audience. Thus, 
 Right and Left are the spectator s right and left, not 
 the actor S.I 
 
 [RUGG, a spruce man-servant, is surveying the 
 table on the left with a grin. The bell of an 
 outer door rings and he disappears, going along 
 the corridor in the direction of the hall. Pres- 
 ently he returns showing in Ivor Crosbie, a 
 scrupulously-tailored ' ' man about town ' ' — bil- 
 ious-looking, sev en-a7id-thirty , heavy and dull 
 in manner. 
 
 RUGG. 
 
 Mr. Letchmeie is in his bedioom, Mr. Ivor. I'll tell 
 him. 
 
 [Crosbie deposits his hat upon the table on the 
 right and strolls over to the larger table, whcte 
 he also views the preparations for the feast. 
 RuGG knocks at the bedroom door. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [From w ith in.\ Yes? 
 
LETTY 9 
 
 RUGG. 
 Mr. Crosbie, sir. 
 
 [RuGG vanishes, closing the door on the left upon 
 Crosbie. Crosbie is deciphering the inscrip- 
 tion on the cake as Nevill Letchmere comes 
 through the library and enters at the door on the 
 right. Nevii.l is a tall, handsome young man 
 of twenty -nine, engaging in spite of a smile that 
 too frequently partakes of the sardonic. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Bestowing a nod upon his visitor^ Hullo ! 
 
 Crosbie. 
 
 \Sulkily.'\ Hullo ! [Referring to the inscription.^ 
 Who's "Letty "? 
 
 Nevill. 
 A young lady of my acquaintance. 
 
 Crosbie. 
 "Many Happy Returns " 
 
 Nevill. 
 A select little birthday-party. 
 
 Crosbie. 
 [With a sneer.'\ Ho! Your latest, I presume ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 , You wrong me — quite an innocent affair, I assure you. 
 [Picking up a fan which lies at ha7id and throwing him- 
 self upon the settee on the right.^ And how is the most 
 genial, the most vivacious, of brothers-in-law ? 
 
 Crosbie. 
 Don't chaff — infernally out of temper. 
 
10 . LErrr 
 
 Nevill. 
 [^Fanning himself. '\ Incredible! Who can have suc- 
 ceeded in checking your enviable flow of spirits? 
 
 Crosbie. 
 \Facing him.\ Your sister; you might almost guess 
 that. \In a weak rage.^ I won't have it, Nevill ; I won't 
 stick it, I tell you. 
 
 Nevill. 
 You'll not stick ? 
 
 Crosbie. 
 Being made a laughing-stock of, being made to appear 
 damnably ridiculous. 
 
 Nevill. 
 The weather isn't favorable to argument — but do you 
 really believe that anybody but himself can make a man 
 ridiculous? 
 
 Crosbie. 
 
 I want none of your cheap sarcasm. \SiUing by the 
 
 settee on which Nevill is reclining.'] Look here, Nevill ! 
 
 I speak candidly — there's no other way. You're a bad lot, 
 
 you Letchmeres. You're nice enough on the outside 
 
 Nevill. 
 Flatterer I 
 
 Crosbie. 
 But under the crust you're rotten bad. You know you 
 are. \ Wiping his bfow.'\ And Florence is a thoroughly 
 characteristic specimen of your precious family. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Raising himself slightly.^ You put your views with so 
 much charm and delicacy, dear Ivor, that I hardly like 
 
LETTY 11 
 
 to request you to restrict your criticism to my own per- 
 sonal failings. 
 
 Crosbie. 
 Delicacy be hanged ! This ain't the time for it. Her 
 behavior with young Drake is a positive scandal. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Elevaiing his brows. \ Drake? 
 
 Crosbie. 
 Coppinger Drake. I was dining with some men at the 
 Carlton last night — in she sails with Drjjke. What kind 
 of figure d'ye think /cut? I and my pals went on to 
 the play. Confound it if Coppy and she didn't turn up 
 directly afterwards ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Siiting erect, frowning/y.l Drake's a very decent fel- 
 low, isn't he ? 
 
 Crosbie. 
 [Rising and walking away.] Decent ! All over the 
 place with another man's wife ! I've had enough of it. 
 I mayn't be exactly a model husband 
 
 Nevill. 
 You don't even spare yourself. Admirable impar- 
 tiality ! 
 
 Crosbie. 
 [Leaning upon the back of a chair, moodily^ It's a 
 risky business, I riare say, any man marryin'. But for 
 one of settled habits it's plainly a mug's game. The 
 day's safe to come when you realize that a rattling good 
 bottle of Clicquot and a weed are worth the smartest 
 woman goin'. \Wiih a short laugh, T>iEVll,l^ gets upon 
 his feet.\ Yes, I admit I'm by no means a model hus- 
 
13 LETTY 
 
 band, Nevill, but I — \drawing himself up and looking the 
 other ill the face\ I'm not an accommodating one. Com- 
 prenez ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Perfectly. 
 
 Crosbie. 
 I give you and Florence fair warning, then 
 
 Nevill. 
 What do you expect me to do ? 
 
 [ The bell of the outer door is heard. 
 
 Crosbie. 
 Your party ? \'ts\ de irop. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [^Consulting his watch.'] My friends are not due till four 
 o'clock. 
 
 Crosbie. 
 [Listening.] I hear the swish of skirts, though. 
 [Fetching his hat — sneering again.'] You never include 
 me in your innercent gatherin's. [J?eturnin^ to Nevill 
 who has moved towards the door on the left.] Well, you 
 have a straight talk with Florence — you follow me ? 
 
 You had better, Nevill, my son ! 
 
 [ The door on the left is thrown open, and Flor- 
 ence — Mrs. Ivor Crosbie— rt/^rarj. She 
 is a pretty, animated little creature, dressed in 
 the extreme of fashion, a year or two junior to 
 Nevill, with a baby face and big, lustrous 
 eyes. She presents her cheek to Nevill who 
 kisses it, but of Crosbie she takes no notice. 
 
 Florence. 
 [To Nevill.J Hope I'm not spoiling an interesting 
 tete-a-tete, I found myself passing your door. Phew ! 
 
LETTY 13 
 
 it's eighty in the shade ! \_Observing the prepara- 
 tions for the parly. ^ My dear boy, what a spread ! 
 
 Crosbie. 
 \Wiih an uncomfortable laugh.] Rather an embar- 
 rassin' coincidence, tliis ! But accidents will happen in 
 the best regulated households. \_Advancing to her.] 
 Excuse me — you've just been the subject of conversation 
 between your brother and myself. 
 
 \She sits, on the right of the large table , facing the 
 cake, and removes her gloves. 
 
 Crosbie. 
 
 Yes, and I strongly advise you to hsten to what he's 
 
 got to say to you. If you don't tliere'll be trouble — d'ye 
 
 liear ? [/« another fit of impotent rage ^ What the devil 
 
 do you mean by ignoring my presence? You dare turn 
 
 your back on me ■! \Finding'i^'SN\iA^ at his side — 
 
 after a pause. ^ Oh, all right. 
 
 [i% smooths his hat with his sleeve, hesitates, slowly 
 settles his hat upon his head, and departs with- 
 out further speech. The outer door is slammed. 
 
 Florence. 
 [Contracting her shoulder blades.~\ Ugh ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 This is delightful, my dear Tiny. [Taking a scent- 
 spray from the table on the right and perfuming the air.] 
 Why do you trip up my stairs so seldom ? 
 
 Florence. 
 One is aUvays in doubt as to whom one will meet here. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Closing the door on the left.] Oh, Ivor's a rare bird. 
 
 Florence. 
 He — yes. [Pointing to the cake.] But this kind of 
 
14 LETTY 
 
 tiling. {Reading the inscrip/wn.'j " Letty. Many 
 Happy Returns of the Day." Who is Letty, please ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Discreeffy.] My dear girl ! 
 
 Florence. 
 I insist ! [ffe laughs, shaking his head; she pouts. \ I 
 won't upbraid you — there ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 A clerk at a Bucket-shop in Waterloo Place, if you are 
 bent upon knowing. 
 
 Florence. 
 \Tivisting her chair round. ^ What's a Bucket-shop ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Lamentable ignorance ! 
 
 Florence. 
 Bucket-shop ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Laying the spray aside and taking a cigarette from his 
 case.] The den of the Outside Stockbroker— a smart 
 gentleman who is at once the tipster and book-maker of 
 the Stock Exchange and a rogue in both relations. 
 
 Florence. 
 A swindler? 
 
 Nevill. 
 An arrant brigand thriving mainly upon the shame- 
 faced gambling propensities of the respectable classes. 
 The credulous parson, the sanguine widow, and the 
 struggling professional man are his chief victims — al- 
 though his transactions are occasionally spiced by a 
 soiled flimsy from an adventurous demi-mondaine. 
 
LETTY 15 
 
 Florence. 
 
 How delectable ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Lighting, his cigarette.'] This Waterloo Place gang is 
 particularly eminent. " Dugdale's," they call them- 
 selves. As a matter of fact, they are three worthies of 
 the names of Hammerstein, Cohen, and IMandeville. 
 
 Florence. 
 And Miss Letty — does she participate in the golden 
 gains ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Good lord, no ! Poor Letty ! She's one of a dozen 
 young women who live laborious days for a weekly wage 
 of five or seven-and-twenty shillings. 
 
 Florence. 
 [^Looking at the table again.] Who are the others? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Others ? 
 
 Florence. 
 [Indicating the remaining places.] You've two other 
 guests apparently. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Ah, yes — Miss Allardyce, also of the Dugdale es- 
 tablishment. The austere Marion shares a stuffy lodg- 
 ing with Letty in the most depressing locality con- 
 ceivable. \Seating himself at the piano and touching the 
 keys lightly as they talk.] You notice, dearest Tiny, that 
 the proprieties are rigidly complied with. 
 
 Florence. 
 [Rising^ And the third ? \He throws his head back 
 and laughs heartily.] Now what tickles you ? 
 
16 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 Some of your marvelous gowns are fabricated in 
 Dover Street, aren't they, by the sublime Madame 
 Watkins ? 
 
 Florence. 
 [Glancing at herself.^ These are her rags. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Miss Gunning is an assistant at Mrs. Watkins' s, and, 
 w/hen at home, a next-door neighbor of Letty's. 
 Doubtless she has often helped to stick pins in your 
 diminutive person. 
 
 Florence. 
 [Advancing.'] How on earth do you contrive to scrape 
 acquaintance with people of this description, Nevill ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Through being on earth. 
 
 Florence. 
 Fiddle ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Oh, I scarcely remember. An encounter, perhaps, 
 under a friendly portico while sheltering from the rain, 
 the chivalrous offer of an umbrella — no matter. 
 
 Florence. 
 [Kneeling upon the settee by the piano, watching him 
 curiously.] Old boy. 
 
 Nevill. 
 " \In the middle of a lively air. \ Hullo ? 
 
 Florence. 
 Isn't this playing it pretty low down ? 
 
LETTY 17 
 
 Nevill. 
 You deplore the disregard of social barriers. Tush ! 
 it is a leveling age. 
 
 Florence. 
 Bar joking. You understand ; this Letty 
 
 Nevill. 
 Miss Elizabeth Shell? She disdains the Elizabeth, but 
 the unpoetic fact remains. 
 
 Florence. 
 She's the attraction, evidently. \_lViih a grimace.'\ 
 How can you ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 [ Taking his hands from the piano and facing her, a no/e 
 of sincerity in his voice.'\ I feel bound to remark, luy 
 dear Tiny — not in my own defence but in vindication of 
 the young lady — that Letty, christened Elizabeth, is ;is 
 straight — I employ the vernacular — as straight as any 
 woman in our more polite world whom you or I shall 
 meet in a day's march. 
 
 Florence. 
 Positively ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Positively. 
 
 Florence. 
 [Signijicantfy.'\ Isn't that an excellent reason, then, 
 for your leaving her. alone? 
 
 \^f/e rises and walks away to the table on the left 
 where he stands contemplating the birthday- 
 feast. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Yes, that blithe, mercurial spirit — your husband — was 
 
18 LETTY 
 
 reminding me, a few minutes ago, that we Letchmeres 
 are a vicious crew. Ha ; tlie utterance may have lacked 
 sometliing of urbanity ; \shrugging his shoulders\ but 
 
 Florence. 
 \Sitting upon the settee.'^ By-the-by, Nevill, what 
 procured you the fehcity of a visit from Ivor ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Turning to her.^ He called to complain about you 
 and young Drake. 
 
 Florence. 
 [ With a show of indifference?^ Oh ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Advancing.^ He says that Coppy and you are to- 
 gether a great deal too frequently and that he's had 
 enoiigli of it. 
 
 Florence. 
 Indeed ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 And if you ask my opinion, my dear girl, I fancy 
 
 Florence. 
 What? 
 
 Nevill. 
 That he /^flj had enough of it. [Finnly.^ You'd bet- 
 ter drop it. \She laughs uneasily.^ No, no ; stop that 
 for a moment. 
 
 Florence. 
 [Rising.^ But how amusing! And, by way of em- 
 pliasis, he declares his conviction that, as a tribe, we are 
 — more or less imperfect, eh ? 
 
LETTT 19 
 
 Nevill. 
 Rotten bad, to quote him. 
 
 Florence. 
 \Making a moiie.] Rotten bad ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Grimly.\ Well, aren't we? 
 
 Florence. 
 [ Turning away and seating herself on the left of the table 
 on the right.\ Oh, perliaps. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Every one of us, men and women — rotten to the core ! 
 
 Florence. 
 \TrLicing the pattern of the carpet with herfoot.\ Every 
 one of us? Isn't that a bit premature? 
 
 Nevill. 
 I beg your pardon. \^Laying a hand upon her shoulder.^ 
 Yes, not you. Tiny. You II make a better show than the 
 rest, old girl. 
 
 Florence. 
 {Weakly.] Ha, ha! 
 
 Nevill. 
 The family record is monotonous reading. You'll be 
 the first to vary it — for how many generations ? [ Ihoiight- 
 fully bittzvith his characteristic smile.'] And — who knows ! 
 — the spell once broken — Old Nick once kicked on the 
 shins — once ! 
 
 Florence. 
 [A)Tan^ing her hair with shaky, uncertain fingers.] 
 Nevill-^ 
 
20 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 [Housing' himself.\ So don't you be seen about town 
 
 constantly with young Drake, or young anybody. Tiny, 
 
 you be careful not to give people tlie faintest excuse for 
 
 humping their shoulders and exclaiming, "another 
 
 Letchmere ! " 
 
 \_She rises abruptly, breaking in upon him, and, 
 holding the lapels of his coat, speaks in low, 
 tremulous tones. 
 
 Florence. 
 
 Nevill ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Eh? 
 
 Florence. 
 I — I wish to speak to you regarding Coppy Drake ; 
 that's why I hunted you up this afternoon. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Yes? 
 
 Florence. 
 Oh, I recognize that it won't do. I made up my mind 
 yesterday. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Made up your mind ? 
 
 Florence. 
 Told him that he or I must clear out — give each other 
 a wide berth — chuck it 
 
 Nevill. 
 [With set teeth. \ Well? 
 
 Florence. 
 We're in time ; we've not lost our heads completely. 
 
LETTY 21 
 
 He's a sensible boy, and as good as gold — only — he's 
 mad about me. \^He leaves her angrily and paces the 
 
 room.\ Pslit ! if that's the way you take it- 
 
 \She moves as if to depart ; he returns to her. 
 
 Nevill. 
 You fool ! why haven't you come to me before ? 
 
 Florence. 
 \With a shrug.\ I am here now — and, I repeat, in 
 time. The whole thing is settled — he' s going. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Where ? 
 
 Florence. 
 Scotland. 
 
 Nevill. 
 When? 
 
 Florence. 
 He starts to-night, late, in his motor — the Panhard he 
 and I have had so many runs in. Poor dear wretch ! he 
 goes into the dark, he says. \Pleadingly.'\ And I want 
 you to help me over it. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Help you ? 
 
 Florence. 
 We've arranged to dine together first — our last meal — 
 the Cafe Regence — half-past-eight 
 
 Nevill. 
 Alone ? 
 
 Florence. 
 So he imagines. \Lowering her voice. \ But, Nevill, I 
 
2-2 LETTY 
 
 don't want to be alone with Coppy to-night. I want you 
 to be vvitli us all tlie while — and to see me home. You — 
 you'll stick to me ? 
 
 N EVILL. 
 
 \G ripping her shoulders.'] By God, yes ! 
 
 \he draws a deep breath and sits by the table on 
 the right, staring at the ceiling. 
 
 Florence. 
 Thanks — awfully. 
 
 \Suddenly she breaks down, produces her handker- 
 chief in a hurry, and stifles a sob with it. He 
 doesn t move, 
 
 Florence. 
 ^Recovering herself and blowing her nose.] I — FU send 
 a line to Coppy telling him Fve asked you to join us. 
 [Going to the writing-table. \ Shall I write here ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Sourlyi\ It sounds a rational proceeding. 
 
 Florence. 
 \Gazing out of the window.] Oh, for heaven's sake, 
 don't be cutting ! [Drawing back.] Oli ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Turning to her.] What's that? 
 
 Florence. 
 [Under her breath.] There is Coppy. [He rises and 
 joins her.] In Albemarle Street, outside Viola's. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Yes, it's he. 
 
 Florence. 
 [Taking Nevill's arm.] He has been giving me 
 
LETTY 23 
 
 lunch. \^Wti/i frigkiened eyes.] He left me down-stairs — 
 he promised not to wait 
 
 Nevill. 
 Tsha ! 
 
 Florence. 
 I am sorry to bore you, old boy — call a hansom and 
 drive me to my door, will you ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Certainly. 
 
 [The cuter-door bell is heard. 
 
 Florence. 
 [Releasing his arm.] Your — your young women ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Probably. 
 
 Florence. 
 
 [With offended dignity.] Surely you'll not let me meet 
 them ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 My dear Tiny, I am incapable of anything so shocking. 
 [Indicating the library.] Go through there into my bed- 
 room ; I'll fetch you in a minute or two, after I have 
 made my excuses. 
 
 [She passes into the library. RuGG, having first 
 knocked at the door, enters from the corridor. 
 
 RUGG. 
 [Casting an eye round the room.] Miss Gunning. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Show Miss Gunning in. 
 
 [RuGG withdraws. 
 
24 LETTY 
 
 Florence. 
 
 \Peeping into the room — in low, indignant tones.] It's 
 disgraceful of you, Nevill ! 
 
 [//e laughs. She disappears as RuGG returns 
 ■with Hilda Gunning. Hilda is a tall, 
 comely, showily dressed young woman with an 
 opulent physique and heavy, languorous eyes. 
 She speaks with a drawl which she has con- 
 tracted from the aristocratic customers of Mrs. 
 Watkins, mcrves in an indolent way, and has 
 the aspect generally of one who takes life easily. 
 RuGG retires. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Shaking hands with her.] How do you do ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 Middling, thanks. I had a raging toothache all the 
 morning, but I'm rid of it now. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Demurely.] Glad. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Turning her sleepy eyes upon him!] It's that back 
 tooth — the one I was talking to you about the other day. 
 [Reproachfully^^ You've forgotten. 
 
 Nevill. 
 As if I could do so ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Apologetically.] I thought you might have, being 
 busy. Madame Watkins accommodated me by lending 
 me her Nervine. [Loftily.] She's not a bad old fat sort, 
 really. Where are the girls ? 
 
LETTY 25 
 
 Nevill. 
 You are the first to honor me. \Refernng to her sun- 
 ,r'iad£.] May I reheve you of your ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 Well, somebody must be first, I always maintain. 
 [S/ia^ino- out the lace of her sunshade as she yields posses- 
 sion of it.] Effective, isn't it ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Most effective. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Not in the least magasang. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Magasin ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 That's what Madame claims for every article we pro- 
 duce at our place — be it what it may, she says, there's 
 nothing magasang about it. \Pointing to the sunshade.] 
 You wouldn't take that for soiled, would you? 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Politely incredulous.] Soiled ! Impossible ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 \With a nod.] Slightly. Young ladies in business 
 have such exceptional opportunities. [Displaying herself 
 languidly .] This bodice was designed for the Honorable 
 Mrs. Copeland. A friend of yours? 
 
 Nevill. 
 I grieve, no. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Thought she might be. Good form, isn't it ? 
 
26 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 Absolutely. 
 
 Hilda. 
 She threw it back on our hands. A glance shows you 
 it isn't magasang. Now, this skirt I'm wearing 
 
 Nevill. 
 Exquisite. 
 
 Hilda. 
 \Discovering the birthday-feast and advancing to the 
 table. \ Oh, 1 declare! 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Laying the sunshade aside on the right.~\ Eh ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Inspecting the cahe.] " Letty. Many Happy Re- 
 turns " ! How splendidly you do things ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 An exceedingly modest banquet. 
 
 Hilda. 
 But money will do anything, won't it? This'll quite 
 throw my party into the shade. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Your ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 I'm giving a party to Letty later in the afternoon, at 
 home. I live in the next house to hers, you know. 
 
 Nevill. 
 I know. 
 
LETTT 27 
 
 Hilda. 
 What am I thinking of — you've often put her down at 
 my door, haven't you? [77ie bell of the outer door is 
 heard again.^ There they are, I expect. [^Sitting, in a 
 chair on the left.'] So I considered it polite to invite tlie 
 tliaps lodging in both houses — Letty's and mine. I sup- 
 pose you wouldn't pay me the compliment — no, of course 
 you wouldn't. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Gallantly.] My dear Hilda! 
 
 Hilda. 
 Hve-thirty I've asked em for ; but we shall go on for 
 as long as we're happy. 
 
 Nevill. 
 It would afford me the utmost pleasure — er — if I find 
 that my engagements permit- 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 Well, you'll see how you feel, won't you? 
 
 [RuGG reappears, followed by Marion Allardyce, 
 a plainly dressed young woman, frank in bear- 
 ing and blunt in speech. RuGG withdraws. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Shaking hands with Marion.] Is Letty not with you ? 
 
 Marion. 
 Her hat didn't come home, and she had to tear off 
 after it. She will be here soon. [To Hilda.] Good- 
 afternoon, dear. 
 
 Nevill. 
 I am going to behave very rudely, I fear. A rnther 
 pressing matter has arisen which necessitates my leaving 
 you for a few minutes. I throw myself on your mercy. 
 
Ta-ta ! 
 
 28 LETTY 
 
 Hilda. 
 Don't you worry about us. 
 
 Marion. 
 We'll tell Letty. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Beg her to forgive me. [^Glancing' towards the adjoin- 
 ing room.] There are some picture-papeis in there. I 
 can't apologize sufficiently. \^Ai the door on the left. \ A 
 quarter of an hour at the furthest. 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 life leaves ihej}t, closing the door upon them. 
 
 Marion. 
 \Taking off her gloves. \ Picture-papers! Why do 
 gentlemen always treat girls in our position as if we're 
 unintelligent children ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 {Fising.] Do they? Well, / don't object to being 
 treated as a child, as long as I'm handsomely treated. 
 [Pointing to the banquet and moving away.] Did you 
 ever see anything more recherchy f 
 
 Marion. 
 {Disdainfully.] Sugar and spice and all things nice ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 Oh, you never have a good word for him. {Entering 
 the library?^ He couldn't be more attentive to us if he 
 tried ; that's enough for me. 
 
 Marion. 
 {Rending over the cake to read the inscription^ and rais- 
 ing her voice so that it reaches Hilda.] Bosh ! you and 
 
LETTY 29 
 
 I are merely made use of, Hilda. Letty isn't the kind of 
 girl to come to his rooms unprotected, supposing he 
 wished her to do so. 
 
 Hilda. 
 They are elegant rooms, too ! This is the first squint 
 I've had at his snuggery. I could do with diggings Hke 
 these, Marion. 
 
 Marion. 
 [IronicaUy.} Ha! you'll be able to be a constant vis- 
 itor here when Letty is Mrs. Nevill Letchmere. 
 
 Hilda. 
 He'd give his wife a house, I should fancy. After all, 
 these are only bachelor-quarters. 
 
 Marion. 
 [Carefully blowing into her gloves previous to folding 
 them neatly and putting them into a bag suspended from 
 her waist.] I forgot; it will be a mansion in Belgrave 
 Square at the very least ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Appearing in the doorway.] Funnier things have hap- 
 pened. 
 
 Marion. 
 Oh, I've no patience with either you or Letty. Hon- 
 estly, Hilda— you don't believe at the bottom of your 
 heart that Mr. Letchmere's intentions are serious? 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Returning to Marion.] Why shouldn't I ? She be- 
 lieves it, I'm certain. 
 
 Marion. 
 [Sitting, on the right of the table on the left — angrily.] 
 Oh! 
 
30 LETTY 
 
 Hilda. 
 It's so easy to throw cold water. Watch liim ! The 
 proper respect he pays her ! What better sign can you 
 have that a chap means well by a girl ? [^Removing her 
 gloves in a leisurely way.] He hasn't even gone the length 
 of kissing her. 
 
 Marion. 
 [Qiiielly.] Who's your authority ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 She. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 She ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 Last night, after he'd driven her home from Earl's 
 Court, she ran in to my place to show me her frock. We 
 sat jawing about the exhibition till my lamp burned itself 
 out, and then, all of a sudden, without leading up to it, 
 she jumped up and hooked her arm through mine and 
 said, "Hilda!" — precisely in that tone of voice — 
 " Hilda !" she said 
 
 Marion. 
 Yes? 
 
 Hilda. 
 "What is it?" I said. " Hilda," she said, "girls like 
 me — high-spirited, fairly good-looking girls who unex- 
 pectedly find themselves on their own — they're liable to 
 a lot of temptations, aren't they? " " Oh, I dun'no," I 
 said. "Yes, they are," she said; "they've no end of 
 temptations, whatever their beginnings may have been, 
 to demean themselves to the level of the common people 
 
 they're thrown with. And so I thank my God " she 
 
 said, " I thank my God I've never yet permitted any man 
 
LETrr 31 
 
 to kiss me — never!" "No man?" I said, naturally 
 curious. " No man," she said ; " I thanlc God," she. 
 said, "that I can say that to my husband, whenever he 
 comes along, truthfully." "Mr. Letchmere isn't com- 
 mon," I said, pumping her; "you're not making an 
 exception then, just now," I said, " in favor of /iIzot .? " 
 The words were hardly out of my mouth before I saw 
 her eyes blazing, pitch-dark as it was — the haughty little 
 puss! " Your acquaintance with the manners of gentle- 
 men is evidently extremely limited! " she said, and the 
 next thing I heard was the banging of my street-door. 
 
 [ There is a brief pause while she fussily consigns 
 her gloves to a pocket •which she discovers with 
 difficulty at the bottom of Iter skirt. 
 
 Marion. 
 I'm glad. She has ceased chattering to me; she 
 thinks I'm unsympathetic. I'm glad. Still, all that 
 doesn't prove that Letty's husband is to take the form of 
 Mr. Letchmere, does it? 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 \Seating herself on the left of the table on the right.'] It's 
 a good sign — a jolly good sign. 
 
 Marion. 
 It isn't as though Mr. Letchmere is a silly boy, Hilda. 
 He's a man of — what? — thirty? And it's no very un- 
 common occurrence for a selfish fellow of his age and 
 position to allow himself to be fascinated and diverted for 
 a while by a girl of the Letty sort 
 
 Hilda. 
 The Letty sort ! 
 
 Marion. 
 Intensely pleasure-loving ; a girl whose face beams 
 like a kid's at the idea of a dance, a theatre, the most 
 
33 LETTY 
 
 trivial amusement. I can quite understand the attraction 
 such a nature has for a certain order of man, and no 
 harm need come of it if only the man is fairly decent, and 
 the girl is cute enough to accept his devotions for what 
 
 they are worth. But marriage ! 
 
 \A paper-knife lies upon the table. Hilda picks 
 it up and trims her nails with it as she talks. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Ouf ! how you preach ! Noo verrong, as Ma Watkins 
 is fond of observing ; noo verrong I 
 
 Marion. 
 No, when it comes to matrimony, my dear, it isn't a 
 Letty your gentleman makes for — your gentleman who 
 has got over his calf-days — however circumspect and 
 well-conducted some of his Letties may have shown 
 themselves. In marrying, he is careful to select a per- 
 son from his own sphere ; and the Letties have the grati- 
 fication of eventually meeting him promenading Bond 
 Street or Piccadilly accompanied by a stylish, inanimate 
 scrag with no hips to speak of and a beaky nose. 
 
 Hilda. 
 I should describe Letty as stylish, in spite of her clothes 
 being distinctly magasang. And she's what you'd term 
 a lady, by rights. 
 
 Marion. 
 \RisingJ\ In Mr. Letchmere's sense ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 Her father was a solicitor. 
 
 Marion. 
 [ Walking away\ Struck off the rolls for something or 
 anotlier. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Well, so are heaps of solicitors. 
 
LETTY 33 
 
 Marion. 
 \Looking out of tJu further window ^^ At any rate, the 
 sooner Mr. Letclimere plays Prince Charming, or tires of 
 his sport, the better. You'll grant that? 
 
 Hilda. 
 \Laying the paper-knife aside.] By Jove, yes ! She's 
 getting hei'self into a pretty pickle in the meantime — 
 what! She's been borrowing money right and left, 
 hasn't she? 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Don't ask me. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Oh, I know for a fact that she's loaned a fiver from the 
 httle oddment who has the floor under mine 
 
 Marion. 
 The photographer. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Dick Perry, the photographer. [Hising and moving to 
 the table on the left.\ And I've a shrewd notion she's 
 touched Ordish and young Neale for a trifle. 
 
 Marion. 
 \Leaving the window] Yes, I'm afraid she is dread- 
 fully in debt 
 
 Hilda. 
 [ Taking up a decanter of red wine, and sniffing its con- 
 tents anxiously.] It's all right'; I thought it might have 
 been claret. 
 
 Marion. 
 \_At the table on the 7-ight.] And ill — ill into the bargain. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Replacing the decanter.] Ill ? 
 
Zi LETTY 
 
 Marion. 
 I didn't mention it to him — but when she returned 
 home an hour ago, after rushing out for her hat, she 
 quite frightened me. If she hadn't clung on to the chest 
 
 of drawers ! [Sitting, behifid the table on the right.] 
 
 I called on the doctor on my way here ; that's why I 
 sneaked off without her. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Doctor? 
 
 Marion. 
 She's as weak as a rat, Hilda. Can you be surprised ? 
 She has been half-starving herself ever since she has 
 been friendly with him. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Opening her eyes widely for the first time.] Starving 
 herself! 
 
 Marion. 
 Almost every penny — money earned and money bor- 
 rowed — has been spent upon her back these last two or 
 three weeks. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Advanang to Marion, awe-stricken.'] Great Scot ! 
 I'm hanged if I could go as far as that, much as I might 
 be spoons on a chap. 
 
 Marion. 
 You couldn't. 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 A girl ought always to remember what she owes to 
 
 herself, I consider. [Going to the settee on the right and 
 
 comfortably settling herself among the pillows!] Why, 
 
 even to-day I've had my usual — though I've provided a 
 
LETTY 35 
 
 tliick tea for my party and guessed there'd be light re- 
 freshment here. 
 
 Marion. 
 Your usual tinned lobster and pound of moist straw- 
 berries, and your big bottle of stout, I suppose ? Ha ! 
 
 Marion. 
 [Severely.l I don't see what there is to titter at. 
 
 [TAe outer-door bell rings. 
 
 Marion. 
 \Ridng.\ Hark ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 \PuUing her feet upon the settee. \ But there, one 
 mustn't blame her. Slie's got to look her best, by hook 
 or by crook. It's her chance. 
 
 Marion. 
 {Listening at the door on the left.\ Her chance. I 
 wonder ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 \Coinplacently ^\ What a romance it would be ! The 
 little hussy — I hope to goodness it comes off! 
 
 Marion. 
 
 [Opening the door suddenly and calling.'] Letty ! 
 
 {She darts away, along the corridor, returning im- 
 mediately with Letty Shell — a slender but 
 well-sha-ped girl, with « skin that is almost 
 colorless. 7 he transparent whiteness of her 
 high brow and thin cheeks is heightened by the 
 glow of her eyes, which are dark and eager, 
 and the extraordinary redness of her full lips. 
 She wears a frock of flowered muslin, a large 
 hat, and a ruffle of soft material flowing from 
 her shoulders. 
 
36 LETTY 
 
 Marion. 
 [ZoLetty.] Mr. Letchmere has been obliged to go 
 out for a quarter-of-au-hour. We're to ask you to ex- 
 cuse him. 
 
 Letty. 
 I'm punctual, aren't I ? he's not cross? 
 
 Marion. 
 Cross— no. A pressing matter, he called it. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 {Running to Hilda, and kissing her. 1 How are you — 
 
 [in a ■wMsper\ huffy with me for being short with you 
 last night ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 Stand up. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Displaying her dress. J Well ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 Not bad. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Mischievously. \ Rather magasin, eh ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 Oh| it's all very fine — — ! 
 
 [Discovering the preparations for the feast, Letty 
 advances to the table breathlessly. 
 
 Letty. 
 Oh ! oh ! [Reading the inscription^ " Letty. Many 
 Happy Returns of the Day "^of my birthday ! [Sitting 
 at the table, first in one chair, then in another.^ How ex- 
 cessively kind of Mr. Letchmere ! What a superb cake ! 
 
LETTY 37 
 
 Hilda. 
 \With her drawl!\ More like a wedding-cake. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Isn't it ! \In some confusioni\ Do look at these 
 
 roses ! This is real old Venetian glass ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 If you take my advice, you'll keep quiet. You've 
 been feehng queer already, I hear. 
 
 Letty. 
 ^Rising and facing Marion.] You haven't told Mr. 
 Letchmere ? 
 
 Marion. 
 No. 
 
 Letty. 
 [ \Fluiteringly.\ Men dislike the idea of sickly women. 
 
 Marion. 
 It's entirely your own fault if you are sickly. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Passing her hands over her face.'] Ha ! there's the 
 advantage of belonging to the paUid order of humanity — 
 your appearance doesn't give you away. 
 
 Marion. 
 Don't deceive yourself, my dear ; only yesterday I 
 overheard Mr. Mandeville putting questions about you 
 to that woman who sits at the desk behind mine. 
 
 Letty. 
 About me ? 
 
 Marion. 
 He's curious to know what the devil ails you. 
 
38 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 Impertinence ! 
 
 Marion. 
 The color isn't so continually in those red lips of yours 
 as it used to be, he has noticed. 
 
 Letty. 
 \^Moving towards Hilda with her head in the air.\ The 
 cad ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 Mandeville? He's the member of your firm who 
 makes a pet of you, isn't he? 
 
 Letty. 
 Ab, be silent! [Sitting, on the left of the table on the 
 right.] For mercy's sake, let us banish the horrid shop 
 for a few hours ! \Removing her ruffle and exhibiting it 
 to Hilda.] I bought this at Floyd's summer-sale. If 
 you turn up your nose at it ! 
 
 Marion. 
 [On the left.] We earn our bread-and-butter at the 
 " horrid shop " ; while we do that we might refrain from 
 abusing the berth. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Laying the ruffle aside.] La, la , la ! here's Polly on her 
 platform again ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Drowsily.] No squabbling ; the weather's too hot, 
 
 Letty. 
 I apologize, Polly. [Taiing off" her gloves.] Certainly 
 we oughtn't to be so wicked as to speak slightingly of 
 Dugdale's. Oh, no ; not by no means ! On the con- 
 
LETTY 39 
 
 trary, we should fall down and worship the picturesque 
 mahogany counter behind which we pursue our useful 
 and elevating toil. We ought even to admire the tall 
 man in the artistic chocolate-and-gold livery who guards 
 the sacred portals. And, above all, we should reverence 
 the beautiful flat feet and the dulcet tones of Mr. Mike 
 Cohen with his "good mornin', young ladieth ! " ; and 
 the pretty broken-Enghsh of Mr. Hammerstein ; and the 
 variegated waistcoats, and the eternal white spats and 
 varnished boots, of Mr. Bernard Mandeville ! \_PuHing 
 her gloves upon the table and rearranging the details of her 
 costume.l La, la, la ! 
 
 Marion. 
 The atmosphere of Dugdale's isn't the most savory, I 
 confess. But you dwell too much on externals, Letty. 
 If you were employed elsewhere you'd be irritated to the 
 same degree. 
 
 Letty. 
 \_Lighlly.'\ I dare say. 
 
 Marion. 
 Whereas good health, and the work to do, are the 
 great essentials. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 To my imperfect intelligence, it seems that the first es- 
 sential is to be capable of resigning oneself to a scheme 
 of things which ordains that some women shall spend 
 their lives in perpetual fag while others — our more fortu- 
 nate sisters, as they are styled — enjoy freedom and lux- 
 ury galore. Well, Polly dear, you are so constituted ; 
 you are content to find yourself rattling your chains 
 every, every, every morning at nine-thirty, fine or 
 
 foggy ! 
 
 Marion. 
 
 The prospect doesn't scare me, since I'm in for it. 
 
40 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Exactly, but I — I'm different. My sins! once I was 
 certain I was doomed to grow old as an office-drudge I 
 — \with a catch in her breath^ I'd throw myself on my 
 bed and deliberately perish! I wouldn't stir again ; I'd 
 just lie there and cease to breathe ! 
 
 \Rising, she returns to the table on the left, and 
 stands taking in the fretiy objects upon it with 
 sparkling eyes. 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 [Housing herself and yawning, good-humoredly. ] Hear, 
 hear! What's that? 
 
 Letty. 
 Oh, but I've always felt convinced I was born to a full 
 share of the joys of this world ! Even the smash at home 
 didn't shake that belief. [Involuntarily glancing round 
 the room.\ Ah— h — h! 
 
 Marion. 
 [ Watching her narrowly ?[ What is your definite notion 
 of the joys of this world, Letty ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Laughing evasively.'] Ha, ha, ha ! It doesn't em- 
 brace cold-shouldering the chums of one's Struggling 
 days. That isn't in the programme. [Lin king her ann in 
 Marion's affectionately.] Remember, you two, I'm not 
 the girl to forget — when my star does shine I [Extend- 
 ing a hand to Hilda.] Neither of you would give me the 
 
 go-by if good luck came your way 
 
 [The door on the left opens, and Nevill enters 
 briskly. He comes to Letty and takes her 
 hands, his voice softening to the tender note 
 when he addresses her. 
 
LETTY 41 
 
 Nevill. 
 My dear child, you must think me very discourteous. 
 I hope Marion and Iriilda have explained 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes. It doesn't matter. It's so sweet of you to be 
 troubled with us at all. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Pointmg to the cakeA The sleepless nights this has 
 cost me ! And its beauties have been discounted during 
 my absence ! 
 
 Letty. 
 \Ai the table.\ You won't cut it ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 Why, it would only spoil. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 \Going to a cabinet.'\ And fortunately there are sou- 
 venirs of a more enduring kind. 
 
 \He produces from the cabinet three small cases of 
 jewelry. Selecting oiie , Jie presents it to 1.ETTY. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [As he does so.'\ Many Happy Returns of the Day ! 
 
 Letty. 
 
 \Falteringly^ Mr. Letchmere ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Offering one of the remaining boxes to Marion.] 
 You never confide in me, Marion, but I suspect that you 
 also indulge in a birthday at annually recurrent dates, in 
 a serious fashion. 
 
 Marion. 
 I — I'd prefer not 
 
42 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 Cruel ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Shocked.] Marion ! 
 
 Marion. 
 \Accepting the box reluctantly,] Oh, if you [mov- 
 ing away.] I am exceedingly obliged to you. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Giving the third box to Hilda.] Hilda ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Taking it promptly.] Thanks. It is nice of you. 
 [Opening the box.] Oil, just what I wanted ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 [ To Letty — pointing to a mirror standing upon the 
 
 piano.] There's a mirror ■ 
 
 [Letty has opened her box and has been gazing 
 at a brooch it contains. She now crosses the 
 room, and, with the aid of the mirror, fastens 
 the brooch at her throat. 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 [Consigning her box, with a liberal display of silk petti- 
 coat, to her pocket — to Nevill. J I shan't, till I get 
 home ; I'm not going to risk dropping mine. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Indicating a chair.] Will you sit here? 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 [Seating herself. \ Anywhere. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Pointing to the settee.] Marion ? [MARION takes 
 
LETTY 43 
 
 her place silentlyJ] We'll drink Letty's health in red 
 wine, and afterwards atone for our excess in iced coffee. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Her elbows on the ladle.] Letty cuts the cake, I siip- 
 pobe ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 {^Picking up a knife. \ Certainly, as heroine of the 
 
 occasion. [ /«r«z«^ /<? Letty.] Letty 
 
 \^He finds her seated upon the settee on the right, 
 with gray lips. Her eyes are closed, her hands 
 lie helplessly in her lap, and her bosom is 
 heaving. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Dropping the knife, and advancing to her.] Letty ! 
 
 ['Jaking her hand.] Letty ! 
 
 [She struggles to her feet and sways ; he catches 
 her. Hilda and Marion rise and come to 
 them. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Give her to me. [Supporting Letty.] I've got you 
 
 Marion — Polly 
 
 Nevill. ^ 
 
 [To Hilda.] Water. 
 
 [Hilda returns to the table, and pours out water 
 from a carafe into a tumbler. 
 
 Marion. 
 [Placing Letty in « chair.] She will be better in a 
 moment. 
 
 Nevill. 
 The heat in this room is insufferable. My man must 
 liave neglected to lower tlie sun-bUnds. [Hiking up the 
 
 scent-spray.] Her hat 
 
 [Marion removes Letty's hat while Hilda ad- 
 7ninisters the water. 
 
44 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 Poor little lady ! how unfortunate ! 
 
 [//« sprays her brow. She raises a hand feebly 
 with a gasp. 
 
 Marion. 
 Letty 
 
 Hilda. 
 Dear old girl 
 
 \She opens her eyes and looks about her. 
 
 Nevill. 
 That's right. 
 
 \She gets upon her feet again with the help of 
 JMarion. 
 
 Letty. 
 \After a pause.] Ah! . . . Ah! . . . [To 
 Nevill, smiling.\ 1 beg your pardon. [Dropping her 
 
 head upon Marion's shoulder. J Polly ! 
 
 [The bell of the outer door is heard. 
 
 Marion. 
 This is her second attack of faintness to-day. Let her 
 be quite quiet for a little while ; then I'll take her home. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Going to the library door.] It's cooler in here. 
 
 [Marion, carrying Letty's hat and collecting 
 the rest of her belongings, leads her towards 
 the library. 
 
 Letty. 
 {Weakly :\ What a fool 1 am ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 \To Marion.] I'll have a cab waiting. 
 
LETTY 45 
 
 Marion. 
 Thank you. 
 
 [Marion and Letty enter the library and dis- 
 appear. Nevill crosses to the mantelpiece 
 and rings the bell. 
 
 Hilda. 
 \Lingering ruefully.^ This is an upset, upon my word. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \-At the table on the left, surveying the spread.^ Sym- 
 bolic of hfe, my dear Hilda — save that, as a rule, the 
 
 regret follows the cutting of the cake ! But why 
 
 shouldn't we drink to Letty .'' 
 
 Eh? 
 
 You and I ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 Nevill. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [With alacrity.^ The merest sip, then. 
 
 \She closes the library door softly and joins him, 
 seating herself with her back to the door on the 
 left. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Sitting, on the right of the table, and pouring out 
 wine.] That ghastly piece of confectionery — if it pur- 
 sued her to Langham Street you could hack away at it at 
 your tea-party, eh ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 Rather ! [Checking herself.] It might soften her dis- 
 appointment, mightn't it ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Raising his glass] The toast is Letty ! 
 
46 LETTY 
 
 Hilda. 
 She did turn a color. \^Baisin^ her glass.] Letty ! 
 
 \_T/iey drink, she witli gusto. 
 
 Hilda. 
 \lVith conviction.] Port's my wine. \He refills her 
 glass.] Whatever are you doing? [Raising her glass 
 again.] Letty ! \Looking at him out of the corner of her 
 eye.] And a good husband to her when tlie time 
 comes ! 
 
 [RUGG appears, at the door on the left, carrying a 
 card on a salver. He observes the absence of 
 the others with some surprise. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \To RuGG, sharply.] You have allowed this room to 
 get as hot as hell. 
 
 RUGG. 
 
 Extremely sorry, sir. I should hardly say it was as 
 warm as all that. 
 
 Nevill. 
 We'll not discuss the point. You will have ample op- 
 portunity of testing the accuracy of the simile at some 
 future date. A four-wheeler. 
 
 [Instead of leaving the room, RuGG closes the 
 door and comes to Nevill. 
 
 Nevill. 
 What ? 
 
 RUGG. 
 
 [Handing the card.] Called twice before to-day, sir, 
 but wouldn't give his name till this moment. 
 
 [Nevill reads the card, at first carelessly, then 
 with an air of interest. 
 
LETTY 47 
 
 Nevill. 
 Does he state his business? 
 
 RuGG. 
 No, sir. Wishes to linow when you could favor him 
 with a few minutes' conversation ; that's all. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Civil? 
 
 RUGG. 
 
 Perfectly, sir. 
 
 Nevill. 
 {After a brief pause.'] If he should present himself 
 again, and I happen to be disengaged 
 
 RuGG. 
 He's here now, sir, if you'd like to appoint a time 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Rising.] I'll join the other ladies. 
 
 [She drains her glass and moves towards the 
 library door; 'Hevwa^ follows her. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \To Hilda.] I've a slight curiosity to see this gentle- 
 man. He'll not detain me long. I'll come to you 
 directly he has left me. 
 
 [She nods and disappears into the library, closing 
 the door behind her. Aoiselessly Nevill locks 
 the door and draws the portiere across it. 
 Then, coming upon Hilda's sunshade, he 
 thrusts it out of sight and returns to Rugg. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Coolly.] Interrupt me in five minutes at the outside. 
 
48 LETTY 
 
 RuGG. 
 Very good, sir. 
 
 lAs RuGG withdraws, Nevill goes to the table 
 on the left and drops a serviette over the cake. 
 Presently RuGG reenters, -followed by Bernard 
 Mandeville — a big, coarsefeatured man, of 
 about five-and-thirty, with a heavy moustache, 
 •which he pulls at frequently, and an uneasy 
 swagger. He is loudly dressed, has a large 
 flower in his button-hole, and wears his hair 
 plastered in decorative fashion upon his fore- 
 head. RuGG disappears, closing the door. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Pawdon the intrusion. Haw ! Mr. Letchmere ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 \_0n the right, referring to the card.'] Mr. Mandeville? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 
 [Clearing his throat assentingly and shooting his cuffs\ 
 Haw ! Lucky to find you in town, sir. So many of us 
 make a bolt of it at the week-end nowadays. \Eyeing 
 the table on the left.\ I'm not disturbing you at your — 
 haw ! ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Not at all. I've just been giving a little birthday en- 
 tertainment to a young nephew of mine. Anything I can 
 do for you, Mr. Mandeville ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Haw ! well, there is, since you put it in that way. I-- 
 haw ! — fancy you're familiar with the name of my firm ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Again referring to the card.] Your firm ? 
 
LETTY 49 
 
 Mandeville. 
 That's my private residence — Acacia Road 
 
 Nevill. 
 St. John's Wood. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Regent's Pawk. But I'm one of the principals of 
 Dugdale's 
 
 Nevill. 
 Dugdale's? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Waterloo Place. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Ah, yes. You're outside brokers, aren't you ? [PUas- 
 anify.] There was an interesting case in the newspapers 
 a week or two ago in which you were involved. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 ^Depositing his hat and cane upon a chair on the left\ 
 Haw ! our action against Lady Bretton. The disreputa- 
 ble old faggot had the impudence to repudiate her liabil- 
 ity to us — pleaded the gambling act 
 
 Nevill. 
 And the jury were unsympathetic towards you, if I 
 recollect. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Turning a chair to face Nevill.] Faugh! How- 
 ever, it'll take more than that to make Dugdale's go 
 shut. \Sitting.\ Dugdale's is a big thing, Mr. Letch- 
 mere. 
 
 Nevill. 
 I've no doubt. 
 
50 LETTY 
 
 Mandeville. 
 And that brings us to the — haw ! — httle matter upon 
 which I desiah to speak to you. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Ah? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Significantly.] I believe you are awaah, sir, that it's 
 our custom in Waterloo Place to employ a considerable 
 number of — haw ! — female clerks ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 \ Unconcernedly taking a cigarette from his case, and then 
 offering the case to Mandeville.] A cigarette ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Thanks. [Producing a large cigar.\ 'Scuse me. I 
 promised a friend o' mine I'd sawmple this weed. [Ex- 
 hibiting it.] Flor de Cuba — eighty-two shillings. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Giving him a match.] Plenty for the money. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 You're right. I dare say I could put my hand upon a 
 small parcel of these if you — haw! ahem! \ Igniting the 
 match upon his trousers.] Yes, sir, a considerable num- 
 ber of female clerks 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Sitting, on the right, and lighting his cigarette?^ Who 
 have very liberal, indulgent employers, I'm sure, Mr. 
 Mandeville. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Biting off the end of his cigar.] Haw ! We pay 'cm 
 top salaries — beyond their mawket value. [Regarding 
 
LETTY 51 
 
 Nevill steadily as he lights his cigar.'\ And they're not 
 only over-paid but damned well lookea after, Mr. LetcU- 
 mere. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Looked after ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Supervised. We're white men at Dugdale's, sir. We 
 take an active interest in the moral and general welfare 
 of our gals. [Getting rid of the end of his match by throw- 
 ing it under his chair. \ See what I mean ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Admirable ! What, frankly, I don't see for tlie mo- 
 ment 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Well, this is where you come in, Mr. Letchmere. 
 You've lately struck up an acquaintance with a young 
 person — [pulling at his moustache^ haw ! — one of our 
 staff— Letty—Letty Shell 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Flicking the ask from his cigarette.^ Oh? Andhowhave 
 you contrived to acquire that item of knowledge ? Ah, 
 yes ! your active interest in the moral and general wel- 
 fare ' 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Purely accidentally , sir. We're not spies at Dugdale's, 
 if that's what you insinuate. 
 
 Nevill. 
 My dear Mr. Mandeville ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 I — haw ! — I've suspected something was up with the 
 
52 LETTY 
 
 gal ; but it wasn't till yesterday, when a fellow-clerk of 
 Letty's brought me the tale 
 
 Nevill. 
 The tale ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 That the minx was carrying-on with a young swell liv- 
 ing in rooms here — it wasn't till yesterday that I moved 
 in the affair personally. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Moved ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Made a few inquiries _ 
 
 Nevill. 
 As to the — [with a wry face] swell ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 I looked upon it — haw ! — as my duty to sift the rumor. 
 
 Nevill. 
 I see. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 But I haven't breathed a word to her on the subject. 
 I preferred to come to you direct, sir — man to man, gen- 
 tleman to gentleman, Mr. Letchmere. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Affably.'] And very prudent and scrupulous of you. 
 Very discreet and punctilious of you, indeed. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 {Unbending.] Oh, I don't say, sir, that it's anything 
 more on your part than a bit of a frolic — pour passer le 
 temps, don'tcherknow. I'm a man of honor myself. 
 
LETTY 53 
 
 and with me every other gentleman is a man of 
 lionor till I find_ him out. That's my system — Berny 
 Mandeville's system 
 
 Nevill. 
 One that reveals a generous character, Mr. Mande- 
 ville. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 But what you're doing, motive or no motive, ain't 
 beneficial to the gal. 
 
 Nevill. 
 No ? You pain me. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 She's a respectable gal enough, but you can't class 
 her with the common-or-garden office Miss who's happy 
 and content on three evenings a week at a Polytechnic 
 and a long bike-ride on Sundays. She's alive all over, 
 is Letty. And a girl of her tastes and inclinations can't 
 stand being petted and spoiled and made a duchess of. 
 She gets beyond herself, loses her head, forgets which 
 side her bread's buttered. See what I mean? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Nothing could be more explicit. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [^Fiatiermgiy.\ Haw! I felt pretty certain I'd only to 
 give a gentleman like you a gentle hint. You don't 
 want to spoil the stoopid little jade's opportunities — why 
 should you? 
 
 Nevii,l. 
 Opportunities ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Queer her prospects 
 
54 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 Prospects ! Big sounding words, aren't they, Mr. 
 Mandeville, to apply to tlie condition of a young lady 
 who drops a paltry five-and-twenty shillings into her 
 purse every Saturday and is already remunerated be- 
 )ond her market value? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Uncomfortably .'\ Haw ! Well, she may have pros- 
 peilts outside the office. \Pullmg at ku moustache again^ 
 1 don't go to the extent of saying she has, mark you 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Searchingly.\ Outside the office ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \His uneasiness increasing^ Oh, I've no objection to 
 own up, if it'll clear the air 
 
 Nevill. 
 Own up ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Has Letty — er— ever let out to you, by any chawnce, 
 that she's — haw ! — rather a favorite of mine ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 I think I do recall a remark of Miss Shell's to the ef- 
 fect that she feared she monopohzed more than a fair 
 share of moral supervision at the hands of a member of 
 your firm. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Sulkily:\ Cheeky little baggage I That's her funny 
 
 way of expressing herself \rising.'\ Oh, damn it — as 
 
 one gentleman to another — I — I've a strong partiality for 
 the gal ! There, now you've got it straight ! 
 
LETTY 55 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 [After a short silence, during which Mandeville stands 
 glaring into space — drylyi\ 1 appreciate warmly the priv- 
 ilege of being in your confidence, Mr. Mandeville 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Yes, it's between ourselves, of course. 
 
 Nevill. 
 {Getting upon his feet indolently?^ But have you yet 
 conveyed to Miss Sliell, in a formal manner, the senti- 
 ments of your tender regard, may I ask? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Er — haw ! — not yet. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [ With a satirical raising of the irows.] Not ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 That's a business requiring — haw ! — a good deal of — 
 haw ! — consideration. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Consideration ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [ Worrying his moustache once morei] When a gal's be- 
 neath you in the social scale — a clerk in your office — see 
 what I mean ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Clearly. And pending your solution of these misgiv- 
 ings, you propose that I should 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Keep oiT the grass. Keep off the grass. 
 
56 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 [ With an ugly smiU.] To make way for you ? [Loo/c- 
 ing at his watch.\ To make way for you. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Beginning to bluster. \ Haw ! Why not, sir ? At all 
 events, I am qualified to tell her I'm fairly gone on lier 
 — honorably gone on her — if I choose to do it. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Quahfied ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Which is more than you are, Mr. Letchmere. I am a 
 single man ; you ain't, bear in mind. 
 
 Nevill. 
 l^Tmperturbably i\ Very true. Your statement of our 
 relative positions is a marvel of lucidity. So clear is it, 
 iny dear Mr. Mandeville, that upon reflection you must 
 perceive how illogical your present attitude is. Surely 
 the fact that Miss Letty is a strictly virtuous young 
 vi'oman, and that I am, from force of circumstance, de- 
 barred from standing upon any footing with her but one . 
 of friendship 
 
 Mandeville. 
 A pretty friend for a virtuous gal — a feller separated 
 from his wife ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Surely there is nothing in this fact to act as a deterient 
 to your honorable advances — advances obviously flatter- 
 ing to the lady. Go ahead, therefore, my good eii ; 
 bring your courting, at your own proper time, to its legil- 
 iniate and, I trust, propitious climax. But meanwliile — 
 pray allow me the reminder — meanwhile the slightest 
 attempt at interference in Miss Shell's private affairs is a 
 gross, an unwarrantable impertinence. 
 
LETTr 57 
 
 Mandeville. 
 
 Oh, that's your tone, is it ! 
 
 l^The door on the left opens, awrfRuGG enters, car- 
 rying 'ii'EViiA^' s hat and gloves. Having pre- 
 sented the hat and gloves to Nevill, the man 
 retires to the corridor. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Haw! \Taking up his hat and cane.] Well, I've 
 given you the opportunity of behaving as a gentleman, 
 Mr. Letchmere 
 
 Nevill. 
 You speak as if such opportunities were rare, Mr. 
 Mandeville. They occur daily. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Advancing to Nevill.] By James, though, she 
 shall hear a few pleasant stories I've picked up concern- 
 ing you, and don't you forget it ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 They will lose httle in the narration. Good-after- 
 noon. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 
 [Ata/oss.] Haw — — ! I — oh, you be ! Good-day. 
 
 [//e goes out, followed by RuGG. Laying his hat 
 and gloves aside, Nevill sits upon the settee on 
 the right. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [ To himself, between his teeth.] That brute . . . ! 
 that hog . . . ! 
 
 [The outer door slams and'RvGG returns. 
 
 RUGG. 
 
 The cab's here, sir. 
 
58 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 See that the ladies haven't to pay the man's fare. 
 
 RuGG. 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 [RoGG withdraws, closing the door, and Nevill, 
 first drawing back the portiere, unlocks the 
 library door and knocks softly. Presently Mar- 
 ion shows herself. 
 
 Nevill. 
 How is she ? 
 
 Marion. 
 
 [ Calling. ] Lett y ! 
 
 [Letty appears, dressed for departure, and enters 
 the room with Marion. 
 
 Letty. 
 \To Nevill, smilingly.] I am so ashamed. After 
 your great kindness ! \Giving him her hand.\ Let me 
 run away and hide myself. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Retaining her hand.] The color is in your lips again. 
 Why need you ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [I^retfully.] I've promised Marion I'll lie down for an 
 hour. [2b Marion.] Do wake Hilda. [7b Nevill.] 
 She has fallen fast asleep, the lazy-bones. 
 
 [Marion returns to the library. Nevill and 
 Letty talk in subdued voices. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Pointing to the cake.] The cake — the egregious 
 bun 
 
LETTY 59 
 
 Letty. 
 
 You must eat it in solitude, thinking of me. Not as 
 you saw me over there ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 It is to grace Hilda's tea-table. What do you say to 
 my bringing it to Langham Street myself? 
 
 Letty. 
 You I [In aflutter.^ How flattered they would all be ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Oh, bother her party ! I look to you to manage that 
 we are left alone, my dear. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 \Her eyes drooping under his gaze.\ Ha, ha ! As if we 
 were never ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Yes, but this evening I've something important — 
 [placing his hands upon her shoulders^ especially impor- 
 tant 
 
 Letty. 
 [Finding he does not continue — almost inaudibly.\ Have 
 you . . .? I'll try . . . 
 
 [Suddenly, impelled by an impulse of passion, he 
 draws her to him and kisses her upon the 
 lips. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Startled.^ Mr. Letchmere . . . ! Oh . . . 
 Mr. Letchmere . . . ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Sssh! 
 
 [Marion reenters with Hilda, who is half-awake. 
 Marion is arranging Hilda's hat and tidying 
 her generally. 
 
60 Licrrr 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Opening the door on the left.'\ Come ; Marion will 
 scold if 1 detain you. \Reiurning to Letty and giving 
 her his arm formally.^ Allow me to put you into your 
 cab. 
 
 \They go out, Marion accompanying them, 
 
 Hilda. 
 \Gaping?[ Oh — h^h ! My sunshade? Here, where's 
 
 my ? \Discffvering it.^ I've got it 
 
 \She follows the others, but pauses at the table on 
 the left to give a last look at the birthday /Last. 
 She is about to turn away when she succumbs 
 to the temptation of helping herself to a haiuful 
 of sweetmeats and cramming them into Iter 
 mouth. Finally she grabs at a peach and de- 
 parts, diving for her pocket, as the curtain 
 falls. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST ACT. 
 
THE SECOND ACT. 
 
 The scene represents the roof of the house in which Hilda 
 Gunning lodges in Langham Street. At the back is 
 a low parapet-wall ; beyond are other house-tops, and, 
 in the distance, the steeple of the church in Langham 
 Place and an extensive prospect of London as seen in 
 the golden tight of late ajternoon. On the right a 
 chimney-stack and a dwarf wall mark the division be- 
 tween Miss Gunning's residence and the adjoining 
 premises. On the left the roof slopes up to meet a sim- 
 ilar dwarf wall and chimney-stack which separate 
 Letty's house from Hilda's. In this slope is an 
 open skylight; while, further to the left, a portion of 
 the roof of Letty's house is shown including a little 
 dormer window. 
 
 A windsor-chair stands by the parapet-wall at the 
 back, and upon the wall an old, colored rug is thrown 
 so as to provide a seat. On the right, nearer the spec- 
 tator, are a basket-chair which has seen its best days 
 and a wooden stool ; on the left, upon the slope, a 
 square of worn carpet, a pillow, and some dog-eared 
 ' ' novelettes ' ' and magazines. A few pots of flowers 
 partially relieve the griminess of the surroundings. 
 
 Ordish a7id Neale are seated at the back, the 
 one upon the parapet wall, the other upon the 
 windsor-chair, playi?ig cards and smoking their 
 pipes. Ordish is a bearded, sallow, saturnine 
 man of forty, lean of figure and not very pros- 
 perous in appearance. He wears a black frock- 
 coat, a pair of shrunken flannel trousers, and 
 sand-shoes. Neal,^ is a fair, impudent-looking 
 
62 LErrr 
 
 young fellow dressed in a suit of tweed of a gay 
 
 pattern. On the right, Richard Perry — u 
 simple, kindly, consequential little person of 
 thirty or thereabouts , with a forehead of abnor- 
 mal development topped by an extravagant 
 quantity of mouse-colored hair — is adjusting a 
 camera upon a folding stand ; while Marion is 
 sitting upon the square of carpet turning the 
 
 pages of a magazine. 77ie church-bells strike 
 the three-quarters-of-an-hour, whereupon she 
 
 jumps up and, going to the dwatf wall on the 
 left, looks towards the dormer window. 
 
 Neale. 
 \Surveying a hand of cards which Ordish has dealt 
 him.\ Pass ! 
 
 Ordish. 
 \Throwing his cards down.\ Oh, pass ! 
 
 Neale. 
 Treble. 
 
 Ordish. 
 \Gloomily.\ This is becoming serious. 
 
 Neale. 
 YShuffling.'\ It is so, cockey. 
 
 [Hilda's head appears, emerging from the sky- 
 light. 
 
 Hilda. 
 I say I what are we waiting for? 
 
 Neale. 
 Letty. 
 
 Perry. 
 Miss Shell. 
 
LETTY 63 
 
 Neale. 
 \To Ordish.] Cut. 
 
 Hilda. 
 \Cla7nbering on to the roof with the aid of Perry.] 
 Where is she ? You must be sinking for your leas, all of 
 you. [7o Marion.] It's too bad. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 \Making signs to Hilda.] Hilda 
 
 [Perry returns to his camera and Hilda joins 
 Marion. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Ell? 
 
 Marion. 
 \In a whisper.^ Dr. Pollard is with her. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Oh 
 
 Marion. 
 You make a start. I think I'll hang about the landing 
 in case I'm wanted. 
 
 \She transfers herself to the roof of her own house, 
 and lets herself in at the dormer windoiv. 
 
 Ordish. 
 [Calling his hand.'\ Misery ! 
 
 Neale. 
 You look it. Nap ! 
 
 Ordish. 
 [Bitterly.'] Oh, of course. 
 
 Perry. 
 I trust I shall be permitted to take my picture, Miss 
 
64 LETTY 
 
 Gunning, before we attempt to do justice to your bounti- 
 ful liospitality. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Before ! 
 
 Perry. 
 
 The light will not serve us subsequently. Pending the 
 arrival of the lagging guest, why shouldn't we roughly 
 design our groupnig ? \Shifting the camera.\ I anticipate 
 most excellent results. 
 
 Ordish. 
 \Playing a card.'\ You can't do it, Neale. 
 
 Neale. 
 [Annoyed.] What d'ye mean by crying Misere with a 
 blooming king in your hand? 
 
 Ordish. 
 You've failed to make your Nap ; let that suffice. 
 
 Neale. 
 All right ; there's no occasion to shout about it. 
 
 Perry. 
 \To Ordish and Neale.] Gentlemen, may I trouble 
 you? 
 
 Neale. 
 [Rising, facetiously .] Oh, please, is my hair quite tidy ? 
 
 Ordish. 
 
 tAlso rising — to Neale,] Let me see — you are now my 
 itor to a trifling amount. 
 
 Neale. 
 Heart alive, I'm not going to fly the country ! [To 
 
LEITY 65 
 
 Perry.] Where do I stand? Mind, it's a stipulation I 
 come out handsome ! 
 
 Perry. 
 [Advancing.'\ I suggest that Miss Gunning embodies 
 the classic conception of Venus rising from the sea ; in 
 other words, that she should be shown issuing from the 
 skylight — just the head and shoulders — 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 [Who has been tying her shoe-lac es.\ What next ! half 
 my gown would be hidden ! 
 
 Perry. 
 \Perplexed.'\ Yes, it does entail that drawback. I have 
 it ! [To Hilda, pointing to the square of carpet. \ Be good 
 enough to take your position there. [She follows his direc- 
 tions.^ Mr. Ordish — Mr. Neale — kindly place yourselves 
 at Miss Gunning's feet. 
 
 [They seat themselves accordingly. 
 
 Neale. 
 [Gazing languishingly at Hilda.] May I adopt :ui 
 adoring attitude ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 I Calmly \ Don't be a stupid goat, Mr. Neale, if you can 
 help if. 
 
 [Marion and Letty are seen at the dormer win- 
 dow. 
 
 Marion. 
 [Calling?^ Hilda! 
 
 Hilda. 
 Halloa? 
 
 Marion. 
 [Assisting Letty to scramble through the window-open- 
 ing.'] We're coming. 
 
66 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 [Me>rily.'\ Always be last at a party if you aim at 
 crtatjiig a sensation. 
 
 Neale. 
 
 [Hurrying to the dwarf wall and giving Letty a 
 hand.\ All aboard ! all aboard ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Many thanks. 
 
 [Okdish also rises to greet her and she shakes 
 hands with him. Her eyes sparkle restlessly 
 and her manner indicates netves at full iensioti. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 How are you, Mr. Ordish ? \Shaking hands with 
 Perry.] Good-evening. \_Seeing the camera.] Ah, yes, 
 we're to sit for our portraits, aren't we? [Going to 
 Hilda.] I am dreadfully sorry, dear, really. 
 
 Perry. 
 [Clapping his hands] Now, now, the group ! Miss 
 Allardyce on Miss Gunning's left. Miss Shell on her 
 right. [Marion ajid Letty take the places allotted to . 
 them.] Gentlemen, resume your positions. [The men 
 squat again.] Ah, ah ! you grasp my conceit ? The three 
 Graces ! [Disappearing beneath his focussing cloth.] The 
 three Graces ! 
 
 Neale. 
 There are four, with Ordish. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Kicking him gently in the back.] Do shut up. 
 
 Perry. 
 
 \ Reappearing.] Miss Allardyce's arm round Miss Gun- 
 ning's waist — [disappearing] I am obliged. 
 
LETTY 67 
 
 Neale. 
 \ Hugging himself. \ EuglV! I've no lady. What am I 
 to do with my arms ? 
 
 Ordish. 
 You couldn't contrive to hide your mug behind em, 
 could you ? 
 
 Neale. 
 Jimmy, this is going to be one of your witty evenings. 
 
 Perry. 
 {^Reappearing.^ Miss Shell's hand caressingly upon 
 Miss Gunning's shoulder 
 
 Letty. 
 Willingly. 
 
 Perry. 
 ^DisappearingP^ I am obliged. 
 
 Hilda. 
 \To Letty, quietly^^ What does the doctor say ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Turning her head aside quickly. ^ Sssh, sssh ! 
 
 Perry. 
 \Reappearing once more and proceedijig to insert his 
 dark slide.\ Ladies — Mr. Ordish — Mr. Neale — I have 
 pleasure, and pride, in informing you that there is every 
 prospect of my obtaining an effective picture, a strikingly 
 beautiful picture 
 
 Neale. 
 Spare my blushes ! 
 
 Perry. 
 [Standing befdre the camera.^ Only one word, and that 
 
68 LETTr 
 
 on the subject of Expression, Facial Expression — the dis- 
 position, ill short, of the facial muscles. You will have 
 oljserved — your experience will have taught you — that it 
 is the practice of the majority of professed artists in pho- 
 tography to instruct their sitters to smile — to — ah — look 
 pleasant — irrespective of the mental condition of the, 
 probably, unhappy subjects of their operations. My 
 methods are totally different. Smile, even radiantly, if 
 you can do so with a semblance of spontaneity. But, 
 for heaven's sake, let us not have a mechanical smile ; 
 let us not have a smile which recalls too vividly the 
 "guinea set" of the cheap dentist's show-case. 
 
 [Marion izWLetty laugh. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Absently. "[ I hope that fool of a woman is keeping the 
 tea-cake hot. 
 
 'Perry. 
 No, the injunction I would impose on you is this — 
 think! Exercise the faculty of imagination ! Conjure up 
 delightful illusions, and suffer them to reflect themselves 
 upon your physiognomies. Mr. Ordibh, for instance — 
 representing, as he does, that important institution, the 
 Penguin Life and Fire Insurance Company — I ask him 
 to imagine that he has this afternoon induced some provi- 
 dent person to insure his life for five thousand pounds. 
 
 Ordish. 
 
 Ten quid on the life of a poor rickety baby. Perry — 
 that's more my mark. 
 
 Perry. 
 Yes, yes, but fancy the other event has occurred. 
 \Wiih animation.^ Five thousand pounds! What a fat 
 commission, hey ? 
 
 Ordish. 
 [ With a hollow laugh. ^ Ho ! 
 
LETTY 69 
 
 Perry. 
 That's right ! that's right ! Hold it, man, hold it ! And 
 you, Mr. Neale — than whom, I am sure, Messrs. Deane and 
 Bosaiiquet have no traveler they esteem more warmly — my 
 eye, the tremendous orders you booked this morning ! 
 
 Neale. 
 [Loweringfy.'] I had a jolly fine rumpus with the guv'- 
 
 nors this morning. Beasts ! 
 
 « 
 Perry. 
 
 Dismiss the recollection — imagine they showered com- 
 pliments upon you. Miss AUardyce, what are you most 
 in need of? 
 
 Marion. 
 A new bicycle. 
 
 Perry. 
 You've got it; it's in the basement! Ah, how the 
 plated parts glisten ! 
 
 Marion. 
 [SmiHngJ] Very well. 
 
 Perry. 
 That's a divine smile ! hold it ! Miss Gunning ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 [ With her drawl.'] I don't know what I want — every- 
 thing — my tea 
 
 Perry. 
 H'm! [Pursing his lifis.'] We will leave you alone. 
 You shall be the statuesque note in my composition. Miss 
 Shell? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Hnsfify.} Pass me. /'//imagine— when the moment 
 
70 LETTY 
 
 Perry. 
 
 \Completing his preparations.\ Good. Are you ready ? 
 \lhey nod in icnison, then become rigid.\ Er — the ex- 
 posure will be a protracted one. I entertain no objection 
 to your blinking. Blink, by all means. yThey do so. He 
 indicates a particular spot upon the chimney-stack on the 
 right.] Tliat cluster of soot upon the chimney-stack — 
 you see it? 
 
 The Group. 
 [Nodding.] Um. 
 
 Perry. 
 Now ! Direct your gaze towards that cluster of soot, 
 and think — think of happy things. So ! Ready ! Hold 
 it ! [Humming.] Ta, ra, ta, ta ! ta, ra, ta, ta ! 
 
 [He turns his back upon them and takes his picture. 
 
 Perry. 
 [After a pause of some seconds , facing them with a wave 
 of the hand.\ I am obliged. [They relax, uttering sighs 
 of relief] Once more. [ They stiffen again. He hur- 
 riedly makes his preparations for his second picture and 
 then confronts them as before.] Now! [Pausing.] Er — 
 it is sometimes advisable to moisten the lips. You may 
 moisten your Hps. [They do so, simultaneously ?\ Ready! 
 [Pointing to the chimney-stack.] Soot! [Another pause.] 
 Feel happy! Hold it! Ta, ra, ta, ta ! ta, ra, ta, ta ! 
 [Having taken his second picture.] I am obliged. [With- 
 drawing the dark slide.] Give me a few minutes and then 
 I will be with you. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Resignedly.] We shall never sit down to our meal at 
 this rate. 
 
 [The group breaks up as Perry bustles across to 
 the skylight and disappears. Letty goes to 
 the camera and examines it. 
 
LETTY 71 
 
 Ordish. 
 \To Neale.] You and I may as well seize the oppor- 
 tunity of settling accounts. 
 
 Neale. 
 \Tesiily.] Dash it, there can't be much in it, one way 
 or the other ! 
 
 [They return to the parapet-wall where they are 
 seen to be engaged over the settlement. Hilda 
 and JVIARION are watching Letty. 
 
 Hilda. 
 \To Marion.] She snapped me up when I put the 
 question. \Observing that the men are occupied.\ I 
 should have thought she would have told you. [They 
 y(7z« Letty.] Old girl 
 
 Letty. 
 [Peering into the lens of the camera.] I am crystal- 
 gazing, divining the future 
 
 Hilda. 
 You might tell us what old Pollard said to you . 
 
 Letty. 
 Not now — it's of no consequence — another time — • 
 [Abruptly.l Oh, one thing he was most empliatic 
 about 
 
 Hilda. 
 What ? 
 
 Letty. 
 I am to be out in the air as much as possible — to avoid 
 close rooms. Hilda ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 Yes? 
 
72 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 \^Hesitatingly!\ Don't be wild with me, dear — I wish 
 you would leave me here. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Leave you ? 
 
 Letty. 
 It's stifling indoors ; one can't breathe, you know, and 
 I — \frankly\ oh, I mean only till Mr. Letchmere has 
 called. Afterwards, I'll join you all down below. 
 
 Hilda. 
 \^Put out.'\ Ho ! is he ordered fresh air, too ? The rest 
 of us aren't select enough for him ! 
 
 Letty. 
 No, no, he's not a snob ; you're perfectly well aware 
 he isn't. \A.'wkwardly.'\ But he — he has something to 
 say to me this evening 
 
 Hilda. 
 [ Opening her eyes. ] To say ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Of — of importance — and 
 
 Hilda. 
 Oh — h — h ! \Breathlessly.\ Letty, is he going to speak? 
 
 Letty. 
 Sssh ! don't be absurd, Hilda ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 \_Laiighing softly.'] Ha, ha, ha ! [ Wi7ikiiig at Marion 
 and then embracing Letty.] You sly old darling ! No- 
 body shall disturb the turtle-doves. You take it easy. 
 I'll make it right with these chaps 
 
LETrr 7d 
 
 Letty. 
 [EfifreaUng^/y.] Hilda, not — chaps ! I hate the word. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [/n great good humor.'\ Oli, we are becoming fastidi- 
 ous ! [Letty seais herself in tlie basket-chair^ Here, 
 you boys ! 
 
 [Neale and Ordish, who have now completed 
 their settlement, come to her, Ordish carefully 
 putting some money into his piirse. Marion 
 has walked away and is standing, in thought, 
 looking down through the skylight. 
 
 Hilda. 
 \To Neale and Ordish.] Letty's under the weather, 
 no great shalies. She's not equal to fuggy rooms, and 
 you chaps — you gentlemen have to wait upon her here — 
 understand? 
 
 [Neale, who is in (he act of blowing his nose, 
 tucks his handkerchief under his arm and struts 
 about like a waiter. 
 
 Neale. 
 Coming, miss, coming ! One tea and toast ! One egg, 
 must be fresh ! 
 
 Ordish. 
 \To Neale.] Ah, it's often puzzled me — the career 
 you were born for. 
 
 Neale. 
 \Siung.\ It wasn't the box-seat of a hearse, at any rate. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Now then, cease it! 
 
 \As she turns towards the skylight. Perry's head 
 
74 LETTY 
 
 Pekky. 
 My dear friends, you will rejoice to hear that my prog- 
 nostications are realized ; the picture will be a remark- 
 able one. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Tea! 
 
 [Perry's head vanishes and Hilda prepares to 
 descend, iihe has one foot upon the steps when 
 she withdraws it and calls to Perry in icy 
 tones. 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 Mr. Perry, I'll ask you not to linger at the foot of that 
 ladder. 
 
 Perry. 
 [Out of sij;ht.\ I beg your pardon. 
 
 [She descends with the aid o/'Ordish, who then 
 makes way for Marion. 
 
 Marion. 
 f To Ordish.) I'll follow in a moment. 
 
 [Ordish goes. 
 
 Neale. 
 
 What ho ! below there ! 
 
 \He also disappears. The church clock strikes six. 
 Letty raises her head anxiously. 
 
 Marion. 
 [Approaching her\ Letty. 
 
 Letty, 
 Well? 
 
 Marion. 
 Did Pollard write you a prescription? 
 
LETTY 75 
 
 Letty. 
 It's lying on the bed. 
 
 Marion. 
 Hadn't we better send the girl with it to Wilcox's at 
 once ? 
 
 Letty. 
 I'll tafc it myself by-and-by. They're open till ten. 
 
 Marion. 
 On Saturdays are they ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Starting «/.] Don't fidget me ! oh, don't fidget me ! 
 
 Marion. 
 [Soothingly. "[ No, dear, I'll not. [Fastening a button 
 of Letty's bodice.\ I have noticed their lights burning 
 late on Saturdays, I remember. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Glancing down at her bodice.^ Ah, thanks. I pulled it 
 off and on in such frantic haste. 
 
 Marion. 
 Why, has Dr. Pollard been listening ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Ha ! There, you won't be content till you've wormed 
 it out of me. [Lightly. ^ I have a tired heart, it appears, 
 Polly. 
 
 Marion. 
 A tired heart ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Doesn't it sound romantic ? But it's merely a phrase ; 
 there's no such thing, actually. I'm anaemic — I've got 
 
76 LETTY 
 
 myself into an ansemic condition. Clever of me ! So 
 
 tiiere's a slight fluttering 
 
 Marion. 
 I — I see. 
 
 Letty. 
 Don't stay here ; you'll vex Hilda. 
 
 [They walk together to the zky light. 
 
 Marion. 
 [Earnestly.] On Monday you'll begin lunching out 
 with me again, I should hope, in the old way ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [ IVtth a little shrug] I — I'm under orders not to go to 
 business on Monday. 
 
 Marion. 
 Whose orders ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Dr. Pollard's. I ought to loaf — take a long rest, he 
 advises. If I don't, he dechnes to be answerable 
 
 Marion. 
 Letty ! 
 
 Letty. 
 [Shaking her head wilfully.] La, la, la ! There's 
 nothing to be alarmed about. [Turning aw ay \ Do make 
 them hurry up with that tiresome tea. 
 
 [She stands by the parapet-wall and gazes at the 
 prospect. Her feet tap the leads, and her 
 hands, which are behind her, are seen to clasp 
 and unclasp each other nervously. Marion 
 follows her. 
 
 Marion. 
 But — but— what will you do ? 
 
LETTY 77 
 
 Letty. 
 Do? 
 
 Marion. 
 A long rest ! How shall you manage it? 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes, I'm stony-broke, aren't I ? 
 
 Marion. 
 We'll study my bank-book to-night. 
 
 Letty. 
 Your savings! I'd die first ! 
 
 Marion. 
 Sssh ! be sensible. 
 
 Letty. 
 \^Putiing her arms round Marion.] I'd die first. 
 
 Marion. 
 Be sensible. The situation has to be faced prac- 
 tically. 
 
 Letty. 
 [/« a whisper^ Polly ! 
 
 Marion. 
 Eh? 
 
 Letty. 
 Polly, dear, suppose this holiday — this rest that I am 
 ordered — comes to me, as it were, without any seeking, 
 comes like rain from the clouds ! 
 
 Marion. 
 Tliat's all very well. And suppose, on the other hand 
 — suppose it does not? 
 
78 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 [Re/easing- /ter.] You Job's comforter ! 
 
 Marion. 
 
 It's common prudence to be prepared for disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 [ Walking abouii] Ha ! You are one to give a girl the 
 hump, Polly. 
 
 Marion. 
 All I mean is that in that case you must let me with- 
 draw a little of my vast hoard. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Never; I'm up to my neck as it is. Besides, it 
 wouldn't be of the smallest service to me. 
 
 Marion. 
 Of no service ? 
 
 Letty. 
 No, a poor girl's holiday would be of no use to me 
 now. Yarmouth — Heme Bay — Southend — I've a loath- 
 ing for the very names of the horrid, vulgar holes ! The 
 only rest for me is to be lifted right out of this, to 
 be caught up tightly and flown away with — over these 
 house-tops — over there ! 
 
 Marion. 
 Hush, hush ! don't be so excited. 
 
 [A voice is heard imitaiing the sound of a trumpet. 
 The girls separate, and presently Neale ap- 
 pears bearing a cup of tea and a plate of bread- 
 and-butter. Marion descends. 
 
 Neale. 
 [Advancing to Letty with an obeisance.] Maiden, 
 
LETTY 7'9 
 
 while the bandits below are sleeping off their drunken 
 stupor, I bring you this bowl of rain-water and this mil- 
 dewed crust. 
 
 Letty. 
 ^Recovering herself laughingly?^ Thanks, friend Carlo. 
 ^Taking the cup-and-saucer and the plate from him and 
 placing them on the parapet-wall. \ I'he memory of your 
 services will dwell with me until my last hour. 
 
 \^He again blows a trumpet-blast and is withdraw- 
 ing when she calls him. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Mr. Neale. 
 Your humble. 
 
 Neale. 
 
 Letty. 
 Please excuse me for alluding to it, but I hope your 
 disagreement with your firm isn't likely to result in any 
 unpleasantness for you. 
 
 Neale. 
 [Sitting on the edge of the skylight, his legs out of sight.\ 
 More lilcely to result in unpleasantness for Deane and 
 Bosanquet. Where'd they be if Charley Neale turned 
 his back on 'em? 
 
 Letty. 
 {Moving towards him.] At all events, you mustn't 
 think I'm forgetting the — the few pounds you and Mr. 
 Ordish were so friendly as to advance me. 
 
 Neale. 
 [Jocularly.] Well, I'll try my hardest not to. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Flaying with a finger ring.] Indeed I — I expect to 
 find myself able — very shortly — very 
 
80 LETTY 
 
 Neale. 
 [Looking up at Aer.] All right ; you take your own 
 time, ducky. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Retreating.'\ Thank you. It shall be as soon as pos- 
 sible, I assure you. 
 
 \She returns to the parapet-wall and, taking up 
 her tea-cup, becomes oblivious of his existence. 
 He contemplates her for a few moments, then 
 approaches her sheepishly. 
 
 Neale. 
 I say 
 
 Letty. 
 [Curtlj/.] What, Mr. Neale ? 
 
 Neale. 
 I say, don't you go working yourself into a state, now, 
 .over that messin' little loan, 'cos I won't have it. 
 
 Letty. 
 \ Relenting.] You are awfully good. But I'm afraid I 
 sha'n't enjoy much peace of mind until I'm free from — 
 two or three small obligations. 
 
 Neale. 
 [Avoie/ing her eye. ] Le tty . 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes? 
 
 Neale. 
 
 \Kicking one foot against the other.'\ Look here, I — 
 I've a — ii proposition to make. 
 
 Letty-. 
 Proposition ! 
 
LETTy 81 
 
 Neale. 
 I'm agreeable to write that debt off, consider it settled, 
 if you are. 
 
 Letty. 
 Settled ! 
 
 Neale. 
 Settled. You — you give nie a — a kiss for every ten 
 bob you owe me 
 
 Letty. 
 Oh ! [^Laying her cup aside and backing away from 
 him.\ You odious creature ! 
 
 Neale. 
 
 Stuff! Letty 
 
 Letty. 
 Stop calling me by my Christian name, you — you 
 worm ! Common I know you are, but I've never sus- 
 pected you of being quite so low as this ! 
 
 Neale. 
 Great Ned, here's a flare up about a trifle ! 
 
 Letty. 
 \Tragicany^ Go ! 
 
 YHe slouches away to the skylight and there halts. 
 
 Neale. 
 ^Mumbling.^ 'Pon my soul, one daren't open one's 
 lips to some people. \Ttirning^ Lett — Miss Shell — 
 \edging nearer to her, expostulatingly] you called me 
 Carlo,' which is French for Charley 
 
 Letty. 
 It isn't French for Charley, and I could cut my tongue 
 out. 
 
82 LETTY 
 
 Neale. 
 And then, recollect, it was a purely business offer. 
 
 Letty. 
 I desire to be alone, Mr. Neale. 
 
 Neale. 
 
 [After a brief pause, with a humble coug/i.] Ahem ! I 
 — 1 beg your pardon. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Shori/y.'\ Very well. 
 
 Neale. 
 I — I apologize. 
 
 Letty. 
 I accept your apology. 
 
 Neale. 
 
 Give you my sacred word, it sha'n't ever — ever 
 
 yiiubbing his hands upon his coat^ My hand's so 
 clammy, or I'd ask you to 
 
 Letty. 
 \Giving him herhand.\ I forgive you, and will forget 
 the occurrence. 
 
 Neale. 
 \Wringing her handJ] A precious poor tea I should 
 have made if we hadn't arrived at an understanding. 
 
 [Ordish appears, carrying a sausage-roll upon a 
 plate. 
 
 Ordish. 
 [Advancing.^ Miss Letty, you are to pledge yourself 
 solemnly to eat every morsel of this. 
 
 Letty. 
 What is it ? 
 
LETTY 83 
 
 Ordish. 
 A sausage-roll. 
 
 Neale. 
 [As he departs^ Miaou ! miaou ' puss, puss, puss ! 
 
 Ordish. 
 \Tnrning upon him angrily. \ What perfect taste ! 
 
 Neale. 
 [In disgusti\ Oh, don't be so affected ! 
 
 [He disappears. 
 
 Ordish. 
 [Ruefully.\ We thought it might tempt you, if your 
 appetite is at all squeamish. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Taking it from him.'] Hilda couldn't have sent me 
 anything I — \wiih a gulp] I fancy more. 
 
 Ordish, 
 Come, that's lucky. [Going.] She will be glad. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Pulling the sausage-roll aside, and again taking up her 
 cup-and-saucer.\ Mr. Ordish. 
 
 Ordish. 
 [Returning.] t)id you call me ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Sipping her tea.] You won't think me impertinent, 
 will you? I couldn't help being struck by that remark 
 of yours to Mr. Perry. 
 
 Ordish. 
 Remark ? 
 
84 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 Concerning your — concerning insurance affairs. [Leak- 
 ing at him askance over her tea-cup. \ This is your bad 
 time of year, perhaps ? 
 
 Ordish. 
 No, this is my good time of year. 
 
 Letty. 
 [SorrowfuilyJ] Oh ! 
 
 Ordish. 
 [Thrusting his hands into his pockets and scowli>ig at 
 vacancy.'] But whether the Penguin office is unpopular, 
 or whether it's me 
 
 Letty. 
 You? 
 
 Ordish. 
 
 My method of canvassing ! [Harshly.] Naturally 
 
 one can't avoid telling people that in the midst of life 
 they are in death. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Diffidently.] There's no way of — breaking it to 
 them? 
 
 Ordish. 
 Heaven knows I've tried every way — gentle — 
 abrupt 
 
 Letty. 
 [Touching his arm.'] The money you were kind 
 enough to lend me — you and Mr. Neale 
 
 Ordish. 
 Oh, don't mention my share of it, please. 
 
LETTY 85 
 
 Letty. 
 I had no idea Mr. Neale would consult you in the mat- 
 ter. It was almost a breach of confidence. 
 
 Ordish. 
 
 [I^acing her, his manner softening.\ You see he couldn't 
 readily make up the round sum himself on that particular 
 day, and he — \eyeing her 'wistfully\ he allowed me to have 
 a bit. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Dropping her lids in embarrassinent.'\ So he explained. 
 
 Ordish. 
 [ With a slight huskiness.\ He's a capital fellow, old 
 Neale, at heart. 
 
 Letty. 
 \ Ob serving the toe of her shoe with great attention.\ 
 You both are. \Quickly, as if fearing a response on his 
 part.] What I wanted to say is that I may- — that is, I 
 hope to find myself in a position ere long 
 
 Ordish. 
 [With an elaborate show of indifference.] Oh, when- 
 ever you — whenever you are flush. Not a second be- 
 fore, I insist. 
 
 Letty. 
 \After an awkward silence.] I am keeping you from 
 your tea. 
 
 Ordish. 
 
 /am — from yours. 
 
 [They part abruptly, she returning to the parapet- 
 wall, he vanishing rapidly through the sky- 
 light. Putting her cup down, she sits in the 
 wvidsor-chair and gazes after Ordish with 
 overflowing eyes- 
 
86 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 \_Co7nJ)assionatelyi] Oh! oh! 
 
 [In the distance a street organ breaks into a waltz. 
 Instantly her face brightens and she jumps to 
 her feet. 
 
 Letty. 
 [ With a shake of the body and a little cry of delight. \ 
 Ah! 
 
 \She selects the smallest piece of bread-and-butter 
 she can find, and, holding it daintily between 
 her finger and thumb, and making a feck at it 
 at intervals, takes a few turns at the waltz. 
 When the bread-and-butter is consumed, she 
 seats Tierself glowing and breathless, upon the 
 parapet-wall. 
 
 Letty. 
 Ah! ah! 
 
 \Her eyes fall upon the sausage-roll. She settles 
 the plate upon her lap and, after regarding the 
 roll with aversion, makes several efforts to con- 
 vey it to her mouth. Finally, failing in her 
 attempts, she deliberately drops it over the wall. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Peering into the depths, gleefully. \ Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 [Perry appears, carrying a plate of shrimps. 
 
 Perry. 
 \_As he ascends."] A'ha ! 
 
 Letty. 
 [Leaving the wall, guiltily !\ Ah, Mr. Perry ? 
 
 Perry. 
 I hope I am not too tardy in proffering you these suc- 
 culent little denizens of the deep ? 
 
LETTY 87 
 
 Letty. 
 Why, they're shrimps. 
 
 Perry. 
 \SurpnsedJ\ I said shrimps. 
 
 Letty. 
 Er — exactly what I fancy. ^Indicating the parapet- 
 wall.'\ Put them on my tea-table. 
 
 \^He does so, and at the same time remarks the dis- 
 appearance of the sausage-roll. 
 
 Perry. 
 \Examining the empty plate, then replacing it.^ Not a 
 crumb. This will gratify Miss Gunning. 
 
 [//e comes to his camera and prepares to remove it. 
 She is standing at the skylight listening with 
 strained ears. 
 
 Letty. 
 Had — had anybody else arrived before you left the 
 tea-table ? 
 
 Perry. 
 No. Is any one expected ? 
 
 \She clenches her hands and utters a sigh of •^sus- 
 pense. He advances, carrying the camera and 
 stand. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Depressed.\ Mr. Perry. 
 
 Perry. 
 
 Eh? 
 
 Letty. 
 How is j/o«r business? 
 
88 LETTV 
 
 Perry. 
 My dear young lady, I am gradually being forced to 
 the conclusion that no photographer inspired by artistic 
 ambitions will ever flourish in the Edgware Road. 
 
 Letty. 
 This is j/our good time of year, too, isn't it? 
 
 Perry. 
 [ IVM a shrug.\ One sitting only to-day — a plebeian 
 wedding-party smothered in confetti. Six copies. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Falteringly. [ I ventured to ask the question because 
 I have been ratner fretting about that — that little loan. 
 
 Perry. 
 \Grandly.\ Ah, Miss Shell, if it were but in my power 
 to treble, to quadruple, the amount and then to induce 
 you to forget it utterly ! \Regretfully, moving towards 
 the sky-light.'\ As it is, alas ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Let me help you with these. 
 
 Perry. 
 
 You are too gracious. 
 
 [^He gets partly down the steps and she hands him 
 the camera and stand. 
 
 Letty. 
 \As she does jo.] Mr. Perry, while you are upon the 
 subject — candidly, you know^ — how long can you — can 
 you 'i 
 
 Perry. 
 \Taking the camera.\ I am obliged. Wait? 
 
LETTY 89 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Y — yes — wait. 
 
 Perry. 
 Candidly? [Taki/tg the stand.'] I am obliged. \^Cheer- 
 fully.] Till within four-and-twenty hours of quarter-day 
 without the least inconvenience. 
 
 Letty. 
 Quarter-day ! [Drawing a deep breaih.\ That's next 
 week. 
 
 Perry. 
 [Sitnply, as he descends.] Is it really ? Lord bless me, 
 so it is. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Next week ! 
 
 [Hilda's voice is heard, then Nevill's. 
 
 Hilda. 
 \From below — calling.] Letty ! Letty ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 \From below, to Perry.] I fear you are in a difificulty, 
 sir. May I assist you ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Ah! 
 
 Perry. 
 \Disa-ppearing.] A thousand thanks. I am obliged. 
 
 \She moves away excitedly, endeavoring to com- 
 mand herself. Presently Nevill appears and, 
 coming to her, takes her hand. He has changed 
 his town attire and is now wearing a suit oj 
 ser/re and a straw hat. 
 
90 LErrr 
 
 Nevill. 
 Did you think you were not to see me this evening 
 
 afler all ? 
 
 Letty. 
 No — but, as a rule, it's I who keep you waiting. 
 
 Nevill. 
 I was rash enough to drop in at my club, and there 
 found a couple of invitations for to-morrow which I had 
 to deal witli. [Looitng- about Am.] You receive me in 
 the garden. 
 
 Letty. 
 Hilda's garden. \Leading him to the left.\ This is 
 mine, only it's dreadfully pokey. 
 
 Nevill. 
 It is limited in extent. Still, while you enjoy the run 
 of a neighbor's estate 
 
 Letty. 
 [Leading htm to the parapet-wall.] Look ! isn't it a 
 glorious view? I am never tired of gazing at it. \Point- 
 ing.\ There's Regent Circus. \He nods.] Bond Street's 
 there. Ha, ha, ha ! that's where you live — I can almost 
 watch you. \With a sweep of the arm.] The Squares — 
 the Park ! What a wonderful light! The gold- 
 dust has been flying all day. 
 
 Nevill. 
 The gold-dust ? 
 
 Letty. 
 The dust rising from the wealth of the millionaires. 
 \He laughs.] The air is choked with it. On a day such 
 as this it melts ; and then, as the sun loses its power, the 
 particles mass together and harden, and the sky becomes 
 a dome of solid gold. 
 
LETTY 91 
 
 Nevill. 
 No wonder the nights are oppressive. 
 
 Lettv. 
 Yes, you can scarcely breathe then, London is shut in 
 • closely. London! London! 
 
 Nevill. 
 You httle cockney ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Will you have some tea ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 {Shaking his head.'\ I had a drink at my club. 
 
 Letty. 
 I've finished my tea. I asked Hilda to give it me in 
 the open, remembering how stupidly I'd behaved in your 
 rooms. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Smiling at her.] You have contrived admirably. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Turning her face away.] Ha, ha! Won't you sit 
 down ? \Leading him to the basket-chair.] Here — — ■ 
 
 Nevill. 
 No 
 
 Letty. 
 I command ! 
 
 l^He sits in the basket-chair, she upon the wooden 
 stool which she first places at a short distance 
 from him. 
 
 Letty. 
 You may smoke. \He produces his cigarette case. \ My 
 cigarettes are next door — but I couldn't offer you those. 
 
92 LETTY 
 
 [He hands her his case and she accepts a cigarette 
 smilingly. Then he strikes a match and she 
 bends forward and takes a light from it. Hav- 
 ing lighted his own cigarette, he sinks back in 
 his chair and lapses into a moody silence. The 
 organ stops playing. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Frowning.'\ Tliank God, that noise has ceased ! 
 
 Lettv. 
 Oh, I love an organ ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Enthusiast ! 
 
 Letty. 
 \_Her elbows on her knees, blowing wreaths^ I've often 
 found myself wishing that the people who wave oigan- 
 giinders away could be instantly struck down — die on 
 the spot ! 
 
 ( Nevill. 
 
 The porter in Grafton Street has my orders to 
 chivvy the Itahan devils directly they show themselves. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Slyly.] Really ! Suppose my wish had ever been 
 gratified I 
 
 Nevill. 
 The vi'orld would have been no great loser, in my case. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Softly.] You are fishing for a compliment ; I won't 
 pay it. 
 
 [ 7 hey sit for a time without speaking. The church- 
 bell clangs out the quarter-hour. 
 
LETTY 93 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Starting.] Good Lord ! what's that? 
 
 Letty. 
 All Souls'. It sounds so near up here, doesn't it? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Ha ! yes. [^Again there is silence between them. 
 
 Letty. 
 [In a low voice.} Are ycu angry with tne for any 
 reason ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Angry ? No, my dear. 
 
 Letty. 
 [After a further pause, twisting her cigarette between her 
 fingers.] These are dehcious. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Letty 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes? 
 
 Nevill. 
 You know I had a visitor this afternoon — a man — while 
 you were in my den, resting ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Hilda came into the room and said there was somebody 
 ,vith you, and that you'd call us immediately he'd gone. 
 
 Nevill. 
 It was the gentleman of whom you've spoken to me 
 on several occasions— Mr. Mandeville — Mr. Bernard 
 l\tandeville. 
 
94 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 How very presuming! What did he want? 1 beg 
 your pardon 
 
 Nevill. 
 Not at all ; you were tlie sole topic of our conversation. 
 There is a lady in your office, it appears, who busies her- 
 self with the private affairs of her fellow-clerks. 
 
 Letty. 
 Kate Bowman ? Miss Bowman ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Bowman or Smith or Jenkins — whatever his source of 
 
 information, Mr. Mandeville has learned that a friendship 
 
 has recently sprung up between one of his employees and 
 
 myself, and he is greatly disturbed by the circumstance. 
 
 Letty. 
 One of his employees — me f 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Dfjly.] Yes, I don't gather that he has the smallest 
 objection to my acquaintance with the frigid Marion. 
 Certainly, he means you, Letty. 
 
 Letty. 
 I — I am dreadfully sorry you should be bothered in 
 this manner, Mr. Letchmere. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Pray don't mind that. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Morfeslly.] I — I have told you how he has pestered me 
 ever since I first went to Waterloo Place, by talking to 
 me whenever the opportunity occurred — viaking oppor- 
 tunities to talk to me. But I've not given him the slight- 
 
LETTY 95 
 
 est encouragement. Once he asked me to go out with 
 him — I told you 
 
 Nevill. 
 Yes, you told me. \Shifting in his chair restlessly. \ 
 Well, undoubtedly he has a siion^ penchant for you, my 
 dear child. He's over head and ears in love with you 
 beyond question 
 
 Letty. 
 Ah, don't ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 And being possessed of the idea that I am a bar to his 
 progress, he invites me with the utmost cordiahty to make 
 room for him — to stand aside. There you have the sub- 
 stance of my interview with Mr. Mandeville in a nut- 
 shell. 
 
 LETXy. 
 [Her bosom heaving.'\ I assure you he has never ven- 
 tured — never dared^to speak a word to me — of love 
 
 Nevill. 
 No, I drew that admission from him. His hesitation 
 lias been due, however- — so he gives me to understand — 
 to the wide gulf existing between his social position and 
 your own. But now 
 
 Letty. 
 [Proudlyl] His position and mine ! True, I am his 
 clerk ; but I am also the daughter of a gentleman ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Wait. I was about to say that I fancy he is now de- 
 termined to battle with his scruples bravely — to fight 
 them like a Trojan. I declined emphatically to — to keep 
 off the grass — the euphemism is Mr. Mandeville's; with 
 
96 LETTY 
 
 the result, if I am any judge of human nature, that you 
 will receive an avowal of his matrimonial aspirations be- 
 fore many days — hours perhaps — are over. 
 
 Letty. 
 I shall refuse to listen to him ! I wop't listen to him ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Won't you ? [Throwing his cigafetie away with delib- 
 eraiion.\ Do you think you're wise? 
 
 Letty. 
 {Blankly. \ What! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Dugdale's is a big thing, Letty — I have Mr. Mande- 
 ville's authority for the statement. Granted it isn't a 
 trade that everybody would choose to soil his hands with 
 — of how many trades could you not say the same? It's 
 lucrative ; and in this huge sweepstakes we call life, for 
 a girl to draw a starter at all is not to be lightly esteemed. 
 Remember the thousands of you that draw blanks — or 
 worse than blanks. 
 
 Letty. 
 [ With growing apprehension.\ Well, but you wouldn't 
 care to see me ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Interrupting her!\ And this Mandeville — I suspect his 
 name is Myers or Mendelsohn — he may be an upright, 
 warm-hearted animal on his domestic side. Most of em 
 are — more faithful, more devoted to their women-folk, 
 more jealous of family honor, than we — Christians. You 
 must survey your beau from all points of view. 
 
 Letty. 
 But — bvit — but you wouldn't care to see me — the wife 
 — of a man like Mr. Mandeville ? 
 
LEvrr 97 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Frankly, the spectacle would be exceedingly disagiee- 
 
 able, 
 
 Letty. 
 [ Under lur breaih.\ Ah ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 At the same time, I advise you, my dear Letty, not to 
 consult my feelings in tlie matter. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 \Faiiitly\ I — I thought you were — interested in me. 
 Nevill. 
 
 I am — [leaning forward] and in a way I could hardly 
 have imagined possible. So interested in you am I that 
 1 find myself — I admit, to my intense surprise — counsel- 
 ing you to balance carefully the claims of this eligible 
 bucket-shop proprietor against the dubious advantages 
 of a continued friendship with an individual who is a 
 bachelor only in his mode of living. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 [Staring at Aim.] Why . . . are you married ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 [Leaning back in kis chair.] Yes, as Mr. Mandeville, 
 who has been examining my credentials, is brutal enough 
 to remind me — yes, I'm married. 
 
 [There is a pause. Her cigarette drops from her 
 fingers and she carefully puts her foot npon it. 
 
 Lettv. 
 [/« a low voice.] You might have mentioned it before. 
 You might have mentioned it. 
 
 ( Suddenly she rises and walks to the parapet-wall. 
 'J here she stands, erect, turning her back tipon 
 him. He produces his cigarette-case again. 
 
08 LKiry 
 
 Leity. 
 [After a silence.'] Your wife — Mrs. Lelchmere ? Does 
 she never go to Grafton Street ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Ha, ha ! no. We separated two years ago — or three, 
 was it? — separated by mutual disagreement. 
 
 Letty. 
 You — you might have mentioned her. 
 
 Nevill. 
 She retains \.\\s ch\\d~{/tghtmg a cigarei/e\ she retains 
 the child, I my liberty. 1 hope she does better by the 
 one than I with the other. 
 
 Letty. 
 I hope so. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Come, come, come! The discovery that you've al- 
 lowed a married man to sit with you in Kensington Gar- 
 dens upon a few fine summer evenings ; that you have 
 once or twice permitted him to thread with you the 
 sinuous but decidedly-public paths of the exhibition- 
 grounds at Earl's Court ! — is it such a very terrible 
 humihation ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Perhaps you are no judge of how a girl may be 
 humiliated. \Clenchingherliands.\ Oh, why didn't you 
 mention it? 
 
 Nevill. 
 At first I saw no necessity for babbling of myself. We 
 had not reached that footing. 
 
LETTY 99 
 
 Letty. 
 \Parily turning to him.\ Afterwards, when I grew less 
 reserved with_yo« — when you let me talk ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 I Deep in his chair, watching the smoke from his cig- 
 arette?^ Afterwards ? Ah, our relations had then become 
 so pleasant that I was reluctant to disturb them. I knew 
 they couldn't last — nothing lasts! 1 knew that this dis- 
 closure — would make a difference. 
 
 Letty. 
 \_Her eyes flashing. ] Difference ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 And I own I wanted to delay it. With due respect — 
 curse Mr. Mandeville ! Why couldn't he have afforded 
 us a further respite ? My dear child, your confiding prat- 
 tle, your refreshing zest of life, have drugged me into 
 some dehcious intervals of oblivion, illusion. Beware of 
 sentimentalists ! Under tlie influence of your compan- 
 ionship, my dear, I have found myself back in the days 
 when one sang as one tramped between budding hedge- 
 rows, when the down was first sprouting on one's lip and 
 the world was still Arcadia. That's it, Letty ! we've 
 strayed into Arcadia together — a cockney Arcadia be- 
 neath the trees of Kensington Gardens or among the 
 band-stands at Earl's Court ! And there you've seen 
 the best of me. That is my apology — hitherto at least, 
 I have been at pains to show you the best of me. For 
 longer, I swear, than any woman who has ever attracted 
 me, you have seen what is best in me. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Advancing a step or two, eyeing him half-ciirioiisly. half- 
 featfuliy.'] I have been mistaken in you altogether, 
 then ? 
 
100 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Rising.'\ I have explained — you have seen only the 
 best of me. 
 
 Letty. 
 [^Struggling to keep back her tears.'] Was it part of your 
 best to — to kiss me tliis afternoon ? [ Wiping the kissfjvm 
 her lips.] You needn't have done that. It was a siiame 
 of you to do that. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [ With a deprecating shrug.'] Recollect I had just gone 
 through the ordeal of prodding Mr. Mandeville on to a 
 proposal of marriage. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Confronting hiin hotly. \ You might have spared your- 
 self the trouble. Your anxiety that I should marry this 
 person is extraordinary ! You — you insult me ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Quietly.] Ah, there you are unfair, my little friend. 
 
 Letty. 
 Unfair ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 [With some impatience.] Good heaven, Letty ! do me 
 the justice to perceive that I am urging you to secure 
 yourself against the snares that beset a girl placed as you 
 are — a, girl of your temperament particularly ! 
 
 Letty. 
 [Scornfully.] A moral lecture ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 I am conscious of the incongruity, but repeat the ad- 
 monition. Open your eyes, you simpleton ! 
 
LETTY 101 
 
 Letty. 
 Oh, believe me I am fully capable of protecting myself 
 without marrying Mr. Mandeville, or any man. \ISiep- 
 ping back, with a glance at the skylight, as a hint for him 
 to leave her.\ However, this is a theme I prefer not to 
 discuss with you, Mr. Letchmere. 
 
 \He bows slightly and passes her ; then he turns 
 and holds out his hand. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Giving him her hand.'\ Good-bye. I can't help 
 being indignant, but I — I thank you for the treats you 
 have given me. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Retaining her hand and speaking in precise, mea- 
 sured tones.\ Pray bear in mind that I hope this fellow 
 Mandeville will come up to the scratch and that you'll 
 hook him. \She withdraws her hand angrily^ But 
 should he not do so, or should you wilfully neglect your 
 opportunity — well ! 
 
 Letty. 
 \Surprised at the change in his voice and manner^ 
 Well ? 
 
 \He walks away from her to the parapet-wall. 
 When there he invites her by a look to join 
 him. She goes to him wonderingly. 
 
 Nevill. 
 {Pointing into the distance^ "Bond Street's there" ; 
 that's where / live. \^Sofily.\ You will be welcome, my 
 dear. 
 
 \She stares at him for a moment : then comprehend- 
 ing, her breath comes shortly and sharply, and 
 she hurriedly unfastens the brooch at her 
 throat. 
 
102 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Oh ! oh ! I forgot this thing ! 
 
 [She is about to fling it at his feet when he stays 
 her hand gently. 
 
 Ne^^ill. 
 No, no, no ; don't do that. In memory of Arcadia ! 
 [She falters and stands, with quivering lips, help- 
 lessly rolling the brooch up in her handkerchief. 
 At length she breaks down and sinks on to the 
 chair by the parapet-wall, crying bitterly. 
 
 Nevill. , 
 
 '[After regarding her silently for a while^roughly.^ 
 Letty, whatever happens, I wish to God I'd never met 
 you. 
 
 \He leaves her abruptly, goes to the skylight, and 
 descends. As he disappears, Mandeville is 
 seen climbing through the dormer window. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \0n the roof of 'Lkity' s house.] Phst! Phst! [She 
 raises her head and listens. He advances to the dwarf wall 
 on the left.\ Any one heah? [She rises, drying her eyes 
 hastily. He discovers her.] Hullo ! Haw ! Letty ! 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Dessay you're astonished to see me ? 
 
 Letty. 
 V — very. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 I found your address at the office. I want two min- 
 utes' talk with you. Your landlady sent me up. [Get- 
 
LETTY 103 
 
 ting over the wall.^ Capital ideah this, on a summer 
 evening. [Glancing at his lemon-colored gloves.\ Plenty 
 of sut, though. 
 
 Letty. 
 \0n the right, distantly ?{ Mrs. Hill ought to have an- 
 nounced you. This is tlie house of a friend of mine. 
 She has a tea-party, and I am just going to join it. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 No necessity for hurry, is there? \Staring at her.'\ 
 Ain't you well? 
 
 Letty. 
 Perfectly. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 You've been lookin' rawtlier peaky lately. \At her 
 side.'\ I know what would do you good — lolling about the 
 gawden of my httle place 
 
 Letty. 
 [Drawing back. '\ Thank you, I 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Swinging in one of my hammocks 
 
 Letty. 
 I don't go out a great deal. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Haw ! don't you ? That doesn't quite^square with the 
 reports that reach me. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Pulling herself together. ] Indeed ! 
 Mandeville. 
 You're seen out pretty frequently with your — haw ! — 
 with a gentleman of the name of Mr. Nevill Letchmere. 
 
104 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 By Miss Bowman, I presume ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Haw ! Anyhow, such proceedings are — haw ! — highly 
 reprehensible — highly objectionable to the firm. 
 
 Letty. 
 I am not aware that Mr. Letchmefe interferes with the 
 proper discharge of my duties. [Making a movement.] I 
 am afraid I must 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [^Standing before her.\ Deuce take it, you can give me 
 two minutes, surely ! Letty, I've always regawded you 
 as one of the proud, stand-off sort; heaps of go in you 
 but no confounded nonsense — see what I mean? You're 
 not the young woman I should have expected to find 
 gallivanting all over the shop with a feller who has a \\ ife 
 kicking about somewhere or other ; a feller ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Mr. Letchmere is a — a man of honor ; and I have the 
 deepest respect for him, as he has for me. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 
 {^Checking an oath.] Respect be ! Haw! You're 
 
 not aufait with his pedigree, that's evident. He springs 
 from a scoundrelly stock, and what's bred in the 
 bone 
 
 Letty. 
 I've no wish to hear 
 
 Mandeville. 
 His fawther went off with a Miss Cleary the day be- 
 fore she was to be married to Sir George Peele. 
 
LErrr 105 
 
 Letty. 
 It's possible. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 And his beautiful ma played the leadin' part in the 
 Sbafto scandal. You've never read an account of the 
 Shaifto ? 
 
 Letty, 
 No, I have not. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Both his brothers have been through the Divorce 
 Court. 
 
 Letty. 
 Their acts are not my Mr. Letchmere's. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Your Mr. Letchmere's! Haw! Oh, I can furnish 
 you with a jolly thick catalogue of Ms doings. I've mas- 
 tered his little history from A to Z. 
 
 Letty. 
 My friends are waiting for me, Mr. Mandeville. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Two minutes'! Two minutes; 'pon my soul I won't 
 keep you beyond it. Can't we — haw ! — bring ourselves 
 to an anchor ! 
 
 \After some hesitation, she seats herself upon the 
 edge of the basket-chair. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Tapptng her foot upon the ground?^ Two minutes. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Sitting beside her, upon the wooden stoo/.] 1 — haw !— 
 
106 LETTV 
 
 I've come straight lieah from the Acacia Road — my resi- 
 dence — Regent's Pawk. I — haw! — I've been chatting 
 matters over with my mothaw. 
 
 Letty. 
 Matters — with your mother ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 My old mothaw lives with me ; superintends the house, 
 the slaveys and so foitli- — see what I mean? Letty, I — 
 haw ! — I've been gently rubbing you into her. 
 
 Letty. 
 What ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Of course I don't desiah to upset the old lady. She's 
 a splendid old gal ; sixty odd^beautiful white hair — 
 head's a picture. \Pulling at his moustache. '\ But — haw! 
 — she's enormously stout and one mustn't upset her. 
 
 Letty. 
 Why — why should you upset her ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Well, luckily, there's no occasion, to, because, as it 
 happens, she's as reasonable as they make 'em. She 
 was disposed to be glum at first ; that you cawn't be sur- 
 prised at — see what I mean ? 
 
 Letty. 
 N — no. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 She didn't cotton to the notion of your being a product 
 of the office. But I soon managed to smooth her down 
 — gave her a flowery description of you — see what I 
 mean? — and the upshot of it is she's nuts on my carting 
 yoii up to her to-morrow morning. 
 
LETVY 107 
 
 Letty. 
 Mr. Mandeville 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Bending towards her.'] Letty, I've been sweet on you 
 ever since Cohen called me into his room and asked me 
 to run my eye over you. "Well?" said Mike, when 
 you'd cleared out. " By Jove, she's fetching ! " I said. 
 " Fetching be blowed ! " said the old man, " is she worth 
 her screw?" Worth-your screw! [Edging nearer.^ 
 Pet ! 
 
 Letty. 
 [Shrinking into her chair.] No, no ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Eh? 
 
 Letty. 
 I — I couldn't ; I couldn't. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Couldn't? 
 
 Letty. 
 No. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 The sentiment ain't reciprocated, is that it ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes. 
 
 Mandeville 
 Oh, that'll work right. You shake off the feeling that 
 I'm "the guv'nor" — learn toconsideryourself my equal ; 
 that's what you've got to do. To you, I dessay, up to 
 now, I've been simply the guv'nor lowering himself by 
 a passing flirtation with one of his gals. 
 
W8 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 \lViih a curl of the lip.\ You have, simply, 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Perhaps it was like that at the beginning. And per- 
 haps that freezing style of yours, whenever I've tried to 
 make myself agreeable, has done the trick. At any rate, 
 you can begin to forget that part of the business from 
 this moment. Letty, you re boss now. \Advancing his 
 
 face to hers. ] Give us a kiss 
 
 \She struggles to her feet ; he rises with her. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Ruffled.^ Oh, there's nothing to be frightened at. 
 
 Letty. 
 I — I am extremely sorry, Mr. Mandeville — ex- 
 tremely 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Sorry ? 
 
 Letty. 
 And I — I hope you will excuse me for not speaking the 
 truth to you a minute ago. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 
 Truth ? 
 
 Letty. 
 When you were kind enough to inquire whether I am 
 quite fit. The fact is, I am under imperative orders — 
 doctor's orders — to take a long spell of rest, a holiday at 
 the seaside, without delay. So I — I must beg you, and 
 the other members of the firm, to dispense with my serv- 
 ices in Waterloo Place. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Blankly^ Ho ! \After a pause.\ Am I to under- 
 
LETTY 109 
 
 stand, then, that you don't propose to show at the office 
 again ? 
 
 Letty. 
 I think you will agree with me that it's better I 
 shouldn't. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Haw ! Very good. Chucking yourself out, and at 
 this season of the year ' Pretty prospect ! And what 
 fashionable seaside resort may you be patronizing? 
 
 Letty. 
 I — 1 haven't decided. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Saved money ? [She is silent.'] Saved money? 
 
 Letty. 
 N — not much. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 {^Waiching her keenly.] No relations, have you ? [She 
 shakes her head.] Intend running into debt, I s'pose? 
 \Her hands move uneasily.] Debt ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Oh, don't ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Haw! Once you find yourself //^^r^, you know ! 
 
 Letty. 
 I know — thanks 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Suddenly.] You're not looking to Letchniere, are 
 
 you — '— ? 
 
no LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 I! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 To help you over the stile ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Mr. Mandeville ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Look to »?£/ Look to me, Letty. \^Clasfing her waist.'] 
 Heah ! listen ! \She slips away from him and passes him, 
 but he regains his hold of her.'] Don't be a fool ! Look to 
 me. I'll spoil you; I'll make a perfect doll of you. 
 Holiday ! You shall go with the old lady for her annual 
 to Trooveal. Trooveal! That's the spot if you're off 
 color. I'll fix it. You start rigging yourself Out. / 
 pay — see what I mean ? — I pay. They dress, at Trooveal ; 
 but you shall knock lumps off 'em. 
 
 Letty. 
 [^Feebly endeavoring, at intervals, to free herself from 
 his embrace.] Please ! please ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Don't be a silly fool ! And later on, when we— when 
 we're Mr. and Mrs. ! Cawn't you fancy yourself driving 
 down to the office of an afternoon, picking me up and 
 giving me an airing in your own Victoria ? How's that 
 for a triumph ! Your own carriage ! 
 
 Letty. 
 {Hysterically.] Hush ! oh ! oh ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 I'll spoil you, I tell you ! 
 
 Letty. 
 I— I 
 
LExrr m 
 
 Mandeville. 
 I'll make a doll of you ! 
 
 Letty. 
 I — I'll think it over. I'll write. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 When ? 
 
 Letty. 
 To-morrow. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 No ; let me call in the morning. I'll call in the morn- 
 ing. 
 
 Letty. 
 Leave me now, then. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Eleven o'clock suit you ? 
 
 Letty. 
 
 {Weakly.] Oh 
 
 \^He releases her and she walks, rather unsteadily, 
 to the skylight. There, with her back to hint 
 and her^hand to her brow, she stops irresolutely. 
 The church-bells strike the half-hour. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Settling his necktie.] Haw ! I'll be heah shawp. 
 [She turns and sinks down ti-pon the slope on the 
 left, sitting upon the pillow and staring before 
 her. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Approaching her, shooting his cuffs preparatory to 
 departure — awkwardly!] So-long, my dawhng. You be 
 off to your tea-fight. 
 
 [He passes behind her, going to the wall on the 
 left. 
 
112 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 [As he does so — dully-l Can you find your way ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Yaas. [Offering his hand.\ Au revoir. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Raising her head and speaking in a quiet, tired voice.} 
 Mr. Mandeville. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Hey? 
 
 Letty. 
 I — I am in debt, already. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 What amount ? 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Over twenty pounds. And I — I'm out of health — and 
 haven't a farthing. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Seating himself upon the wall eagerly?^ You give me 
 a schedule in the morning— list of your liabilities. See 
 what I mean ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [ With a nod, her eyes filling^ Yes. Yes. \B71tshing 
 the tears away and shifting her position slightly. \ Trou- 
 ville — TrouviUe's awfully pleasant, isn't it? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Pleasant! One perpetual whirl. Pleasant! 
 
 Letty. 
 \With a little sob.\ I — I've heard of it. [A pause.] I 
 — I believe you'd be good to me. 
 
 [_//e rises with alacrity, upon which she scram- 
 
LETTY 113 
 
 bles up and retreats to the right. He follows 
 her and seizes her by the shoulders. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Breathlessly .'\ My friends — my two or three chums 
 — you won't ask me to drop them ? I wouldn't ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Are they any class? 
 
 Letty. 
 
 \With clenched fists.\ I don't care a rap. It's a con- 
 dition ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Oh, you keep 'em ; you'll speedify get sick of 'em. 
 \Drawing her to him.'\ I'll spoil you 
 
 Letty. 
 Ah, no, I'm not a kissing girl. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 
 Haw ! Rot ! One 
 
 \She shuts her eyes and he kisses her. Her man- 
 ner changes; she becomes gay again, in a 
 forced, defiant way, almost boisterous. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 
 Haw ! Anothaw 
 
 Letty. 
 No, no ;your mother hasn't approved of me yet. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Haw, haw ! 5^1?'// approve. 
 
 \She rims to the parapet-wall and stretches out 
 her arms to the prospect. 
 
 Letty. 
 Ah . . . ah . . .! 
 
 / 
 
114 LETTY 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Joining her.} Eh ? What are you doing ? 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha ! I aw to drive in my carriage, after all 
 
 drive ill it down Bond Street ! Ho ! Well ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Down Bond Street? [Suspiciously.} Bond Street? 
 
 Letty. 
 Come ! I'll introduce you to my friends— shall I ? 
 
 iViANDEVILLE. 
 
 {His brow clearing.'} You're in no great haste to get 
 rid of me, then ? 
 
 Letty. 
 \_Moving to the skylight.} Not if you wish to remain. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 
 [Following her.] Letty — Letty, what are you up to to- 
 night ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Descending.} Nothing; I've no engagement. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Haw ! Are you game for an out ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Game ! Ha, ha ! [Giving him her hand.} Be care- 
 
 [The curtain falls. 
 
 end of the second act. 
 
■ THE THIRD ACT 
 
 The scene is a " cabinet particulier " in a fashionable 
 restaurant in London. There are two doors — one on 
 the left, in the back wall : the other in the wall on the 
 right. The doors open into the room — the left-hand 
 door from a passage, that on the right hand from a 
 landing. On the left of the room is a sideboard, at the 
 back a settee, and in the centre are, a round table and 
 three chairs. On the right, nearer the spectator, stand 
 a sofa without O) back, a smaller table and a chair. 
 There are other chairs placed about the room, against 
 the walls. 
 
 The decorations of the apartment are florid in 
 design and gaudy in color. Mirrors are let into the 
 panels of the walls on the right and left, and from the 
 frames of the mirrors spring clusters of gilt hooks for 
 the disposal of hats and coats. 
 
 On the round table there is evidetice of a dinner 
 that has reached its final stage — empty coffee-cups 
 and glasses, a box of cigars, a decanter of wine, and 
 two bottles of liqueur. On the smaller table is an 
 evening paper. 
 
 The room is gaily illuminated by electric light. 
 [Florence Crosbie is seated— facing the specta- 
 tor — at the round table, with Coppinger 
 Drake on her right and Nevill on her left. 
 She and Drake are staring dejectedly at the 
 table-cloth ; Nevill, resignedly bored, is 
 leaning back in his chair, studying the ceiling. 
 The trio are smoking. After a while Florence 
 drops her cigarette into her empty coffee-cup and 
 raises her head. 
 
116 LETTY 
 
 Florence. 
 \Heavily.'\ Getting late, isn't it? 
 
 Drake. 
 \^A fresh-complexioneci, boyish young man, rousing him- 
 self.\ Oh, do forgive me, Mrs. Crosbie. I've been an 
 absolute owl all the evening — too stupidly dull for words. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \_Consulting his •watch.'\ A quarter to eleven. 
 
 Drake. 
 
 Must we ? 
 
 \Receiving no response, he rises reluctantly and 
 rings the bell. 
 
 Nevill. 
 At what hour do you start, my dear Coppy ? 
 
 Drake. 
 \Returning to his chair.\ I've only to go round to my 
 rooms and change. \Sitting.'\ I expect Jenny is shud- 
 dering outside my front door already. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Jenny ? 
 
 Drake. 
 That's Tiny's^hat's Mrs. Crosbie's nickname for the 
 automobile. [Looking at Florence.] Spanking Jenny 
 ^what ! 
 
 Florence. 
 [In a melancholy voice.~\ Spanking Jenny. An ideal 
 night for a rush through the air. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Where Ap you sleep ? 
 
LETTY 117 
 
 Drake. 
 
 Sleep ! Oh, I haven't thought. I shall find myself 
 somewhere or other to-morrow. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Well ! May your tyres never grow less, my dear fel- 
 low ! You have given us an admirable dinner. 
 
 Drake. 
 {Simply.\ Glad. Has it been admirable? I'm afraid 
 I've not been noticing. \There is u knock at the doot at 
 the back.'\ Entrez. \A waiter appears. \ My bill. L ad- 
 dition, you know. 
 
 Waiter. 
 Yes, sir. \Taking up the box of cigars. \ 'Ow many 
 sir? 
 
 Drake. 
 \Wearily.\ As many as you please. 
 
 \ Ihe man removes the bottles of liqueur and the 
 cigars from the table and goes otit. As he 
 withdraws, a knock is heard at the door on 
 the right. 
 
 Drake. 
 Oh, come in — I mean entrez. 
 
 [Frederic — a good-looking maitre d^ hotel — bows 
 himself in. He carries a pretty bonbonniere. 
 
 Frederic. 
 [Speakingwith a slight foreign accent.^ Good-evening, 
 madam ; good-evening, gentlemen. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Hullo, Frederic ! how are you ? 
 Frederic. 
 [Approaching the table.'] Very well, sir ; I hope you 
 are the same. 
 
118 LETTr 
 
 Nevill. 
 Capital, thanks. 
 
 Frederic. 
 \ Addressing Nevill.J I apologize for troubling you, 
 but a gentleman — a regular customer of ours — has run^ 
 us up lo say that he is bringing on a party of friendi 
 from tlie theatre, for supper. He orders a private room, 
 and unfortunately all our other private apartments are 
 engaged. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Making your fortune, Frederic? 
 
 Frederic. 
 \^Wii/i a shrugJ\ Our premises are too small. Ah, if 
 they would allow us to take in the little chapel at the 
 back there ! The number of places of worship in London ! 
 
 Drake. 
 That's all right ; we shall be going in a few minutes. 
 
 Frederic. 
 I am extremely obliged. The gentleman is such a 
 first-class customer, or I should not have made so free. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Don't mention it. 
 
 Frederic. 
 Everything has been quite satisfactory ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Excellent — but I am a guest of Mr. Drake. 
 
 Frederic. 
 Ah, pardon ! 
 
 Drake. 
 \IndifferenUy.\ Oh, yes, quite — quite. 
 
LETTY 119 
 
 Nevill. 
 The Fiiet Pique Richelieu was perfection, Fredeiijc. 
 
 Frederic. 
 Thank you, Mr. Letchmere. [Going to Florence and 
 presenting her with, the bonbonniere l\ Witli Madame 
 Vigeau's respects. 
 
 Florence. 
 Madame ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Vigeau — the amiable proprietress. 
 
 Florence. 
 Exceedingly gracious of her. | To Frederic] Veuil- 
 lez faire a madame mes vifs remerciments. 
 
 Frederic. 
 [ With more bows!\ Good-night, madam. \Backing to 
 the door at which he entered^ Good-night, gentlemen. 
 
 \He disappears, closing the door. 
 
 Florence. 
 \Untying the ribbons of the box.] Chocolat Marquis. 
 
 Nevill. 
 For the encouragement of Madame Vigeau's patrons. 
 
 Florence. 
 \To Nevill.] And patronesses. You are a first-class 
 customer here also, I guess. \He laughs.] Are they in- 
 variably presented with chocolate? \Slippi71g a tablette 
 into her mouth.] Well, it's a compliment, at my age. 
 
 \_Still laughing, he rises and picks up the evening 
 paper. She offers the box to Drake who dips 
 his hand into it sadly. 
 
120 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 \^l\unmnff his eye over the paj)erJ\ Is your carriage 
 here, Tiny ? 
 
 Tlorence. 
 No, Ivor raves so abominably when I keep it hanging 
 about. And I'm not going home yet awhile. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Elevating his brows. ^ Not ? 
 
 Florence. 
 Helen Urquhart is in town this week-end, and she has 
 scratched up a few stray people to play Bridge at her 
 place to-night. I had a note from her while I was dress- 
 ing, asking me to come on. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Your looks suggest by-by as a wiser course — if I may 
 indulge in the personality. 
 
 Florence. 
 Thanks, very much ; but I want to tire myself to death 
 before I make that experiment. \Rising and joining him.\ 
 You'll chraperon me.' 
 
 Nevill. 
 My dear girl, what a bore ! 
 
 Drake. 
 [ Who has also risen — in answer to another knock at the 
 door at the back ] Eh ? 
 
 \The waiter returns, with the bill. Drake goes to 
 him and throws a bank-note on to the plate. 
 7he waiter withdraws, whereupon Drake, seeing 
 that Nevill and Florence are talking to- 
 gether, seats hitnseif 0}i the settee at the back and 
 Uans his headttpon his hands miserably. 
 
LETTY 121 
 
 Florence. 
 [To Nevill.J t)o be good-natured. Besides, you 
 can't help yourself. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Glancing at Drake and dropping his voice.] No. I un- 
 dertook to stick to you to-night and to escort you home, 
 didn't I ? 
 
 Florence. 
 [/« similar tones.] And Ivor knows it. So I am en- 
 titled to fae on the loose, you see. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Oh, Ivor knows it, does he.' 
 
 Florence. 
 [With a nod and a grimace.] We had a devil of a 
 scene before I left the house. I had to take my oath 
 you'd promised not to stir from my side. 
 
 Nevill, 
 You've got me on toast, then. [Shaking his head at her 
 good-humoredly.] You troublesome little urchin, I wish 
 you had never been born. 
 
 Florence. 
 [Suddenly, in tears.] Oli ! oh ! so do I ! so do I ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 [Calming her.] Hush, hush! Tiny ! 
 
 [She recovers herself quickly, and, having dried her 
 eyes, adjusts her hair-combs at one of the mir- 
 rors on the left. Drake, looking up, hurries 
 to her and assists her in the putting-on Of her 
 cloak, which is hanging upon a hook attached 
 to the mirror. 
 
122 LETTY 
 
 Flokence. 
 Thanks. 
 
 [They go through the comedy of a friendly leave- 
 taking, their eyes more eloquent tliaii their words. 
 Nevill discreetly withdraws to the further side 
 of the sofa on the right and sits there, deep in 
 his paper, with his back to them. 
 
 Florence. 
 [ Ttirning to Drake.] Well, Coppy, I — I hope you'll 
 have a tolerable lime up north. \Drawing on her gloves.^ 
 The best of sport to you and — and all that sort of thing! 
 
 Drake. 
 I wish you a pleasant lime, too, Mrs. Crosbie. You're 
 off to Marienbad next month ? 
 
 Florence. 
 On the seventeenth. 
 
 Drake. 
 If I've moderate luck, I may knock up against you in 
 the late autumn. 
 
 Florence. 
 \Quickly.'\ No, I intend to keep out of England till the 
 spring, and let the hunting go to blazes for once. After 
 
 Marienbad I [/» another tone.] Look here, Coppy ! 
 
 as we sha'n't meet for— for an age, there's something I'd 
 like to say to you. 
 
 Drake. 
 
 Er — charmed. 
 
 Florence. 
 [Drawing a chair away from the round table and seat- 
 ing herself] I — I take an interest in you boys — love to 
 see you going steady and straiglit, and making careers 
 
LETTY 123 
 
 for yourselves. Do you know what would give me the 
 keenest deUght? 
 
 Drake. 
 What ? 
 
 Florence. 
 Hearing of your becoming engaged to some nice, clean, 
 well set-up girl ; hearing of your being — sphced. You're 
 seven-and-twenty, and — my frankness doesn't annoy 
 
 Drake. 
 Not in the least. But I — I'm not a marrying man, 
 Mrs. Crosbie. 
 
 Florence. 
 Ho: fiddle! 
 
 Drake. 
 [Crumpling the tahle-cloth.\ Life has treated me a bit 
 roughly and I — oh, I feel beastly stale, played-out. I 
 pity the girl who'd have to pass her days in my society. 
 
 Florence. 
 \PulHng at her gloves.'] You've evidently -got the blues 
 for the moment, from some cause or another ; the High- 
 land air will soon blow them away. And you're bound 
 to find yourself with a crowd of pretty girls at Aberfeldy 
 or at Lochbarne — the Grahames always have their house 
 chock-full of 'em. So, recollect, I shall watch the papers 
 for an announcement 
 
 Drake. 
 \ Bending over her, after a glance in the direction of 
 Nevill.] You'll see nothing ; nothing of that kind con- 
 cerning me. 
 
124 LEI TV 
 
 Florence. 
 \Pushing him from /ler.] Ha, ha, ha ! I shall con- 
 tinue watching, though. \Looking at him with gleaming 
 eyes-l At any rate, I — I give you this piece of advice, 
 Coppy. 
 
 Drake. 
 Yes? 
 
 Florence. 
 Don't get in the way of forming great friendships with 
 married women. Only those women who are discon- 
 tented with their lot, or who are utterly worthless, are 
 ready to form such friendships. Neither class will do you 
 any good ; and if there's a decent woman amongst them 
 — you make her the more wretched. [Passicmate/y.'\ 
 Leave them alone ! keep off them ! 
 
 {There is a knock at the door at the back. She 
 rises and grips the lapels of his coat. 
 
 Florence. 
 \Her face close to his, almost inaudibly. \ Good-bye. 
 
 I Aloud.'] Come! \Passing Hv.kvx. and going toV^^EMMA..] 
 leady, Nevill ? 
 
 \The waiter returns with Drake's change. He 
 is accompanied by another waiter who proceeds 
 to clear and to relay the round table. Having 
 tipped the first waiter, Drake puts on his 
 overcoat, which is hanging at the back of the 
 room on the left. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Whilethisisgoingon—to Florence, yz/zV/Zy.] Brava I 
 Spoken like a mother ! 
 
 Florence. 
 \In a low voice.] Sweet of you to bury your head in 
 that paper. [Her mouth askew. \ Bar rot, what d'ye think 
 of me ? 
 
LETTY 125 
 
 Nevill. 
 Proud of you, Tiny. Yes, you're the best of us, far 
 and away. \Looking at her, half-piiyinglyl\ I believe 5 ou 
 were made for a nursery full of little ones. 
 
 Florence. 
 [ Wincing and leaving himJ] Tscb ! 
 
 [ 'J'he second waiter hands her the box of chocolate 
 and she joins Drake at the back. Nevill 
 walks across to the left, where his hat and coat 
 are hanging. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [To the second waiter, who hurries to him.\ No, I'll 
 carry it. [Tipping the 7««7Z. ] Good-night. 
 
 Second Waiter. 
 \Returning to the round table \ Good-night, sir. 
 
 First Waiter. 
 \At the door on the right.'\ Good-night, gentlemen. 
 Good-night, lady. 
 
 [The waiter opens the door tcpon Frederic, who 
 re-enters. Behind him is seen a party of men 
 and women. 
 
 P'rederic. 
 \To Drake aW Florence.] Ah, 1 am sorry 
 
 Drake. 
 
 No importance. Good-night. [Giving his arm to 
 Florence aiid leading her through the advanci?ig troop 
 — speaking to those outside.] Allow me 
 
 Neale. 
 [Without.] Ho, beg pardon ! Pip-pip! 
 
 [Mandeville and Letty appear, followed by 
 Hilda and Neale, Marion, Ordish, and 
 
136 LETTY 
 
 Perry. WHk one exception, the newcomers 
 are appropriately dressed-^l^RiiY prettily and 
 gracefully, Hilda resplendent ly, Marion with 
 characteristic neatness. ' The exception is 
 Ordish, who is wholly in black, of a kind, and 
 who wears a white tie, but whose frock-coat is 
 still in evidence. Mandeville's manner is 
 aggressively self-assertive and patronizing ; 
 Hilda and the three male guests display the 
 eagerness of people intent upon making the 
 most of a rare occasion ; while Letty has 
 abandoned herself to a condition of excitability 
 aud feverish gaiety in which there is an air of 
 desperation. Marion alone preserves a calm 
 demeanor. Nevill, seeing Letty and Man- 
 DEVILLE, draws back into the room, and, with 
 an ugly look upon his face, deliberately awaits 
 the encounter. 
 
 Letty. 
 \As she enters — over her shoulder.'] Is everybody here ? 
 Where's Mr. Perry ? I don't see Mr. Perry. 
 
 Perry. 
 [In the distance.^ Just arrived. Mr. Ordish and I 
 walked. 
 
 Hilda. 
 \Counting.^^ One — two — three — four — five 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \To Frederic] We're seven. Haw! Where's the 
 
 ■nenu f 
 
 Frederic. 
 Immediately, Mr. Mandeville. 
 
 [Frederic goes out at the back. 
 
LET'lY 127 
 
 Letty. 
 Our cab-horse nearly went down outside the Criterion. 
 If Bernard hadn't caught hold of my arm 
 
 Mandeville. 
 {Taking off his overcoaiA Waitah ! waitah ! [Coming 
 face to face with Nevill.J Hullo ! Oh ! \_Loweringly.\ 
 Good-evening. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \On the left suavely. "[ How are you, Mr. Mandeville? 
 Pleased to meet you again. \_B owing formally to Letty, 
 who stands transfixed.] How do you do ? • 
 
 [A waiter relieves Mandeville of his hat and 
 overcoat. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [From the further side of the table.] Why, it's ! 
 
 oir 
 
 Nevill. 
 Ah, Miss Gunning ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Coldly.] Oh, good-evening. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [To Marion, who is with Hilda.] How are you, 
 Marion ? 
 
 [Considerable bustle now takes place at the back. 
 With the aid of their men friends , Hilda aW 
 Marion divest themselves of their over-things 
 ■ — the former very fussily, and the waiters move 
 to and fro disposing of these articles and of the 
 men's hats and coats. Ultimately Hilda— -/nr 
 whom ^evi'lVs presence is full of interest — 
 seats herself with Marion, on the settee at the 
 back and watches the proceedings. 
 
128 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 [During the movement, to Mandeville.] Don't think 
 me quite a trespasser ; I liappen to have been dining 
 liere. \Ftatteringly -^ No need to tell you, my dear 
 Air. Mandeville, where to find the best bourgeois cook- 
 ing in London. You are a most valued patron of this 
 establishment, I learn. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [i/7 at ease. \ Haw ! dessay they've seen a little of my 
 money in their time. 
 
 Nevill. 
 You have come on from the theatre ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Shooting his cuffs.\ Alhambra — couple of private 
 boxes and a suppah to wind up with — some friends of 
 Miss Shell's. One likes to give pleashah to people occa- 
 sionally. Haw ! Letty 
 
 Letty. 
 \On the right, struggling to collect herself. \ Yes ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \To Nevill.] I — haw! — take this opportunity of in- 
 forming you — haw! — \with a wave of the hand towards 
 Letty I my fiancee. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [After a brief pause, quietly.] My dear Mr. Mande- 
 ville, pray allow me to offer my hearty congratulations. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Much obliged, I'm shavv. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Looking steadily at Letty.] Not only to yourself 
 
LETTY 129 
 
 [Mandeville, giving his moustache a twist, 
 makes way for Nevill. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Advancing to Letty.] But to this young lady, \ex- 
 tending his hand] whose married life will, I trust, be one 
 of undisturbed felicity. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Tossing her head defiantly.] Bernard and I will have 
 our fair share of bliss, I expect. \Giving him the tips of 
 her fingers and withdrawing them promptly .\ We mean 
 to try'for it at all events— [/o Mandeville, archly], 
 don't we ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Haw ! yaas. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Standing between them.] I shall make a point of 
 drinking to your happiness in due season. When is the 
 event to take place ? If I am in England, I shall cer- 
 tainly 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Mollified by Nevill's manner.] Haw ! why not stay 
 and have a drop of champagne with us heah? [Letty 
 barely represses a gesture of protest.] I'll give you a glass 
 of '92 Moet. You'll appreciate it ; [contemptuously] it's 
 wasted on these fellers — might as well pour it down a 
 drain. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [GlaJicing at Letty.] It is excessively kind of you, 
 Mr. Mandeville 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Oh, I'm one for letting bygones be bygones, where 
 gentlemen are concerned. That's my system — Berny 
 
130 LETTY 
 
 Mandeville's system. We've had our jangle, and no 
 harm done — [shaking hands with Nevill] my paw. 
 What d'ye say ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 \After a moment' s hesiiation.\ Delighted. 
 
 [Letty turns away, to the right, and tugs agitat- 
 edly at the fastening of her cape. Frederic re- 
 appears, with the menu. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Facing those at the back, loudly.\ Haw! Mr. Perry — 
 Mr. Neale — Mr. — what's-yer-name — my friend, Mr. 
 Nevill Letchniere. Gentleman's going to join us. 
 
 Neale, Ordish, and Perry. 
 \To Nevill.] Good evening, sir. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \0n the left, snatching the carte from Frederic] Look 
 
 alive ! We shall be eight — round numbers 
 
 [Frederic represents to Mandeville the diffi- 
 culty of seating the guests. 
 
 Perry. 
 [Bustling up to Nevill.] Proud to come across you 
 again, sir. If I mistake not, you're the gentleman who 
 was so courteous as to lend me a hand with my camera. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 [Looking for an opportunity of joining Letty.] Ah, 
 yes. 
 
 Perry. 
 An encounter of a second ; but the eye of the genuine 
 artist in photography is as sensitive, sir — as sensitive 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Ca//:«g-/o Pekry.] Hi! you! 
 
LETTY 131 
 
 Perry. 
 
 Me ? 
 
 \_He goes to Mandeville. At ike same moment, 
 Drake is seen at the door on the right. Catch- 
 ing Nev'ill's eye, Drake beckons to him. 
 Meanwhile Letty hangs up her cape by the 
 mirror on the right and proceeds to tidy her 
 hair. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [To Perry.] A couple of you will have to sit at that 
 side table. 
 
 Perry. 
 /entertain no objection. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 
 Cawn't help it, if you do. It's got to be — see what I 
 mean ? 
 
 Perry. 
 To me, one seat is equal to another ; although, natur- 
 ally 
 
 Mandeville. 
 I'm busy ; you run along and play. 
 
 [Mandeville seats himself astride a chair and 
 discusses the bill of fate with Frederic. 
 Perry returns to his companions. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \At the door on the right — to Drake, continuing a con- 
 versation.\ M/ dear fellow, it would be uncommonly 
 friendly of you if you would. The Urquharts are in 
 Green Street — not much out of your way. 
 
 Drake. 
 Yes, I'll drop Mrs.Crosbie there, with pleasure. 
 
132 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 I'll be with her in half-an-hour — less 
 
 Drake. 
 I'll explain. 
 
 [^He withdraws. Nevill closes the -door and 
 comes to Letty. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \To Letty.] An odd chance. 
 
 Letty. 
 \WUh an attempt at lightness.^ Very. 
 
 \She sits upon the sofa, removing her gloves. He 
 gets rid of his hat and overcoat and stands be- 
 side her, looking down upon her. Through 
 their talk, which is carried on in subdued tones, 
 comes the murmur of Mai^'D^'WIVL^'s voice and 
 of the conversation of those at the further end 
 of the room. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Bitingly.\ My forecast of events has been speedily 
 justified. 
 
 Letty. 
 Ha ! hasn't it ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Yes, my gentleman didn't take long 
 
 Letty. 
 He — he called this evening, directly you had gone. 
 
 Nevill, 
 And found a ready listener. 
 
LETTY 133 
 
 Letty. 
 Why do you adopt that tone ? You advised me to do 
 a thing ; I did it. 
 
 Nevill. 
 The result is none the more palatable, my dear— now 
 that I coine to view it closely. I am hke a child, eh? I 
 bestow a gift, and cry for it back again. 
 
 Letty. 
 I — I was never yours to bestow. 
 
 Nevill. 
 No ? At any rate, the idea of you in that animal's 
 
 sty ! 
 
 Letty. 
 For shame ! how dare you ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Loudly, to Frederic, who is making no(es.\ Oh, 
 strike out the horse d'ceuvre,\i you want to. Knock it 
 
 out 
 
 Nevill. 
 How much have you told him ? 
 
 Letty. 
 About yourself.' 
 
 Nevill. 
 Yes. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [As before^ Begin with the consomay 
 
 Letty. 
 Not a word against you. I wouldn't, in spite of all. 
 He believes you have been an ordinary, good friend to 
 
134 LETTY 
 
 me, and that I've known you to be a married man 
 throughout. 
 
 Nevill. 
 I marvelled at his amiabihty !, 
 
 Letty. 
 Of course, the girls know otherwise ; I couldn't blind 
 them. But they'll keep it to themselves. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Sneeringly.'\ I may hope, then, for a place in your 
 circle after your marriage. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 No, no, no ! You mustn't ever — you sha'n't Oh, 
 
 if you've a spark of feehng in you ! 
 
 [Mandeville's voice rises angrily. Nevill 
 strolls round to the other side of the sofa. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [To Frederic] That be blowed for a tale! If I 
 ordah Sole Dieppoise, I'm bound to have it — see what I 
 mean? 
 
 Frederic. 
 {Referring to his watch.] It cannot be done under fif- 
 teen minutes. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Tell the chef to hurry up — and no kitchen-maids on the 
 job! Sole Dieppoise! \ To those at the back.] Haw! 
 you've never had such a feed as I'm giving you to-night, 
 I'll go bail. 
 
 [ There is a polite chorus of acknowledgment from 
 the men. Frederic mutters an order to one 
 of the waiters, who goes out hurriedly , and re- 
 sumes receiving instructions from Mande- 
 ville. 
 
LEirr 135 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Ai Letty's side agaitiA May I compliment you on 
 the frock you are wearing? You were to dine with me 
 one night next week, weren't you? A iiie-a-ilie dinner 
 — our first 
 
 Letty. 
 Tuesday night. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Smiling grimly.] Tliis is the dainty little garment that 
 was being prepared forme, I fancy? Our festivity had 
 been delayed for it. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Fingering her sleeve.] It was all I had to put on this 
 evening. I'd notliing else. {Siariing to herfeet.] I had 
 to be smart. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Covering her with his eyes, his tone softening.] Letty, 
 why couldn't we have steered clear of each other for a 
 while ! Why couldn't we ! 
 
 Letty. 
 [Piteously.] Yes, and yet you jumped at his invita- 
 tion ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 I was an ass. Still, I wished to hear from your own 
 
 lips — to be absolutely certain [between his teeth] A 
 
 jealous ass ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Get away soon, then, now that you've satisfied your- 
 self. Do ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 [With a nod,] As soon as 1 have drunk a glass of 
 
136 LETTY 
 
 wine. [A note of tenderness in his voice.] Good luck to 
 you ! 
 
 Letty. 
 
 IGraie/uify.] Ah ! 
 
 yPerceiving that Mandeville is rising, she goes 
 to him swiftly. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \As he rises, to Frederic. | No magnums of the '92 ! 
 Put half-a-dozen bottles on the ice, to start with. 
 
 [Frederic, having given some further directions, 
 withdraws. The waiters, who have been busily 
 coming and going, now finish the laying of the 
 round table, which is prepared for six persons, 
 and afterwards lay the smaller table for two. 
 
 Letty. 
 \To Mandeville, slipping her arm through his.] 
 What a supper you are ordering ! I've been listening. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Precious sight too good for this crowd. 
 
 Letty. 
 They'll hear ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Rump-steak and onions more their form. 
 
 Letty. 
 No, no ; you can't guess how they'll enjoy it. 
 
 [Nevill has again picked up the evening paper, 
 which he has left upon the sofa. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Leaving Letty and advancing to him. \ Late edition ? 
 
LErrr 137 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Handing him the paper ^ Yes. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Seaiing himself upon the sofa and becoming absorbed in 
 the financial column. '\ Haw! thanks. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Vandeileyden's death will cause quite a panic in the 
 American market ? 
 
 • Mandeville. 
 
 \Not looking up.] Maybe. 
 
 [Nevill turns on his heel and joins the ladies at 
 the back. Letty is now with Marion and 
 Hilda, laughing and talking with forced an- 
 imation. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Loudly.\ Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 [Perry, seeing that Mandeville is alone, de- 
 taches himself from the others and comes to him 
 softly. 
 
 Perry. 
 [Behind his hand.] Ahem ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Raising his eyes momentarily.] Hey ? 
 
 Perry. 
 I — ahem ! — I have been wondering during the even- 
 ing, Mr. Mandeville, whether, upon the occasion of your 
 wedding, you will observe the pretty custom of — all — 
 standing for your portrait ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 To you f 
 
138 LETTY 
 
 Perry. 
 \^Assentingly.\ With your bride's arm in yours. Or she 
 upon a chair, you bending over her in an attitude of af- 
 ttction 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [ Turning the paper.\ Hope it hasn't spoilt your even- 
 ing. 
 
 Perry. 
 Oh, no ; far from it. [Extracting a card from, a 
 pocket-book-l As a study of still life, we also obtain 
 charming results from the cake. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Curt/y.] Do yer? 
 
 Perry. 
 [Presenting his card.] My private abode is in Langham 
 Street ; this is my studio. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [^Glancing at the card] Edgware Road ! 
 
 Perry. 
 The merit of the artist is the main consideration. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Dessay. 
 
 Perry. 
 I may remark, however, that I am not without the 
 prospect of being able shortly to shift my basis of opera- 
 tions to a more fashionable quarter. An uncle of mine, 
 a large draper in the Holloway district, has the strongest 
 
 belief in me 
 
 [Neale now approaches, attempting to intrude 
 himself between Mandeville ««rf Perry. 
 
LETTY 139 
 
 Perry. 
 [To Neale.] One moment, Mr. Neale ; Mr. Mande- 
 ville and I are talking business. 
 
 Neale. 
 Ho! 
 
 [Neale moves away and presently reappears at 
 the other side cf the sofa. 
 
 Perry. 
 \To Mandeville, mysteriously -I I suppose, sir, in the 
 event of the formation of a syndicate, you wouldn't care 
 to come in? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Well, yer see 
 
 Perry. 
 [Eagerly. \ Yes.'' 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Yer see, I'm still fairly young and energetic 
 
 Perry. 
 Ah, indeed. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 And I don't think it 'ud amuse me to make a big for- 
 tune as rapidly as all that. 
 
 Perry. 
 [Stiffly.l I am obliged. 
 
 [Perry rejoins the others. Mandeville crum- 
 ples Perry's card and throws it under the sofa. 
 
 Neale. 
 
 tTo Mandeville.] Rather rummy taste, seems to me 
 othering you with his rubbishing concerns. 
 
140 LETTr 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Gentleman's got a good thing on. Pity you're not a 
 capitalist. 
 
 Neale. 
 Talking of a good thing, I expect you'll be smarten- 
 ing-up at home before long? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 What are yer driving at — smartening-up ? 
 
 Neale. 
 Making your drawin'-room a bit gayer; furnishing 
 and decorating a boudwar for the wife, perhaps. YSea7rh- 
 ing his pockets for a card.] If so, you might give a 
 thought to your humble. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 What' s your line} 
 
 Neale. 
 Carpets and linoleum, strictly speaking. But I can 
 get you thirty per cent, off any blessed article you choose 
 to name, from an Old Master to a sanitary dust-bin. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Indifferentlyi\ Haw ! if you've a cawd on you 
 
 Neale. 
 Because a party of your description is rolling in it, he 
 
 doesn't want to chuck it about, does he? Oh, liere 
 
 [^finding a card in a bundle of dirty letters and handing it 
 to Mandeville, who pockets it.\ \Miy, even if you 
 wanted to hang a few pearls round her swan-like, I could 
 
 introduce you to a Johnny 
 
 ^//e breaks off upon seeing O'MyKYi, who presents 
 himself, with a nervous, diffident air, on Man- 
 deville' s right. 
 
LETTY 141 
 
 Neale. 
 [ To Mandeville.] Those performing dogs fairly hit 
 me. Thought I should have bust. 
 
 \^He moves away, whistling. 
 
 Ordish. 
 [7(7 Mandeville.] Yes, they were amazingly enter- 
 taining, those animals. I don't know when I've spent a 
 more exhilarating evening. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Resuming his reading.\ Haw ! 
 
 Ordish. 
 And now, this sumptuous repast. Every luxury which 
 fastidiousness can dictate and Uberality supply. A grand 
 culmination. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Sarcastically.'\ 'Tain't a bad finish. 
 
 Ordish. 
 But there is one danger we must always guard against, 
 
 sir. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Danger — what danger ? 
 
 Ordish. 
 We must never allow transient delights of this nature 
 to blind us to our solemn responsibilities. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Looking up.] What the ! 
 
 Ordish. 
 
 ^Searching for a card among the miscellaneous contents 
 of his pockets.\ Take the question of insurance, for in- 
 
142 LETTY 
 
 stance — a most vital matter to a person on the eve of 
 marriage. [Mandeville lays the paper aside angri!y.\ 
 It is wiili no wish to dampen your spirits, sir, that I re- 
 mind you that in the midst of life 
 
 IVIandeville. 
 iRising-^ Well, I'm ! 
 
 Ordish. 
 yOffering his card] I shall be happy at any time to 
 discuss with you the manifold advantages of a terminable 
 endowment policy 
 
 First Waiter. 
 [Appearing before Mandeville.] Supper is ready, sir. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Loudly.] Suppah ! suppah I 
 
 Ordish. 
 With a quinquennial division of profits 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Oh, hang ! 
 
 \He passes Ordish and advances to the circular 
 table, at which the waiters have now nrrani^td ■ 
 the chairs. Mandeville' s guests— uitk the 
 exception of Nevill, who holds aloij , aiic 
 Perry, who stands by the smaller table^gai/ur 
 round, waiting to be placed. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \Taking a chair and pointing to the seat on his right. \ 
 Haw! Letty, you sit heah. Sit down, all of yer. [lo 
 Marion, indicating the chair on his left.\ Heah ! you 
 come heah. 
 
 [Everybody sits, save Nevill a«rfPERRV. A col- 
 lision between Hilda and Ordish amuses 
 Letty and she shrieks with laughter. 
 
LETTY 143 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Who sits at tlie side-table ? Hullo, Letclimere ! for- 
 got you. Pawdon. Heah ! somebody make room for 
 Mr. Letchmere. 
 
 Ordish. 
 [i?ziz>«g-.J I'll oblige the gentleman. 
 
 Neale. 
 \Who is seated on Letty's rijfht, nsing.] I'm willing. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Detaining Neale with a quick movement.^ No, no ; 
 not you ! 1 — I want Mr. Neale on my other side. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Til Mandeville.] Pray let nobody be incommoded. 
 I've only just dined, remember. A glass of wine to 
 drink your health — [going to the sofa\ this will do ad- 
 mirably. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 You must have a gal, then, to keep you company. \To 
 
 Hilda] Haw! Miss Gunning 
 
 [Hilda, her mouth full, and carrying her broken 
 roll of bread and her serviette, transfers herself 
 to the chair by the small table. Nevill sits, 
 facing her, upon the sofa, while Pek RY takes 
 his seat at the round table. All, except 
 Nevill, fall to upon the soup. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Waitah, champagne ! 
 
 First Waiter. 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \To those at the round iable.'\ You don't get soup of 
 this sort every day of the week. 
 
144 LETTY 
 
 Ordish. 
 
 True. 
 Hear, hear ! 
 
 Neale. 
 
 Marion. 
 It's delicious. I'm really hungry. 
 
 Perry. 
 It's so clear. Its clearness astonishes me. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Of course it's clear; it's consomay. [O^eftsive/y.] 
 Don't know what consomay is, perhaps? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Under her breath.^ Hush! oh, hush! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Turning to her in surprise.^ Eh? 
 
 Letty. 
 
 [^Checking herself.^ Ha ! . . . [gaily- \ Change 
 loaves with me ; yours is more attractive than mine. 
 
 Neale. 
 They strain it ; that's what they do — they strain it. 
 
 Ordish. 
 I should doubt that. If I were asked 
 
 Neale. 
 I tell you they strain it, Jimmy; through a cloth, or 
 tlirough long, white,- conical bags — [twisting his table- 
 napkin into the form of a sugar-loaf\ this shape 
 
LETTr 145 
 
 Letty. 
 Similar to the hats tlie musical clowns were wearing to- 
 night. Ha, ha ! 
 
 Nbale. 
 Great Ned, how screaming they were, those clowns ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Weren't they ! 
 
 Neale. 
 [Pulling the napkin on his headi\ When the long chap 
 
 fell on the little 'un ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes, the funny little one ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Haw ! you haven't sat in a private-box very often, any 
 of you, I'll bet a guinea. 
 
 Ordish. 
 I've not, lately. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Haw, haw ! lately ! Why cawn't you say you never 
 have, like a man ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [ Touching his sleeve.\ Ah, don't ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 What's wrong? 
 
 Letty. , 
 
 Oh — those clowns! ha, ha, ha! Polly, you thought 
 them amusing? 
 
146 LETTY 
 
 Makion. 
 Amazingly. 
 
 Letty. 
 Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Perry. 
 My mother was a great maker of soup. 
 
 Neale. 
 Good old home-made soup ! 
 
 Perry. ■ 
 I beg your pardon, Mr. Neale 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Right! An English cook's soup ain't worth eating — 
 filth! That's why I come heah — tliough my own cook's 
 one of the best in London. I've spent hundreds of 
 pounds heah. 
 
 Perry. 
 It was pea-soup my mother excelled at. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Hundreds and hundreds of pounds. 
 
 Neale. 
 Pea-soup ! Ho, ho ! 
 
 Perry. 
 My mother has been dead-and-gone some years, Mr. 
 Neale, and I'll take it as a personal favor — oh, it doesn't 
 signify. 
 
 Okdish. 
 Quite a young woman, too, I'll be bound. 
 
LETTY 147 
 
 Perry . 
 Thirty-three. Pastry also ! She had the lightest hanf' 
 in the world for pastry. 
 
 Ordish. 
 Thirty-three. Now, if she had insured her life when 
 she was one-and-twenty, say for a thousand — lend me a 
 pencil 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Waitah 1 
 
 OUDISH. 
 
 On our new endowment principle, with a quinquennial 
 division of profits 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Waitah, where's that champagne? 
 
 \TAe glasses are filled, the soup-bowls removed, 
 and the fish served. The conversation at the 
 round table is now carried on in dumb-show. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [ To Nevill, between the courses, her hauteur gradu- 
 ally melting.'] You'll excuse my not being chatty ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 [ Who has been watching Letty thoughtfully from under 
 his brows.] Certainly. 
 
 Hilda. 
 At these fashionable restrongs it doesn't do to get be- 
 hind ; they whip your plate away before you Icnow wlierp 
 you are. \Dropping her voice and leaning forward, hei 
 elbows on the table.\ I say, I wasn't aware that you and 
 ■ — \with a motion of the head towards Mandeville] are 
 acquainted. What a magnificent match for her! 
 
148 LEITY 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Moving nearer to her, speaking in undertones.] Most 
 advantageous. 
 
 Hilda. 
 He does scatter it, too. 
 
 Nevill. 
 There is every evidence of it. 
 
 Hilda. 
 We might have been princesses, at the Alhambra. 
 Each lady had her own programme,' and sweets during 
 the selections by the band. Lavish, I call it. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Lavish is the exact word. 
 
 [ There is a boisterous laugh from Letty. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [7(7 Nevill.] Ah,- 1 do pat myself on the back over 
 this. I've prophesied it from the very beginning. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Indeed? 
 
 Hilda. 
 Yes, I only wish I had as many sovereigns as times 
 
 I've called her, in chaff, Mrs. M , Mrs. Bernard M. 
 
 \Drtnking her wine.] That's why it drove me wild to see 
 her making herself such a fearful juggins. [^Smacking 
 her lips.] Champagne's my wine. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Such a ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 Juggins. Wasting her evenings on you ! You don't 
 object to my candor ? 
 
LETTY 149 
 
 Nevill. 
 I admire it. A fine quality. 
 
 Hilda. 
 I'm nothing' if not candid. [IViiA pride.\ I've lost 
 some of my best friends through it. 
 
 Nevill. 
 I've no doubt. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Severely.'] Upon my word, I wonder I talk to you at 
 all. Oh, you ought to blusli for yourself, really you 
 ought. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Laughingly.'] My dear Hilda ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 Never to have told her you're a married man ! 
 Double-face! But I guessed it. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Did you ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 Did I ! I wish I had as many sovereigns as times I've 
 said to her, " Letty, I'm sure that chap's tied-up with 
 
 some other female " 
 
 [A waiter now offers her the dish of sole. She 
 helps herself. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Sole ? 
 
 Waiter. 
 Sole Dieppoise. 
 
150 LETTY 
 
 Hilda. 
 What's all this — mussels ? 
 
 Waiter. 
 Yes, lady. 
 
 Hilda. 
 I'm the last, aren't I? [To Nevill.] You're not ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 No. 
 
 [S/ie empties the dish and the waiter moves away. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Eating, to Nevill.] You'll excuse my leaving off 
 
 talking ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 I mourn the loss but recognize the necessity. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Glancing up at him sternly.'] Don't you give 7iie any 
 of your nonsense, please. 
 
 [ The conversation at the round table is resumed, 
 aloud. 
 
 Perry. 
 A rather novel dish, if I may be permitted the obser- 
 vation. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Sole Dieppoise — sole with mussels. Great delicacy 
 prepared this way. 
 
 Neale. 
 Decidedly tasty, must admit. 
 Perry. 
 Mussels? [Innocently.] Dear me, what a prejudice 
 there is against mussels ! 
 
LETTY 151 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Prejudice, is there ! 
 
 Perry. 
 Enormous. Many people won't look at a mussel. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Ho, won't they ! 
 
 Perry. 
 Nervous people. And, of course, they have tkis to go 
 upon 
 
 Mandeville. 
 What? 
 
 Perry. 
 One is continually hearing of indisposition — serious in- 
 disposition — as an after affect 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Look heah. Mister Perry ! 
 
 Perry. 
 Eh? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 If you disapprove of the food that's given you, I tell 
 you what you can do— — 
 
 Letty. 
 Bernard ! 
 
 Perry. 
 Oh, if I've said anything to off'end, I'm sorry. 
 
 Letty. 
 ' No, no, there's no off"ence, not the least — \io Mande- 
 ville] is there ? 
 
152 LETTY 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Ho, no, not the slightest ! 
 
 Neale. 
 
 It is a fact, though. Friend o' mine had a cousin who 
 died of 'em. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [ Throwing his knife and fork down and leaning back in 
 his chair.'] Phugh ! 
 
 Letty. 
 [ffysterically, laying a restraining hand on Mande- 
 ville.] Hush-sh-sh! ha, ha, ha! We don't intend to 
 die of them, do we? \Edging closer to him and looking 
 into his face. \ Do we ? Do we ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \In a growl, to her. \ Letty — — ! 
 
 Letty. 
 [Enticingly.] Ha, ha ! Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Softening.] Haw ! [Pinching her chin.] Haw, haw ! 
 
 Ordish. 
 According to the insurance tables, poisoning from mus- 
 sels is very prevalent among the humbler classes. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Explosively.] Humbler classes ! yes ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Ha, ha ! 
 
 [She feeds him with a mussel at the end of her 
 fork. 
 
LETTY 153 
 
 Ordish. 
 A case came up before our board not long ago. The 
 assured had paid only two premiums, so we lost heavily. 
 One of my introductions ; my usual fortune. 
 
 Neale. 
 Ho, ho ! 
 
 [Mandeville, a mussel on his fork, repays 
 Letty's attention. 
 
 Letty. 
 \To Mandeville.] Ha, ha, ha ! You silly ! 
 
 Ordish. 
 However, doesn't that go to prove my argument? 
 I'm always repeating it ; I'm sick of repeating it. 
 
 Perry. 
 What argument ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 
 \Skouting to Nevill.] Hullo, Letchmere ! how are you 
 getting along ? 
 
 Ordish. 
 Why, that in the midst of life — in the very midst of 
 life 
 
 Nevill. 
 [ Who, with a scowl, has again been watching Letty 
 and Mandeville.] Your judgment is a sound one about 
 this '92 Moet, Mr. Mandeville. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Haw ! A glass of all-right and a handsome gal oppo- 
 site yer! Haw, haw, haw ! \To Letty.] Look at 'em ! 
 look at 'em ! 
 
 [Letty turns in her chair to view the pair. 
 
154 
 
 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 [Wildly.'] Well, Hilda! Isn't this— isn't this jolly? 
 
 Eh? Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 [Her eyes meet Nevill's and her laugh comes to a 
 full stop. She gives him an appealing look and 
 her head droops over the back of her chair. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Quietly taking up his glass^ I am afraid I have to 
 be running away, Mr. Mandeville. Would it be a se- 
 rious interruption to your hospitality if we seized this 
 moment to drink a toast ? [Rising?!^ To our host, Mr. 
 Bernard Mandeville, and to one who is the friend and 
 companion of many who are present — Miss Shell — Miss 
 
 Letty Shell ! 
 
 [Ihe guests jump up, their glasses in their hands. 
 
 Ordish. 
 
 To be sure ! 
 
 Perry. 
 A — ah — happy inspiration. 
 
 Neale. 
 Hurrah ! 
 
 Marion. 
 Letty— Mr. Mandeville ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 Bless them both ! [ To Letty.] You old darling ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Miss Shell— Mr. Mandeville ! 
 
 [The toast is drunk. 
 
 Neale. 
 Hip, hip ! 
 
LETTr 155 
 
 Hilda. 
 Here ! I say ! [ Wiping her lips with her table-napkin.] 
 I propose that Mr. Mandeville leads off by giving her a 
 
 good kiss, and that we all follow suit — chaps and all ! 
 
 [To Mandeville, as the men at the round table wipe their 
 tnouths.\ Do you mind ? 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Putting his arm around Letty's waist and drawing 
 her to hiin.'\ Haw ! I don't mind ! 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Oh ! 
 
 [ With a cry, she frees herself from him and strug- 
 gles to her feet. As she does so, the lights in 
 the rooin are extinguished. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Hullo! what's this? [There is a general exclamation of 
 
 surprise. \ What the devil ? Heah ! 
 
 [ The lights are raised, but only to go up and down 
 at short, regular intervals. Those who have 
 been standing now resume their seats, with the 
 exception of Nevill, who moves away to fetch 
 his hat and overcoat. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Waitah ! waitah ! 
 
 First Waiter. 
 [Coming to his side.] Yes, sir ; yes, sir. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Yes, sir, yes, sir ! Stop this ! look at it ! stop it ! 
 
 First Waiter. 
 We cannot 'elp it, sir. We are compelled. It is time. 
 
156 LETTY 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Time ! We're not half through ! 
 
 First Waiter. 
 \StoHdly.'\ It is very unfortunate. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 
 Rats ! Curse your unfortunate ! Don't stand there 
 jabbering like an ape ! 
 
 [Frederic, evidently ruffled, enters at the back. 
 The waiters proceed to remove the plates and to 
 lay others. The lights now remain steady for a 
 time. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \To Frederic] Heah ! you ! Mister Frederick ! 
 
 Frederic. 
 \Coming to him.\ I am extremely sorry, Mr. Mande- 
 ville 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Sorry ! I tell yer we're not half through. 
 
 Frederic. 
 [ With a shrug.] 1 asked you to order a simple supper, 
 and you would not. Oh, no, you would not ! [Looking 
 at his watch.] I said I would do my best ; I have done 
 my best. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Best ! Call this yer best ! That's cutting it a bit 
 thick, ain't it? , 
 
 Frederic. 
 It is Saturday night. I cannot prevent twelve o'clock 
 from 'appening. 
 
LETTY 157 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Twelve o'clock ! Oh, this cursed country ! 
 
 Frederic. 
 [ With growing excitement.\ I have nothing to do with 
 the management of the country. I have been scolded 
 by my own manager, finely scolded, and that is enough. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Hitting the tadie.] Of all the cursed countries ! 
 
 Frederic. 
 The country is not my fault. What I say is 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Jiising.] Now, you listen to me ! 
 
 Frederic. 
 What I say is, Mr. Mandeville, that we find it impos- 
 sible to serve the pous sins — impossible. If the ladies and 
 gentlemen will be satisfied with some cold meat 
 
 Mandeville. 
 Cold meat ! 
 
 Frederic. 
 Some galantine, perhaps 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes, yes. That will do admirably — [to the others\ 
 won't it? 
 
 [ There is a chorus of assent, 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [ To those at the round table.'] You hold your tongues ! 
 
 Frederic. 
 And coffee to follow quickly 
 
 [ Ihe lights resume their flickering. 
 
158 LETTY 
 
 Mandeville. 
 [Furiousfy.'\ Who is it that's playing with this cursed 
 light ? 
 
 Frederic. 
 The manager — Mr. Nerval 
 
 Mandeville. 
 The blighter ! 
 
 \Swearing under his breath, he makes for the door 
 at the back. Ordish, Neale, and Perry 
 rise, and intercept him. 
 
 Ordish, Neale, and Perry. 
 Mr. Mandeville — sir — cold meat — excellent ! 
 
 Mandeville. 
 
 \Pushing them aside.] Get out, you ! 
 
 [Me disappears. 
 
 Frederic. 
 \To the waiters^ Inutile d' alter plus loin. II n'entend 
 ni a dia ni a hurhau. 
 
 [A shout is heard, followed by the noise of a scuffle ; 
 and at the same moment the lights in both the 
 room and the passage are switched off, causing 
 total darkness. Then comes another cry, ac- 
 companied by the falling of some heavy object. 
 The women shriek and clutch at one another. 
 Perry, Ordish, and Neale gather together 
 at the back, near the door. 
 
 Frederic. 
 
 Ah ! 
 
 \He and the waiters find their way out of the room. 
 Neale produces a match-box and strikes a 
 light. 
 
LETTY 159 
 
 Neale. . 
 
 [In a whisper.'] Great Ned ! 
 
 Perry. 
 What has occurred ? 
 
 Ordish, 
 Something. 
 
 Neale. 
 
 In the midst o' hfe, cockey ! 
 
 [ The confused sound of many voices, gradually 
 increasing in volume, now comes from the 
 passage. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Hark ! 
 
 Marion. 
 Oh, dear! 
 
 Neale. 
 Tell you what it is, sweet pals 
 
 Perry. 
 Hush ! 
 
 Neale. 
 If we're not careful, we shall find ourselves in quod. 
 
 Ordish. 
 Quick ! let's hear ! \The lights are switched on. 
 
 Perry, Neale and Ordish. 
 Ah! 
 
 Ordish. 
 Charley — Mr. Perry 
 
160 LETTY 
 
 , Neale and Perry. 
 
 Eh? 
 
 Ordish. 
 Oughtn't we to go and see ? 
 
 Neale. 
 You may. 
 
 Perry. 
 No harm in looking on. 
 
 l^The first waiter enters quickly and seizes a carafe 
 of water and a napkin. 
 
 Perry, Neale and Ordish. 
 What is it ! What's up ? Who is it ? 
 
 Waiter. 
 Mr. Nerval — 
 
 \He hurries away. The hubbub without continues 
 unceasingly. Timidly, the three men go into 
 the passage where, with expressions of dismay 
 upon their faces, they are witnesses of what is 
 taking place in the distance. Nevill joins 
 them, his overcoat upon his arm, calmly putting 
 on a glove. 
 
 Hilda. 
 A pretty end to it all, I declare! Serves me right for 
 waltzing out with any Tom, Dick, or Harry ! 
 
 MARION. 
 
 \Pointing to Letty, who has dropped into a chair and 
 is sitting, dazed, with parted lips and wide-open eyes.] 
 
 Hilda. 
 Next time I make myself cheap ! 
 
LETTY 161 
 
 Marion. 
 Do be silent ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 Oh, silence yourself! A perfect brute — a raging, wild 
 animal ! 
 
 Marion. 
 How can you? 
 
 Hilda. 
 What's the Zoo doing ? Married or not, the other dear 
 boy's worth a million of him. Give me Letchmere ! 
 
 Neale. 
 [Looking into the room.] Phst ! one of you girls ! 
 
 Marion. 
 What ? 
 
 Neale. 
 [BecAonin£:] You're wanted. 
 
 [Marion Joins him and presently disappears. 
 Hilda follows her; whereupon Ordish, 
 Neale, and Perry, gaining courage, also 
 pass out of sight. The hubbub goes on in a 
 continuous murmur. Nevill slowly ap- 
 proaches Letty. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Byherside?^ Don't be alarmed; old Nerval is more 
 scared than hurt. A lump has been raised on that shiny, 
 bald head of his. These affairs are invariably adjusted 
 amicably. [Gently.] Poor little woman ! 
 
 [ihe makes no response. He touches her. 
 i 
 
 Letty. 
 
 [Raising her eyes for an instant. ] You going ? 
 
162 LETTY 
 
 [He shrugs his shoulders. She rises, her ears 
 strained to catch the distant clamor. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 \Afier a pause.'\ This won't do. You couldn't bear 
 this. 
 
 [Moistening her lips with her tongue, she also 
 shrugs her shoulders. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Eagerly.\ You couldn't — could you ? 
 
 Letty. 
 I — I wish you hadn't seen it. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Letty 
 
 Letty. 
 Oh, I wish you hadn't seen it. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Letty — don't go back. 
 
 Letty. 
 Not go — eh 'i 
 
 Nevill. 
 Don't try to go back to it all. It's of no use 
 struggling. Come to me. 
 
 Letty. 
 \_In a stifled voice.] What ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Damn him/ you won't take him on after this? You'll 
 
 linve him about you to-morrow, you know, half sulky, 
 
 half penitent Will you kiss and be friends? [She 
 
 shivers.] Come to me. [In her ear.] You see, it is the 
 
LETTY 163 
 
 i'levitable, my dear. Come ! yShe shakes her head, her 
 eyes full of fright \ Let us talk things over, at least. 
 Let's talk things over. Letty 
 
 Letty. 
 VV — when? 
 
 Nevill. 
 To-night. \A pause. \ You will? 
 
 \She stands quite still. Laying his hat and coat 
 aside, he produces a card-case, withdraws a 
 card from it, and writes on the card with a 
 pencil. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \As he scribbles.^ Be careful not to raise this cur's 
 suspicions. When he has left you at your door, jump 
 into a cab and come down town again. I have to go on 
 to Green Street. It's a nuisance ; but I'll be home as 
 soon as possible. You understand? [She nods.] If you 
 arrive before I do, show this to the hall-porter and he'll 
 get my servant up. \Handing her the card.] No need to 
 be frightened ; you'll be treated with every respect. 
 Where are you going to put it ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Slipping the card into her bodice with trembling 
 fingers.] Here. 
 
 Nevill. 
 You won't sell me — not sell me ? Don't sell me ! 
 
 Letty. 
 N — no. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 [In another tone, as he takes up his hat and overcoat ?[ 
 Make my apologies to — [glancing towards the passage] 
 will you ? 
 
3G4 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes. 
 
 \He smiles upon her and, turning away, goes out 
 with gicick stj'ides at the door on t/ie ri^ht. 
 For u moment or two she doesn t stir : then she 
 creeps to the door at the back and peers into the 
 passage. J he tumutt increases, comes nearer, 
 and she slowly backs away from it. 
 
 Mandeville. 
 \His voice rising above the uproar.\ Haw ! I give ten 
 sovereigns to the French Hospital — ten golden sovereigns 
 
 — see what I mean? 
 
 [ The curtain falls. 
 
 END OF THE THIRD ACT. 
 
THE FOURTH ACT 
 
 The scene is that of the first act. 
 
 The disposition of the furniture on the left is altered. 
 The settee has been moved to the right of the table and 
 stands out almost to the middle of the room, and be- 
 tween the table and the spectator is a solitary chair set 
 to face the windows. The rest of the chairs have been 
 restored to places against the walls. Upon the table 
 is a large silver tray upon which are decanters of 
 spirits, glasses, syphons and bottles of aerated waters, 
 etc., etc. 
 
 The doors are closed and the room is in darkness. 
 \A sharp pattering of rain is heard upon the win- 
 dow-panes. After a little while it ceases ; and 
 then the door on the left is opened by RuGG who 
 enters and switches on the light. Letty, 
 Marion, and Hilda — dressed as in the previ- 
 ous act— are seen to be waiting in the corridor, 
 which is already lighted. RuGG has the ap- 
 pearance of a man disturbed in his preparations 
 for retiring to rest. 
 
 RuGG. 
 \By the door.] This way, please. 
 
 [Letty advances to the back of the settee on the 
 left and stands there with a look partly of 
 abasement, partly of sullenness. The others 
 follow. Marion retreats to the end of the 
 room and takes up a position near the writing- 
 table : Hilda crosses to the settee on the 
 right where she proceeds to dab her cloak and 
 skirt with her handkerchief. 
 
166 LETTY 
 
 RUGG. 
 
 \_Referring to the card bearing Nevii.1.' S message, which 
 he has in hand — to Letty.] Er — tliese young ladies are 
 with you, I presume, miss? 
 
 Letty. 
 \ln a low voice.] Yes. 
 
 RuGG. 
 [To Hilda. J Can I be of any assistance, miss? 
 
 Hilda. 
 Thanks ; don't you bother. What a shower ! 
 
 RUGG. 
 
 Yes, miss ; /his ought to cool the air. [/Regarding 
 Letty inquisitive lyP^ Won't you take a seat, miss? 
 \ Avoiding his gaze, she seats herself upon the settee on the 
 left.] I beg you ladies will excuse my attire. Fact is, it's 
 not my habit to remain up for Mr. Letchmere unless 
 specially asked. 
 
 [Obtaining no further response, the man bestows a 
 final look upon the girls a?id withdraws softly . 
 
 Hilda. 
 [After a glance at the door — still occupied in removiitg 
 the rain spots.] Why we must all tumble out of the cab 
 in Bond Street, and sneak round here as though we're 
 burglars, is beyond me. I'm for dashing np to a house. 
 Great Scot, my shoes ! 
 
 Letty. 
 [Ner eyes fixed upon the carpet.] Mr. Letchmere is rot 
 in yet. What do you intend to do ? 
 
 Marion. 
 [Who, upon the ivithdrawal of RuGG, approaches 
 Letty.] Wait — \i you decide to wait. 
 
LETTY 167 
 
 Letty. 
 He^ie'll consider it a great liberty. 
 
 Marion. 
 Because you show him you've too much respect for 
 yourself to come here alone 1 
 
 Letty. 
 \Withoui lifting her eyes or raising her voice.'] Well, 
 I — / consider it a liberty. I resent it. Following nie in 
 this fasliion — ^jumping into my cab uninvited— keeping 
 close beside me ! as if I were a child, or not responsible 
 for my actions ! I resent it. 
 
 Hilda. 
 / didn't get into your hansom till I saw Marion there. 
 One couldn't help feeling curious 
 
 Letty. 
 Oh, you know I'm not alluding to you, Hilda. 
 
 Marion. 
 [Biiterfy.'\ Ha! No, Hilda isn't the encumbrance. 
 But then, she's a weathercock — ready to turn at the 
 slightest puff. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Taking off her hat and shaking it.] I advise you to be 
 careful of your expressions. Miss AUardyce. 
 
 Marion. 
 [Bending over Lktty.] Letty — Letty, I've no desire to 
 intrude. I'm not enamored of these rooms, I assure you. 
 I'm sorry I forced my company on you. Letty, promise 
 me that Hilda remains with you and brings you home, 
 and I'll take myself off instantly. 
 
 Letty. 
 Thank you, I — I prefer to make no promises. 
 
168 LEITY 
 
 Marion. 
 Oh, don't be wilful ! Letty, it's Sunday. 
 
 Letty. 
 I'm not fatigued. And I don't go to the office on Mon- 
 day — to face that beast ; I can keep late hours now. 
 
 Marion. 
 [Persistenily.'\ That's not the point ; the point is your 
 being here. [ To Hilda who, seated upon the settee on the 
 right, is flicking the trimmings of her hat\ Hilda, do 
 back me up! It's nearly one o'clock in the morning. 
 Hilda ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 [ With her drawl.^ What's the matter with one o'clock 
 in the morning ? 
 
 Marion. 
 Eh.? 
 
 Hilda. 
 She's told you Letchmere wants a quiet little talk with 
 her. When a gentleman's behaved rather deceitfully to 
 a young person and is eager to get on good terms with 
 her again 
 
 Marion. 
 [Scornfully. "l Good terms ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 The sooner he's given the opportunity the better. 
 
 Marion. 
 Why he should be given it all passes my comprehen- 
 sion. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Why ! [/« an outburst.\ Oh, what's needed in this 
 
LETTY 169 
 
 business is a bit of plain, unadulterated common- 
 sense ! 
 
 Marion. 
 I agree. 
 
 Hilda". 
 And considerably less Young Women's Christian As- 
 sociation. I'm for downright common-sense, I am. 
 
 Marion. 
 And I. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Are you ! It isn't common-sense, then, to expect a 
 girl who's in love with achap hke Letchmere to drop him, 
 to order, at short notice. 
 
 Marion. 
 Not when she discovers the kind of " chap " he is ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 There you go ! One would imagine the world's noth- 
 ing but Sunday-school, to hear you. My world isn't, at 
 all events. \_Lo/ti/y.\ I don't belong to that »zo«^afe. 
 
 Marion. 
 In any "tnonde" — in any walk of hfe, a woman's duty 
 to herself under such circumstances is pretty obvious, 1 
 should have thought. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Ah, you'd have thought. 
 
 Marion. 
 To hold her head erect ; raise it proudly ; take a clear 
 view of things ! 
 
170 LETTY 
 
 Hilda. 
 A clear view — exactly. Only, as my aunt used to re- 
 mark, there's more than one view from the top of a tower. 
 [Rising, as she puis on her hat and secures it with a pin?\ 
 Of course, it's a thousand pities the dear boy turns out 
 not to be single ; but tliere it is. What can't be cured — 
 an' cetera. [Surveying herself in the mirror which stands 
 on the piano.~\ Scissors ! tlie mere idea of that low bully 
 of a Mandeville, after Letchmere I I could have sworn 
 he wouldn't answer, directly she presented him as her 
 affianced. 
 
 Marion. 
 You could have sworn it, could you ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 [Taking up her gloves, which she has laH aside on en- 
 tering, and walking about the room while she draws them 
 on.] Oh, I hid my true sentiments. I have my share of 
 tact, I flatter myself. As Ma Watkins is continually 
 drumming into us : ," cut is all very fine ; material's all 
 very fine ; but when everything's said and done, it's tact 
 that sells the gown." 
 
 Marion. 
 [To HihUA, 6ut watching Le-TTY keenly.] Well! it may 
 be my denseness, but you've not quite succeeded in con- 
 vincing me that a continued acquaintance with Mr. 
 Letchmere is indispensable to Letty. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Oh, I can't supply brains 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Granted he's made her fond of him— the scamp! — a 
 few weeks' change of scene will serve to set that right. 
 
LETTY 171 
 
 Hilda. 
 A pokey bed-sitting-room at tlie seaside ; pliotos of 
 the landlady's husband and brats on tlie mantel-shelf! 
 Yes, that'll help, won't it! 
 
 Marion. 
 And then, when we find her a comfortable, new 
 berth ; when she resumes her employment, occupies her 
 mind 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Pausing in her wai/e.] Work ! 
 
 Makion. 
 
 Work. 
 Ha! 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 Marion. 
 Yes, work. [//oUj'.] What's the matter with work? 
 
 Hilda. 
 Pertness isn't argument. Oblige me. [Extending her 
 hand condescendingly, in invitation to Marion to button 
 her glove ?^ Work! Why, you ctz^z'/ work when you've 
 had such a slip-up as she's had — not for months, at any 
 rate. 
 
 Marion. 
 [Buttoning the glove.^ Can't! She must. 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 Rubbish ! you can't sober down as if nothing had 
 happened. Oh, where's your common-sense ! You can't 
 do it. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Then what on earth is her future to be, do you sup- 
 pose .' 
 
173 LETTY 
 
 Hilda. 
 You're all thumbs. Her future ? 
 
 Marion. 
 Her future. How is she to exist ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 \Calmfy.\ Oh, let's hope that that's the question he's 
 going to settle for her in a minute or two. 
 
 Marion. 
 \Dropping Hilda's hand and staring at her.\ 
 Hilda : 
 
 Hilda. 
 {Returning the stare.] Hullo ? 
 
 Marion. 
 [Breathlessly.'] Great heavens, you're not encouraging 
 
 her- -! You — you don't suggest ! {hastening to 
 
 Lett Y who has been sittiiig almost motionless throughout. ] 
 Letty ! Letty ! Letty, you won't suffer this man to in- 
 fluence you, will you? You wouldn't dream of accept- 
 ing his assistance ! No, you wouldn't ! {Sitting beside 
 Letty and putting an arm round her. \ Oh, Letty ! Letty, 
 speak to me ! 
 
 {Roughly freeing herself from Marion's einbrace, 
 Letty jumps up from the settee and seats her- 
 self, her back to Marion, in the chair on the 
 left. There is a brief silence ; then, with com- 
 pressed lips, Marion rises stiffly. 
 
 Marion. 
 {In dry, level tones, lookijtg down upon Letty.] Ah, 
 I don't fancy you and I will be able to shake along to- 
 getlier any more. {Fastening her jacket.] I've always 
 tried to keep an eye on you, but I — I think I'll relieve 
 myself of the task henceforth. Good-night. {Turning 
 
LFATY 173 
 
 away reluctantly.'] Good-night. \^Pausing.\ I shall give 
 Mrs. Hill a foitniglit's notice on Monday, so far as my 
 share of our place is concerned. / shall move out to cue 
 of the suburbs. London — ! . . . Oh, I'm dibap- 
 pointed I 
 
 [She walks to the door. There she halts and 
 beckons Hilda to her. 
 
 Marion. 
 \To Hilda, quietly.] Hilda Gunning, if you leave her, 
 you'll deserve, when you die, to go straight to — [with a 
 nod] you knov/. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Freezingly.] Wherever I go, Miss Allardyce, I trust 
 it will be to mix with those who are much your superiors. 
 [Marion glances at her contemptuously and de- 
 parts. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Impudence! You didn't catch what she said? Ho! 
 this is the result of stooping to neighbors. 
 
 \The outer door slams. Letty raises her head. 
 
 Hilda. 
 \ Closing the door of the room and coming to Letty.] 
 She can whistle for an invite to another tea-party of mine. 
 Suburbs — the dowdy ! Precisely what she's built for. 
 
 Letty. 
 {Looking intospace.'] She's done with me. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Eh? 
 
 Letty. 
 She's done with me, Hilda. 
 
 Hilda. 
 The boot's on the other leg : you're quit oi her. 
 
174 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 [Eagerly.'] Perhaps she'll wait about outside, though ! 
 
 perhaps she won't — give me up' ! yShe rises and 
 
 crosses swiftly to the bay window. Pushing the blind aside, 
 she peers into the street.} The rain's stopped ; she might 
 walk up-and-down — ah, I see her! \A pause.} Nu — 
 no 
 
 Hilda. 
 \Seating herself upon the settee on the left.] No — what ? 
 
 Letty. 
 No — she walks too quickly. She's not going to wait. 
 
 Ah, no, she's turning the corner — she's 
 
 [Letty leaves the window and stands leaning 
 against the chair which is behind the table on 
 the right. She produces her handkerchief and 
 weeps into it silently. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Oh, you are a soft ! Those sort of people can afford to 
 be prim. No gentleman is likely to glance in their di- 
 rection. 
 
 Letty. 
 [ Through her tears — not heeding Hilda.] The suburbs. 
 She's been at me constantly to live in the suburbs with 
 her. There's where simple happiness is to be found, she 
 always contends. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Of course, /don't want to pry into your affairs ; that's 
 not my nature. But whatever you choose to confide in 
 me • 
 
 Letty. 
 [Absorbed in her reflections, coming to the chair on the 
 left of the small table.} Simple happiness — fresh air — and 
 — and fewer temptations 
 
LETTY 175 
 
 Hilda. 
 What were the actual words he used at the restrong — 
 chat things over ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Fewer temptations ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 Eh? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Siliing in the chair, her back to Hilda.] Er— yes. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Well, you have got your foot on the ladder this time, I 
 
 do believe. He's as jealous ! I detected that at the 
 
 restrong. And don't forget, he isn't aware that it's off 
 between you and Mr. M. No, you must play your en- 
 gagement to that beauty for all it's worth. Everything 
 favors you! The dear boy's just in the mood when you 
 can twist him round your little finger. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 \Still lost in thought?^ She has been a good mate to 
 me ; she has been. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Oh, my gracious, how you maunder on about her ! 
 But recollect, all depends on keeping him at a proper 
 distance till you're absolutely certain of him. Don't go 
 making an idiot of yourself. Be icy ; none of 'em can 
 stand that. And be sure you hurry into me directly 
 you're awake ; 1 shall be in a perfect fever — \irritably\ 
 Letty ! 
 
 Letty. 
 [Rousing herself for a moment.\ Polly oughtn't to be 
 walking home alone. 
 
176 LETTY 
 
 Hilda. 
 Oh, cease it ! No, what he should do is to sign a deed 
 — a regular deed — a what-d'ye-call-it ? — b settlement. 
 And he will, too, if you're clever. There's the advan- 
 tage of deaUng with a thorough gentleman 
 
 Letty. 
 \Suddenly, with frightened eyes.\ Hark! 
 
 Hilda. 
 {After a silence.^ Yes, those were cab-wheels. {Rising 
 and going to Letty — lowering her voice. '\ Remember — 
 cold dignity ; that's your programme. Ah, we sh?.ll 
 have you driving up to Madame's before long and giving 
 us a big order — rolling up in your landaulette. Mande- 
 ville's Victoria ! half-a-crown an hour, including the 
 cockade ! Yes, we shall see you sweeping into our rooms 
 with your maid at your heels. French maids — they're 
 
 the handiest. A French maid and a landaulette ! 
 
 Look here, don't stop to dress in the morning ; slip your- 
 self into a skirt and jacket and run in 
 
 \The door on the left is thrown open owrfNEVlLL 
 enters. At the same moment RuGG is see7i to 
 go into the room on the further side of the corri- 
 dor. Nevill stops short on discovering 
 Hilda. 
 
 Hilda. 
 You'll excuse the freedom ? I came down with her for 
 the sake of the airing, and we thought you wouldn't ob- 
 ject 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 [Removing. his gloves.] It's delightful to find that she 
 Jiasn't been sitting here yawning in solitude. [Advanc- 
 ing to Letty, who has risen.] I've been afflicted with a 
 couple of the slowest cabs in London, [/n a" undertone.] 
 The quickest would have been tedious 
 
LETTY 177 
 
 Hilda. 
 \^La7tguidly.'\ Well, you can dispense with my society. 
 [ lb Nevill.] You and Letty have arranged to have a 
 little confab together, haven't you? [Nevill and she 
 •walk to the door, hKTiY gazing helplessly at Hilda's re- 
 treating figure. 'I You'll bring her home, of course ; don't 
 keep her too late. \^Pacing hiin.^ I say, Mr. Mandeville 
 did get testy at the restrong, didn't he? 
 
 Nevill. 
 The limit of irritability justified by our licensing laws 
 was slightly exceeded. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [With intention.\ She was inclined to be cross with 
 him at first ; but — as I've been telhng her — quiclt temper, 
 warm heart. 
 
 Nevill. 
 You ladies are models of charity. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Oh, no credit due to me. [Significantly. 1 Shedoatson 
 him, really. [They disappear.] Don't you fuss about 
 me. You go baclc to her ; the porter will put me into a 
 hansom. 
 
 [Letty sits upon the settee on the right with closed 
 eyes. The voices in the corridor die away ; 
 and then the outer door is heard lo shut and at 
 that Letty' s eyes open widely. Nevill re- 
 enters, gives Letty a nod and a smile, and, 
 going to the fireplace, rings impatiently. After 
 a short delay, the library door is • opened by 
 RUGG, who is carrying an elegant silk smoking- 
 jacket. 7 he library is lighted. 
 
 RUGG. 
 
 [/« the doorway, apologetically^ I beg your pardori, 
 sir. 
 
178 LETTY 
 
 [Nevill joitts him and they retire into the library. 
 There RuGG assists Nevill to exchange his 
 dress-coat for the smo king-jacket. WhiLe this 
 is proceeding, a cab whistle is blown in the street 
 immediately beneath the windows. Letty 
 starts ; the whistling is repeated and she listens 
 painfully with parted lips. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Returnitig.\ I shall require nothing further. 
 
 RUGG. 
 
 [Remaining within the library.'] Thank you, sir. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Sorry to have had you down. 
 
 RUGG. 
 
 No consequence at all, sir. 
 
 [RuGG passes out of sight, and Nevill crosses to 
 the door on the left as the man enters the corri- 
 dor from the bedroom.. 
 
 RuGG. 
 \To Nevill.] Good-night, sir. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Good-night. 
 
 [Nevill watches him depart. Again the outer 
 door slams, whereupon Nevill closes the door 
 on the left and approaches Letty. 
 
 Nevill. 
 His quarters are at the top of the house. We've seen 
 the last of him. 
 
 Letty. 
 He — he'll think it very strange. 
 
LETTY 179 
 
 Nevill. 
 Not he. And in the course of the morning I'll hit 
 upon a plan to smuggle you out unobserved. For the 
 time being, you shall be fixed-up at some quiet hotel. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Slaring at kim.] What, aren't you going to let me — 
 return to my lodgings.? 
 
 [His steady gaze answers her and she rises. 
 
 Nevill. 
 You've had your struggle, Letty ; I've had mine also, 
 in a measure. But, as 1 told you at the Cafe Regence, 
 this vislS inevitable. 
 
 Lettv. 
 \Hangin^ her head.] No, no. That awful Cafe Re- 
 gence ; that was dreadful luck ! If only you had not 
 dined there ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 It would have made no material difference. Sooner 
 or later this would have occurred. 
 
 Letty. 
 You say that naw. 
 
 Nevill. 
 I've seen it from the first. While I have been sitting 
 with you under the trees in Kensington Gardens, playing 
 the innocent boy — almost persuaded of his existence ! — 
 I have found myself grinning inwardly at my own cred- 
 ulity. I persisted in humoring a delusion ; but, at the 
 back of my head, I was conscious of it being nothing 
 more. 
 
 Letty. 
 [ Weakly^ Delusion ? 
 
IPO LETrr 
 
 Nevill. 
 That those artless summer evenings — a dinner or two 
 — a theatre — were to form the whole sum of our acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 Letty. 
 It was something more. You didn't wish to harm me ; 
 you don't wish it ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Of what avail is it what one wishes in these cases ! 
 Yes, I toyed with the idea until the arrival upon the 
 scene of Mr. Mandeville, when I perceived that the 
 pleasant game of innocent boy was at an end and that 
 I had to undeceive you — and myself. Even then I al- 
 lowed you a fair start — a good, sporting run ; there's that 
 to be urged in my favor, Letty. But I caught up with 
 you last night — [gripping her shoulders] simply because 
 it was bound to be. \In another tone.] My dear child, 
 your cape is wet through. Didn't you drive here ? 
 
 Letty. 
 I dismissed the cab round the corner ; I hadn't the 
 courage . . . am I wet ? . . . the rain came on 
 so suddenly. . . . 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Give me the thing. 
 
 \She removes her cape and he hangs it upon some 
 object at the back of the room. Then, mechanic- 
 ally, she unpins her hat and is contemplating 
 it with dull eyes when he returns to her. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Softly.] A sad spectacle, eh ? 
 
 Letty. 
 It's spoilt. 
 
LETJT 181 
 
 Nevill. 
 My dear, you shall own half the hats in London on 
 Monday. 
 
 [She places her hat on the piano and, again sHiing 
 on the settee on the right, rests her arms upon 
 the head of the settee and buries her face in 
 them. He takes the chair which is nearest to 
 him and draws it close to her. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Sitting.'^ We'll indulge in no more talk of that kind. . 
 \With a wave of the hand.] There are several species of 
 happiness in the world ; we've tasted one, hey for an- 
 other ! And listen. \_She quivers^ No, but Ksten. I 
 am anxious that you should understand this clearly. 
 Whatever is in store for us — for you ; whatever the finish 
 of our — -friendship may be ; you've done with poverty 
 finally. You shall never again experience the smallest 
 uneasiness on that score. ^ \She raises herself and looks at 
 him with an expressionless face. Taking her hands— 
 which are still gloved — he speaks to her with great earnest- 
 ness.'] Yes, I propose to provide for you, my dear, in 
 such a manner that, should I treat you ill, you can snap 
 your fingers at me. At least I'll safeguard you to that 
 extent. You follow me ? Should I be brute enough to 
 prove ungrateful to you hereafter — to grow neglectful of 
 you, or should you tire of me ; you shall be in a position 
 to turn your back upon me, none the worse — little the 
 worse — for our association. \Slowly but firmly she disen- 
 gages her ha?tds and, with knitted brows, increases the 
 space between Nevill and herself] What is in your 
 mind ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [In a low voice.] Mr. Letchmere 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Reproachfully.] Sssh ! Letty ! 
 
182 LEirr 
 
 Letty. 
 Nevill — I — I am glad you have spoken to me in this 
 way. 
 
 Nevill. 
 It had to be touched upon. We'll dismiss it. 
 
 Letty. 
 No — wait a minute. I am glad ; for I am as anxious 
 as you are that we should understand each other dis- 
 tinctly. 
 
 Nevill. 
 If there's anything — don't hesitate 
 
 Letty. 
 {Plucking at the fringe of a piUow.\ It — it's awfully 
 generous of you to — to desire to make me — safe. But 
 no — I won't have that. No, no ; I've some right left to 
 deal with what concerns myself, I suppose, and — not 
 that, if you please. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Why, my dear girl, it has been an absorbing ambition 
 with you ! 
 
 Letty. 
 To be comfortably-ofF? How clearly you must have 
 seen through me, sitting under the trees of Kensington 
 Gardens ! Yes, I — I did hope to — to marry well one 
 day. I was always fond of telUng myself fairy-stories ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Isn't this a fairy-story ? Can't you regard it in that 
 light ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Oh, we shall be in paradise, I've no doubt, for a while. 
 Yes, I give you leave to shower as much bliss on me as 
 
LETTY 183 
 
 you possibly can, until — ha ! — till I tire of you. But 
 when the hour stril^es for our good-bye — no money. 1 
 wouldn't ! [Her head bent, her hands clenched between 
 her knees.'\ No, if I'm wilhng to throw my life out of 
 window, I'm wiUing to pay for it as I ought to. But I — • 
 I'll not be paid ; you sha'n't flmg your purse after me ! 
 [Lifting her head.\ You love me ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 I do. On my oath, I do! 
 
 Letty. 
 [ Taking off hergIoves.'\ Ami the — hundredth you have 
 said that to ? Hush ! I beg your pardon. You love me 
 at this moment ; that's sufficient, if it is so. [Laying 
 her gloves aside and extending her hands to him.'\ For 
 love, then ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Pressing her hands to his lips.] Letty ! 
 
 Letty. 
 [Jumping up and giving herself a little shake ^ Ah — 
 h — h ! [Recklessly.] Ha ! we are a merry pair, aren't 
 we ? Ugh ! [Blowing her serious mood away.'\ Pheugh ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Imitating her.\ Pheugh ! Ha, ha ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! [Abruptly, holding his arm and shiv- 
 ering.] Ssst! oh, Nevill ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 What ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Looking down at her shoes, piteously.] Do find me 
 something to shp my feet into. These are soaked. 
 
184 LFA'TY 
 
 Nevill. 
 My dear girl ! 
 
 [He leaves her, enters the library and disappears. 
 She moves about the room excitedly, glancing 
 eagerly at its appointments and touching the 
 various articles of furniture with a caressing 
 hand as she encounters them. In the end, ut- 
 tering a sigh of contentment, she sinks into the 
 chair on the left, her head thrown back, her 
 arms hanging loosely. Nevill returns, at the 
 door on the left, carrying a pair of velvet slip- 
 pers. He closes the door and holds up the slip- 
 pers before her in triumph. 
 
 Letty. 
 \_Delightedly .'] Ha ! they're capital. You dear fellow ! 
 [He hands her the slippers, from the further side 
 of the settee. Then, standing at the large table, 
 he proceeds to mix a drink. 
 
 Nevill. 
 You should have asked for ihem before. You'll catch 
 a terrible cold. 
 
 [Having kicked off her shoes, sherises and displays 
 her slippered feet. 
 
 Letty. 
 Ha, ha! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Ha, ha, ha! Charming! 
 
 [Kneeling upon the settee on the left, she accepts the 
 glass, which he offers her. She sips the drink 
 and coughs ; and, at her invitation, he fills the 
 tumbler to the brim with soda water. Then he 
 mixes a drink for himself. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [ While this is going on.] Letty 
 
LE'nr 185 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Eh? 
 
 Nevill. 
 A propos to our paradise— our earthly paradise ■ 
 
 Letty. 
 Our earthly paradise ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Have you ever travelled ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Travelled ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Abroad. 
 
 Letty. 
 Just a little. Years ago, when I was a child, my dad 
 took me to Boulogne. \ He laughs l\ Don'tlaugh. \Tiim- 
 ing her head away.] And recently, I'd have you l<now, 
 sir, — recently the chance was offered me of visiiing 
 Trouville. . 
 
 Nevill. 
 Trouville ? 
 
 Letty. 
 
 \_Parify to herself, with a look of detestation.'] Troo — 
 veal. 
 
 Nevill. 
 It would amuse you ? 
 
 Letty. 
 To travel! \All brightness again.] Ah, yes, yes ; more 
 than I can say ! 
 
186 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 Where shall we make for, at the beginning? 
 
 Letty. 
 Everywhere is novelty to me. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Switzerland ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Switzerland ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 I know the most enchanting spot for people who — for 
 such as ourselves. 
 
 Letty. 
 Do you ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 A village in the Schamser Valley. A deliciously 
 quaint inn— a few straggling houses — a bridge crossing 
 a stream — meadow-land — pine woods 
 
 Letty. 
 Ah! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Agreed — Switzerland ! Dropping down into Italy af- 
 terwards 
 
 Letty. 
 All! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Seeing the September moon in Venice 
 
 Letty. 
 Oh! 
 
LETTY 187 
 
 Nevill. 
 And home by way of Paris. 
 
 Letty. 
 Paris ! 
 
 [^He touches her glass with his and they drink, 
 looking into each other s eyes. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Sicddenly.\ Nevill ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Eh? 
 
 Letty. 
 
 \Staring into her tumbler.\ Home — by way of Paris. 
 Home ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Back to London. \She is silent?^ You adore London. 
 
 Letty. 
 I — I used to. I shall be frightened of it now, though. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Frightened ? 
 
 Letty. 
 You are among your grand friends in London. In 
 London you might — you might 
 
 Nevill. 
 What? 
 
 Letty. 
 \In a whisper, appealingly ^ I might tire of you. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Tscht ! forget that. We'll merely pause to refit, then, 
 and be off to Egypt. 
 
188 LEITY 
 
 Lettv. 
 ^Depositing her glass upon the table.'\ Yes, yes — off im- 
 mediately. ^Leaning against the back of the settee, ecstat- 
 ically. \ Switzerland ! Italy ! Paris ! Off again ! 
 
 Egypt ! \He has produced his cigarette case and 
 
 lighted a cigarette. He now comes from behind the settee^ 
 When do we start ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Giving her a cigarette. \ How long will it take the 
 milliners to prepare you? \She lights her cigarette from 
 his. To steady her, he places his hand behind her head. 
 Then he withdraws his hand, glances at it, and again 
 touches her head.] You foolish little woman — not to have 
 driven up to the door ! 
 
 Letty. 
 
 [Putting her hand to her head.] All ! the rain 
 
 \Rising, she removes the imitation tortoise-shell pins from 
 her hair and shakes it free over her shoulders.] It will 
 soon dry. \She lays the pins upon the table on the right. 
 He follows her.] 1 think I could be ready at the end of 
 next week, by rushing round frantically. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Gaily.] The end of next week it shall be. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Sreathlessly.] I shall be the busiest woman in town 
 on Monday morning I 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Seating himself at the piano and playing.] And it's Ho 
 for the wild-flowers of the Schamser Thai ! 
 
 Letty. 
 [At the sound of the music] Ah I [Coming to the settee 
 on the right.] Go on ! That's the duet from 7he Gossa- 
 mer Girl — where she is seated upon the swing I 
 
LETTY 189 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Nodding'\ Now the man's voice comes in. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Nestling in the pillows of the setteei\ Yes — as he 
 watches her, standing at the gate ! 
 
 Nevill, 
 The two voices. 
 
 Lettv. 
 [Lifting Aerfeei on to the settee. 'I Ah— h — h! [Drowsily, 
 as he finishes.^ Play the pietty piece you played tlie 
 afternoon we gals first called on you. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Getting rid of his cigarette and resuming playing.\ 
 The barcarolle ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Almost inaudibly.\ The first afternoon ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 [While he plays.\ We shall hear this when we are in 
 Venice, you and I — at night, upon the Grand Canal. 
 The musicians move out into the middle of the canal, 
 Letty . . . their barge is hung with colored lanterns 
 . . . we, with a crowd of other gondolas, will steal 
 after them and moor ourselves alongside. [Her cigarette 
 drops to the floor. \ The moon will be shining . . . 
 you've not seen moonlight until you've seen the Septem- 
 ber moon in Venice [He discovers that she is asleep. 
 
 He goes to her and calls to her softly .\ Letty — Letty- 
 
 [She raises her head and stares at him.'\ You mustn't fall 
 asleep here. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 [Bewildered, as he assists her to rise-l Asleep ? 
 
 Have I been — asleep ? 
 
190 LETTY 
 
 YReieasing her hand, he turns sharply towards 
 the door on the left. Then he walks to the cen- 
 tre of the roojn and stands eyeing the door and 
 listening. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Under her breath.\ Oh ! what's that ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Quietly.\ Nothing. [Smiling at heri\ I fancied I 
 heard [ There is a gentle rap at the door. 
 
 Letty. 
 Oh! 
 
 \The knock is repeated and Nevill opens the door. 
 RuGG is in the corridor with a letter. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [To RuGG.] What are you doing there ? Why are you 
 still up ? 
 
 RuGG. 
 I beg pardon, sir. \_Handing Nevill the letter.'] I was 
 down-stairs, smoking a cigarette with Dale, the porter, 
 when a messenger brought this from the office in Picca- 
 dilly. I noticed it was Mrs. Crosbie's handwriting, sir, 
 and I thought it might be important. 
 
 [Nevill reads the letter. As he does so, his face 
 assumes a look of blank dismay. 
 
 RUGG. 
 
 I kept the lad, sir. Any answer, sir? 
 
 Nevill. 
 \^Irresolutely\ No — yes — yes. I'll ring. 
 
 [RuGG disappears, closing the door. Nevill siti 
 upon the settee on the left. 
 
LETTT 
 
 LETTy, 
 
 What is it ? Has anything happened ? 
 
 191 
 
 My — my sister - 
 
 Your sister - 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Nevill. 
 My sister, Florence ! She — she's gone. 
 
 Gone ? 
 
 Yes, she's bolted. 
 
 I— I don't - 
 
 No, j/ou don't 
 
 Nevill - 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Nevill. 
 . Tiny ! 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 [Rising' and speaking to her in a strange, hard voice!\ 
 You see, there's a young fellow who's very fond of her ; 
 and she's got a swine of a husband ; and Drake— that's 
 the boy — Drake and she had determined to end the 
 affair — to bid farewell to each other. The three of us 
 dined at the Regence 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Ah- 
 
192 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 I'd promised not to leave her, you see. She couldn't 
 trust herself; so I promised to stick to her. 
 
 Letty. 
 Didn't you ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 No, I — I broke my word. 
 
 Letty. 
 How ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 She and I were going on to Green Street, to a card- 
 party ; but when you appeared with Mandeville I — 
 [^pacing the room] I turned her over to Drake. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Follo'wing his movements.] You went to Green Street 
 — you told me 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Yes, and she'd been there, and left word that she'd 
 
 chucked it and gone home to bed. That was to put me 
 
 off, of course. I did drive down to Buckingham Gate — 
 
 she lives at Buckingham Gate — but the house was in 
 
 darkness and I naturally concluded [Siiling in the 
 
 chair on the further side of the table on the right and study- 
 ing the letter.] She was scribbling this to me, in Drake's 
 
 rooms, while I was staring up at her window ! Here ! 
 
 \She draws the other chair up to the table and seats her- 
 self. He reads the letter aloud.] " 12.30. Dearest Nevill. 
 Do help me by breaking the joyful news to Ivor. I've 
 tried, but under the circumstances the words won't sort 
 themselves. After all I am a genuine Letchmere, Nevill. 
 Coppy is taking me away with him and I am done-for." 
 [7(7 Letty.] "They're in his motor. \Scowling?] It was 
 
LETTY 193 
 
 in readiness ; he had intended travelling during the 
 
 night. \_Readin^.'\ " taking me avviiy with him and 
 
 1 am done-for. Now that tlie wrench is over, I feel 
 jollier than I have felt for the last five years." [Sur- 
 prised. \ Five years! [To Lett v.] She's been married 
 
 live years! {Heading.] " jollier than I have felt for 
 
 the last five years. But you were naughty — [after a 
 pause] you were naughty, to let me out of your sight." 
 [Hi passes his hand across his brow, then continues.] 
 " I borrowed a coat and hat from Helen Urquhart's 
 maid. Please give the woman a fiver for them on 
 Monday. yi^iWa— Coppy is fidgetting uie to death. Ever 
 your affectionate Tiny. P.S. — it's coming on to rain, so 
 we may have an ugly side-shp and break our silly necks. 
 
 A good job too!" [Risi7ig.'\ Ivor — Ivor [Sealing 
 
 himself at the writing-tabie.] Pardon me. 
 
 Letty. 
 [^IVho has risen with him.] Is he — the husband ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Yes. [At intervals, as he writes a note.'] Yes, he's her 
 husband . . . Ha ! . . . Where is the fel- 
 low ? . . . Sulking, as usual, over his gin-and-potash 
 at a club . . . the Junior, probably . . . Ply- 
 mouth gin is his tipple at two in the morning — with 
 lemon in it. [Pausing.] I must stop his turning-up here, 
 Letty, before noon at tlie earliest. Why shouldn't I be 
 driving down to Kew at daybreak, with the tidings, to 
 my father? That's credible. [Writing again.] How he'll 
 rave, when we do meet . . . and curse . . . 
 and weep! . . . Faugh! he drops out of my 
 world . . . Touch the bell, Letty. [She obeys him. 
 He folds his note.] Short and sweet. [^Enclosing it.] He's 
 got it short and sweet — no lemon in it. [Addressing the 
 
 envelope.] " Ivor — Greatorex — Crosbie " 
 
 [There is a knock at the door on the left andYjKllY 
 
194 LETTY 
 
 retreats to the other side of the room to escape 
 observation. Nevill opens the door upon 
 
 RUGG. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Giving him the note.\ To Buckingham Gate — no re- 
 ply. 
 
 RUGG. 
 
 Very good, sir. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Write a message on the blate downstairs : Mr. Letch- 
 mere is in to nobody tiil after mid day. 
 
 RuGG. 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Good-night, again. 
 
 RuGG. 
 Good-night, sir. 
 
 [Once more Nevill watches the man depart and, 
 upon hearing the outer door close, shuts the door 
 of the room. Letty advances to Nevill and 
 they confront each other for a few moments in 
 silence. Suddenly he breaks into a peal of 
 laughter. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Letty. 
 Hush ! don't ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Ha, ha, ha, ha! One more, gone the same road! 
 
LETTY 195 
 
 One more— genuine Letchmere! Yes, but I did tliink 
 she d succeed in sliaping a different course ; I was a 
 damned fool to thinlc it ; but — someliow — I did 
 
 Letty. 
 {Faintly.] Nevill ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 She was a dainty little tliiiifj, Letty. She is so still, for 
 
 that matter. {Pointing to a framed portrait which stands 
 
 on the piano and to another upon a cabinet on the left. \ 
 
 There she is — and there — over tliere. Oh, but as a 
 
 girl ! I've some pictures of her as a girl • 
 
 {He goes into the library and is heard opening and 
 shutting the drawers of an escritoi?-e. Letty 
 moves about the room agitatedly examining the 
 portraits (/Mrs. Crosbie. 
 
 Nevill. 
 {With growing passion^ Tiny! Tiny! li-ttle Tiny ! By 
 God, she was pretty — yes, and straight! And she'd 
 have remained straight if she had had half a chance. 
 That's it! My sister Florence hasn't had the ghost of a 
 chance. Crosbie ! We stood by and permitted her to 
 marry Crosbie ! We married her to Crosbie ! {Reap- 
 pearing.] He'd blast the soul of any woman breathing, 
 Crosbie would ! 
 
 {He comes from the library carrying some photo- 
 graphs, fratned and unframed. 
 
 Nevill. 
 {Handing her the photographs one by one.] There ! 
 look! isn't that fascinating? She was about seventeen 
 then — she wasn't out. Look at it ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Ah, yes. 
 
196 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 I wonder whether he'll behave well to her — Drake, I 
 mean. ^Giving' her another picture P^ Somewhat later. 
 You can judge how attractive she must have been. 
 Letty, DraUe'll deal honorably by her — he'll make her 
 his wife directly she's free, eh ? [Running his hand 
 through her hair.\ Ho! how should you know, my dear ? 
 I'll horsewhip him if he doesn't. You maik me, I'll 
 slash him across the face if he doesn't. Ah, there! 
 there's my favorite — \_showing her a small portrait in a 
 frame'] tlie year she was married 1 
 
 Letty. 
 Beautiful — beautiful 
 
 Nevill. 
 I ask you, isn't that the face of an innocent girl ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes, yes. 
 
 Nevill. 
 She's not to blame for this ; Crosbie's to blame. 
 That's the face of a pure woman, isn't it ? Isn't it ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [ Without premeditation, looking into the portrait in- 
 tently.] I believe I should have recognized her as your 
 sister anywhere. 
 
 Nevill. 
 What — you would ! • 
 
 Letty. 
 \_Covering the lower part of the picture with her hand.] 
 They're your eyes, aren't they ? 
 
LETTY 197 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Taking the portrait from her and viewing it with fresh 
 interest.'\ Why, yes, you're right — brother and sister! 
 [^Pityingly.'] Poor, frail little varmint ! Well, there's less 
 uiai) a couple of years between us, and she has Kept out 
 of the ditch till to-day ; that's beating the Letcliniere 
 
 record hollow. Oh ! \_Flinging the photographs on 
 
 to the settee upon the left.^ Mix me another whisky-and- 
 soda, Letty. 
 
 \_IIe sits upon the settee on the right, and she goes 
 to the table on the left and tremblingly prepares 
 his drink. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! Quite correct, Mr. Crosbie — we're all of 
 a pattern ! Quite correct, you stern censor of morals — 
 rotten to the core ! Oh, my lord ! I remember us as 
 children in the schoolroom at Withdene — Gerald, Hugh, 
 Gladys, Florence ! We seemed a nice, curly-headed 
 crew ! Oh, my lord ! 
 
 \She comes to him, eyeing him halfcuriously , half- 
 fearftclly, and presetiis him with his glass. 
 
 Nevill 
 
 Thanks 
 
 [j% takes the tumbler from her, not observing her, 
 and with his disengaged hand motions to draw 
 her ^own to his side. She shrinks away from, 
 his reach and seats herself in the chair in 
 which she has previously been sitting by l^^e 
 small table. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Thanks. \After a gulp at his drink — absorbed in his 
 reflections. '\ Yes — yes, and so it will be with that small 
 boy of mine — the young gentleman who, if he lives, will 
 some day be the bead of my distinguished family. He'll 
 begin life full of tlie most excellent resolves ; despising 
 
198 LETTY 
 
 his forbears — his mamma will teach him that ; deter- 
 mined to carry it through in fine, reputable style. And 
 tiien, of a sudden, the blood in him will assert itself and 
 he too will be a genuine Letchmere — a genuine, out-and- 
 c.Lit Letchmere ! Phew ! Still, would to God there had 
 befn one of us, if it had been only a woman, whom they 
 couldn't have cast in the boy's teeth ! But no, even 
 Tiny has failed us. \Rousing himself^to Letty.] She 
 was here in the afternoon, Letty, shortly before you 
 came. 
 
 Letty. 
 {Duliy.] She? 
 
 Nevill. 
 My sister, Florence — here, in this room. 
 
 Letty. 
 Was she ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Discussing with me our family imperfections! Ha; 
 yes! it's not many hours ago that I solemnly declared 
 my conviction — declared it honestly I — that it was re- 
 served for her to fly higher than the rest of us! Ho, 
 ho! What was it I said to her? [Gathering, with an 
 effort, the threads of his conversation with Flouence of 
 the First Act.'\ " We're rotten bad, every one of us — 
 men and women." "Every one of us?" she said — I 
 can hear her saying it; "isn't that a bit premature ? " 
 Premature! ha, ha! "I beg' your pardon," I said; 
 " not you, Tiny — you'll make a better show than the 
 others. \His voice softetiing.\ The family record is 
 monotonous reading, old girl ; you'll be the first to vary 
 it for heaven knows how many generations ! \Gazing 
 before him 'wistfully.\ And wlio can tell ! Old Nick 
 once kicked on the shins — once — oh, Tiny, Tiny, jusl 
 once — — / " 
 
LETTY 199 
 
 [She faces him abruptly and they stare at each 
 other for some seconds, interpreting each other s 
 thoughts. Then she gets to her feet and goes 
 swiftly to the chair on the left. There she sits, 
 and in a hurried, resolute manner, rids herself 
 of the slippers she is wearing and pulls on her 
 shoes. Laying his glass aside, he rises and 
 walks across to her. 
 
 Nevill. 
 What are you doing ? \She rises.] What are you 
 doing? 
 
 Letty. 
 I Under her breath.\ Novv's the time — now. If you 
 
 saved me ! Ah, do ! 
 
 \She hastens to the table on the right, collects her 
 hair-pins, and screws up her hair. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Don't be absurd, Letty. Letty, don't be absurd. 
 You've misunderstood me. I was speaking of what 
 another might be capable of. It would be ratlier late in 
 the day for m,e to play the saint! No, no; leave your 
 hat alone. Don't be absurd. Sit down. 
 
 [Not heeding him, she puts on her hat and fetches 
 her cape from the back of the room. Slipping 
 the cape over her shoulders, she searches for her 
 gloves. She discovers them upon the settee on 
 the right, -picks them up, and turns towards the 
 door — to find Nevill standing before it. She 
 halts. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [After a pause.] You are making yourself ridiculous. 
 Take those things off again. Sit down. 
 
 Letty. 
 [In a murmur.] Mr. Letchmere . . . Now's your 
 
200 LETTy 
 
 time ... be good to me . . . save a woman 
 
 . once . . . I 
 [ There is a further silence ; then he advances to her 
 slowly. Quakingly she holds her ground. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 [ Withdrawing his eyes from her.\ Well — you may go 
 back to your lodgings. 
 
 Letty. 
 Ah ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Moving\ I — I'll change my coat and see you to your 
 door. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Clutching his sleeve.'\ No, no ; don't stir. Stay wheie 
 
 you are ; don't come with me. Don't let us — risk 
 
 [He allows her to pass him. She glances at him 
 over her shoulder, and then a mutual feeling 
 draws them together and they embrace. Finally, 
 he releases her and she goes quietly away. He 
 follows her into the corridor and looks after her. 
 Presently the outer door slams and he returns, 
 and, first carefully closing the door of the room, 
 seats himself upon the settee on the left, his head 
 bowed in thought. 
 
 END OF THE FOURTH ACT. 
 
THE EPILOGUE 
 
 The scene represents a waiting-room in the establishment 
 of a thriving photographer. In the wall at the back, 
 on the left, is a door — the upper part of which is 
 glazed with ornamental glass — opening into the room 
 from, a landing. On the right, also in the back wall, 
 are folding-doors admitting to a further apartment. 
 In the wall on the right-hand side is a fireplace — where 
 a bright fire is burning — and against the opposite wall, 
 facing the fireplace, ate a console-table and mirror. 
 
 The decorations and furniture have the appearance of 
 newness. On the left, near the spectator, is a table lit- 
 tered with zmmounted photographs and the materials for 
 " touching" them. A chair stands before the table. 
 Further away is an easel bearing a large portrait, 
 and close to the single door there is a combined um- 
 brella-and-hat stand. Against the back wall, between 
 the doors, is a cabinet ; and on the right there is a 
 large circular table upon which lie a number of albums . 
 Comfortable chairs are placed round and about this ■ 
 table; an armchair faces the fire ; and other chairs 
 occupy the spaces on the right and left of the mantel- 
 piece and console-table. The walls are almost entirely 
 covered with photographs in frames ; and there are 
 framed portraits upon the mantelpiece, the cabinet and 
 the console-table. 
 It is daylight. 
 
 [Marion, her hands encased in mittens, is seated at 
 the table on the left " touching" some photo- 
 graphs, while Ordish is engaged in arranging 
 the contents of a drawer in the cabinet at the 
 
202 LETTY 
 
 back: His appearance has changed for the bet- 
 ter, his clothes being in excellent condition, and 
 his hair and beard jieatly trimmed. Ihere is 
 a shrill whistle from a speaking-tube beside the 
 fireplace. Ordish ■whistles in response, and 
 puts his ear to the tube. 
 
 Ordish. 
 \To Marion.] Miss Saint Maur. 
 
 Marion. 
 Her basket can be carried up-stairs. Mr. Perry will 
 have arrived before slie has changed her gown. 
 
 Ordish. 
 [Speaking into the tube.'] Is that you, Miss Vickary? 
 [Having obtained a reply.\ Burton has gone upon an 
 errand, has he ? [After listening again.^ Then take Sim- 
 mons off the windows. Tell him he must lend a hand 
 with the lady's dress-basket. Number Three room. 
 
 [The door on the left opens and Hilda enters, 
 richly attired in winter garments, followed by a 
 maid carrying a jewel-bag. 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 [Shaking hands with Marion, who rises. ] How are you 
 to-day, Miss AUardyce? [2'o Ordish.] Good-morning, 
 Mr. Ordish. 
 
 Ordish. 
 Good-morning, Miss Saint Maur. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [To her maid, sternly^ Now, you get 'em to show you 
 the way to the dressing-room 
 
 Ordish. 
 [Moving to the folding-doors. \ Follow me, please. 
 
LETTY 203 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 [ Unlocking the Jewel-bag with a key attached to a brace- 
 let she is wearing.] After you've unpacked the trunk, you 
 can lay my jewellery out upon the table. And don't go 
 dropping any more diamond stars on the floor, if you can 
 possibly help it. 
 
 [The maid flounces away and disappears, with 
 Ordish, through the folding- doors. 
 
 Hilda. 
 \To Marion.] Cheeky little baggage ! I'm astonished 
 she didn't give me one of her back answers. 
 
 Marion. 
 \Icily.\ Does she do so, as a rule? 
 
 Hilda. 
 Does she ! Slie put out her tongue at me last night ; 
 I saw the reflection in the looking-glass. Ladies' lives 
 are rendered perfectly unendurable by their maids. 
 That trollop's my third in six weeks. 
 
 Marion. 
 Really? 
 
 Hilda. 
 What a buck Jimmy Ordish is growing ! You might 
 do worse, Polly ; you and he ought to come to an agree- 
 ment. 
 
 We have. 
 
 No ! have you ? 
 
 Marion. 
 Hilda. 
 
 Marion. 
 [Sitting and resuming her work.] Yes — to mind our 
 own concerns. 
 
204 LKTTY 
 
 Hilda. 
 Oh, don't be so tart — no affront intended. [Seating 
 herself at the round table.'\ Ouf! You hardly expected 
 to see me again as soun as this, 1 suppose ? 
 
 Marion. 
 Most of Mr. Perry's sitters return, I am glad to say. 
 
 Hilda. 
 There's been such a rusli on my pictures ever since we 
 produced our new show. That Ompeer gown of mine 
 seems to have knocked 'em completely. And Perry was 
 pretty successful with me when 1 first patronized him. 
 
 Makion. 
 Most successful. 
 
 Hilda. 
 [Consulting « jewelled waich^ He needn't havs 
 dragged me here, though, at this unearthly hour if he 
 couldn't attend to me on the tick. My appointment's 
 eleven. 
 
 Marion. 
 Something has detained him, evidently — a fog on the 
 line, may be. 
 
 Hilda. 
 On the line ? 
 
 Marion. 
 They don't live here any longer ; we require all our 
 available space for business purposes. They've bought 
 a httle villa at Neasden. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Neasden ! What a fate ! However, if she's satis- 
 fied ! It was you who used to cram the suburbs 
 
 down her throat in the old days, wasn't it? 
 
LETTY 205 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Il was. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Well, the best end of Oxford Street is good enough for 
 me, notwithstanding the rents. Two-hundred-and-fifty 
 a year for three rooms you couldn't swing a cat in ! 
 
 Marion. 
 Dreadful ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 And a quarter always paid in advance. And would 
 you credit it — I'm not allowed to pick out the simplest 
 tune on the piano after twelve-thirty A. M. ! And why ? 
 Because I happen to be an actress ! 
 
 Marion. 
 
 One doesn't want to play the piano after that hour, 
 luckily. • , 
 
 Hilda. 
 There's no knowing ; you may, if you're feeling 
 down in the mouth. {Sentimentally ."l Ah, my dear, I 
 often dream I'm back at Ma Watkins's, and catch myself 
 wishing it was reality. 
 
 Marion. 
 [ Turning to her.^ You do ? 
 
 Hilda. 
 The greatest triumphs have their — what-d'ye-call- 
 'ems? — their penalties, I can assure you; and even I 
 suffer from the blues now and again. 
 
 Marion. 
 \Earnestly.\ Hilda, why not — why not — give it up ? 
 
206 LETTY 
 
 Hilda. 
 Retire from the stage ! 
 
 Marion. 
 [Dryly.'] Yes — retire from the stage. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Out of the question, my dear! If you're born with 
 talent, you've got to go where talent leads you. Thank 
 your stars you're not gifted. 
 
 Marion. 
 I am profoundly thankful. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Ignorant persons imagine that a theatrical career is an 
 easy, dolly -far-nienty sort of a life. Far from it, let 'em 
 take it from me ! Turning out in all weathers, with your 
 coachman in liquor occasionally ! And how many times 
 d'ye think I change my dress ijrthe course of an even- 
 ing, to make no mention of mat'neys ? Guess ! 
 
 Marion. 
 I can't. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Eight — and a hundred-and-seventy-three stairs to 
 mount to do it. 
 
 Marion. 
 The exercise should keep you in health. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Health ! You can't tax brain and muscle to that ex- 
 tent ; it must end in a break-down, sooner or later. 
 
 Marion. 
 Brain ? 
 
LETTY 207 
 
 Hilda. 
 Yes, brain. \Lofiily.] There's a rumor flying about 
 the theatre that I'm to be given some words to speak at 
 Easter. 
 
 [Perry — now somewhat portly and with a florid 
 complexion — bustles in at the door on the left. 
 He is wearing a cape, woollen gloves, and a 
 comforter. 
 
 Perry. 
 [^Removing an artistic hat as he enters?^ Ah, my dear 
 Miss Saint Maur ! a hundred thousand pardons ! [Shak- 
 ing hands with Hilda.] Inexpressibly sorry if I have 
 kept you waiting. Good-morning, Miss Allardyce. \To 
 Hilda.] Tlie fact is, we missed our usual train. A tri- 
 fling matter of a domestic nature — but Mrs. Perry will 
 
 explain 
 
 [Letty, also in wintry out-of-door attire, enters 
 breathlessly — rosy-cheeked, buxom, a picture of 
 healthy young-womanhood. She advances to 
 Hilda and shakes hands with her, though with 
 some constraint. 
 
 Letty. 
 How are you, Hilda? You'll forgive Mr. Perry for 
 being late, I hope. It's my fault entirely. 
 
 Perry. 
 
 [ Taking off his over-things and laying them on a chair. \ 
 Scarcely, my darling. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 {Kissing Marion affectionately. \ Good-morning. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Nothing amiss at home ? 
 
 Letty. 
 
 \Giving her hat, coat, and gloves to Marion.] Baby 
 
208 LEITY 
 
 was inclined to be ratlier fretful — the least suspicion of a 
 
 cold 
 
 [Ordish reappears, entering at the folding- doors. 
 
 Perry. 
 \To Ordish.] Good-morning to you, Mr. Ordish. 
 
 Letty. 
 Morning, Jimmy. 
 
 Perry. 
 \To Ordish.] Is my capable lieutenant, Mr. Fitz- 
 gerald, in the studio ? 
 
 Ordish. 
 He is. 
 
 Perry. 
 \Coniing to Hilda, who rises.'\ A superb toilette, if I 
 may venture upon a criticism ! Why should not our initial 
 essay be to secure a representation of Miss Saint Maur 
 as she appears in private life ? 
 
 Ordish. 
 An excellent notion, sir ! 
 
 Hilda. 
 I am agreeable. 
 
 Perry. 
 Ha ! I anticipate striking results. 
 
 \He turns away and blows into the speaking-tube. 
 Hilda advances to Letty. 
 
 Hilda. 
 \To Letty.] Shall I find you here when I come down ? 
 If so, we could have a jaw. 
 
LETTY 209 
 
 Letty. 
 \Glaticing at the table on the left, uneasily i\ I — I have 
 to be busy. 
 
 Hilda. 
 Pity. You are looking blooming, I must admit. Got 
 a little shanty at Harrow, she tells me. 
 
 Letty. 
 Neasden. 
 
 Hilda. 
 I might take a drive in your direction one Sunday and 
 see the child. What's its name ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Avoiding her eye. \ Enid . 
 
 Marion. 
 I am her god-mother. 
 
 Hilda. 
 {Gathering her furs round her.'] I'm not over-fond of 
 cootsey-cootseying, but 1 shall enjoy a cackle. [Nod- 
 ding.] So-long. Ta, ta ! 
 
 [She joins Ordish a?td they pass out together 
 through the folding-doors. 
 
 Perry. 
 
 [Speaking into the tube.\ Kindly inform me, Miss 
 Vickary, what appointments have been made for me be- 
 fore luncheon. 
 
 Letty. 
 I To Marion — sitting at the table on the left and digging 
 her fingers into her hair.] Oh, I'm a brute ! a brute! 
 
210 LETTY 
 
 Marion. 
 [ To Letty.] No, you're not ; you didn't actually for- 
 bid tlie woman to visit you. 
 
 \_Thcy continue talking in undertones. 
 
 Perry. 
 {^Speaking into the tube.\ Mrs. Craik — eleven-thirty. 
 Colonel Holroyd — twelve. Miss Mainwaring— half-past. 
 Am I accurate ? \Listening.'\ Oh, Drake — not Craik. 
 \^Speaking.'\ Mrs. Drake — not Craik; I comprehend. 
 If Mrs. Drake is punctual, I can dispose of that lady 
 while Miss Saint Maur is assuming her professional 
 costume. \^Listening.'\ Yes. \_SpeakingI\ I am obliged. 
 \As he leaves the speaking-tube, Marion goes out 
 at the folding-doors carrying\SE.lT\' s hat, coat, 
 and gloves. Letty is now applying herself 
 methodically to the touching of the photographs. 
 Perry takes up his hat, cape, etc., and comes 
 to her. 
 
 Perry. 
 Lunch at one, darling? 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes, Dick. 
 
 Perry. 
 
 Till then 
 
 \She throws her head back and he kisses her. 
 Again there is a whistle from the speaking- 
 tube. He hurries to the tube and blows in 
 reply. 
 
 Perry. 
 \Alternately listening and speaking into the titbe.] Oh ! 
 ah ! hey ? No, no, certainly not ; my personal services 
 will be at her disposal in two minutes. 
 
 [He disappears rapidly through the folding-doors. 
 
LETTY 211 
 
 Letty Aums an air cheerfully as she proceeds 
 ■with her task. Presently a knock is heard at 
 the door on the left. 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes ? Coine in. 
 
 [ The door is opened by Florence — a beautifully- 
 dressed, faded woman with some gray in her 
 hair and the lines of discontent about her mouth. 
 
 Florence. 
 [Entering — listlessly.\ They send me up to the first- 
 floor. Is this the room ? 
 
 Letty. 
 \Rising.\ You have an appointment, I believe, 
 madam .'' 
 
 Florence. 
 Half-past-eleven. 
 
 Letty. 
 [Indicating a seat at the table.] Pray take a seat. Mr. 
 Perry will be at liberty shortly. [Florence sits and lifts 
 her veil as Letty opens one of the albums and lays it be- 
 fore her.] Perhaps it would interest yon to glance at 
 these while you are waiting. [Mending the fire.] What 
 exceedingly severe weather we are having, madam! 
 
 Florence. 
 Very. [Letty returns to the door to close it.] You need 
 not shut the door. My brotlier is with me. He likes to 
 take his own time in mounting stairs. 
 
 [Letty stands holding the handle of the door, and 
 by and by Nevill appears walking slowly and 
 feebly. His shouldets are bent, his cheeks thin 
 and drawn, and altogether he has the air of an 
 invalid. 
 
212 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 [To Letty, courteously.^ Ah, don't trouble 
 
 [He has passed her before the light of recognition 
 flashes into his face. Then he tu?-ns and they 
 gaze at each other for a moment in silence. 
 Finally he crosses to the fireplace and stretches 
 out his hands to the fire. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Ah— h— h ! 
 
 Florence. 
 [Raising her eyes from the album, reprovingly.] Why 
 didn't you remain in the carriage, Nevill? 
 
 Nevill. 
 \_Gaily, but in a weak voice.'] Grant me this small in- 
 dulgence. Let me remind myself that I once won my 
 College mile. [Ensconcing himself in the armchair and 
 drawing it close to the fire.] A glorious blaze ! 
 
 [Letty has resumed her seat at the table on the 
 left. Marion re-enters at the folding-doors, 
 and, barely glancing at the other occupants of 
 the room, comes to her. 
 
 Marion. 
 [ To Letty, pointing to the litter on the table — in an un- 
 dertone.] Shall I push on with some of this stuff down- 
 stairs ? 
 
 Eh? 
 
 What's wrong? 
 
 Wrong ? 
 
 Letty. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Letty. 
 
LETTY 213 
 
 Marion. 
 Aren't you up to much to-day? 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes. What were you asking? 
 
 Marion. 
 Shall I help you by marching off with a heap of these ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Will you? [Giving her a roll of phuiographs.'] Make 
 a mem, Polly, that the proofs of Mrs. An'struther's min- 
 iature have to catch the country post to-night without 
 fail. 
 
 Marion. 
 Right, dear. 
 
 \^As Marion goes out at the door on the left, 
 OKDian presents himself at the folding-doors. 
 
 Ordish. 
 
 \Standing within the adjoining room — to Florence.] 
 Mrs. Drake? 
 
 Florence. 
 Yes? 
 
 Ordish. 
 Will you come this i(vay ? 
 
 Florence. 
 \Rising — to Nevill.] At any rate, there's no necessity 
 for you to cHmb higher. \Coaxingly^ I shouldn't, were 
 I you. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Froin the depths of the chair.] I won't, if you'll dis- 
 oense with my attendance. [ Waving a thin, zvhite 
 
214 LETTY 
 
 ■hand.] I invoke blessings on the operation ! Look your 
 
 sweetest. 
 
 Florence. 
 [Bitterly.] Ha ! 
 
 [She follows OiiDiSH, and the folding-doors are 
 closed. After a brief pause, Nevill — who has 
 been unconscious of the coming and going of 
 Marion and Ordish — takes his eyes from the 
 fire and glances round the room. Seeing that 
 he is alo7ie with Letty, he rises and approaches 
 her. She also rises, hearing his footsteps, and 
 they confront one another. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Gently^ Are you employed here ? 
 
 Letty. 
 I — I am Mrs. Perry. 
 
 Nevill. 
 The wife ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes. 
 
 Nevill. 
 You are married to the proprietor of this establish- 
 ment ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes. 
 
 Nevill. 
 I congratulate you, sincerely. On all sides I hear Mr. 
 Perry's work spoken of in tlie warmest terms. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 t 
 
 He is becoming very widely known. He is not only 
 clever, but painstaking. You — you remember him ? 
 
LET-rr 215 
 
 Nevill. 
 I ? I fear — no 
 
 Lettv. 
 [Awkwardly.'] He was at the Cafe Regence one 
 night— when 
 
 Nevill. 
 Ah ? \Racking his brains.] A fair young gentleman ! 
 
 Letty. 
 No, no ; you are thinking of Mr. Neale. Charley 
 Neale went out to South Africa ; he's — poor fellow 
 
 Nevill. 
 Of course ! Perry ! Mr. Perry ! And I had helped 
 him earlier in the day with his camera ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes, yes. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Wiih a gesture.] Rather — er — of medium height ? 
 
 Letty. 
 That is he. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Good gracious ! I remember him clearly. Two years 
 ago, quite ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Two years and a half. \ Busying herself with the litter 
 on her table.] It was in the middle of summer. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Why, yes — June \I-fe walks away to the table on the 
 
 right. There is a pause.] Let me see, you were in the 
 stock-broking world in those days? 
 
216 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 If you can call it stock-broking. I — I was a clerk at 
 Dugdale's. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Dugdale's — yes, yes, yes. I presume you chucked 
 Mr. Mandeville — ^pulling hiimelf up\ er — you left Dug- 
 dale's ? 
 
 Letty. 
 I never went back there after I — after I — ceased know- 
 ing you. I had an illness, for one reason. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Did you? I — I'm grieved. You were delicate, I 
 recollect. 
 
 Letty. 
 Not over strong. 
 
 Nevill. 
 But are thoroughly robust now ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Half-turning to him, smilingly.^ Isn't it plain that I 
 am? 
 
 Nevill. 
 It is, indeed. And having recovered from your ilU 
 ness ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Mr. Perry was setting-up business here in Baker Street 
 — his uncle'was backing him ; that enabled him to strike 
 out — and he required some young ladies — some girls of 
 passable appearance 
 
 Nevill. 
 I understand. And — and ultimately ? 
 
LETTY 217 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes. 
 
 Nevill. 
 You — you and he ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [/« a low voice.'] When I had been with him about 
 six months. 
 
 Nevill. 
 And you are happy ? The question is superfluous. 
 
 Letty. 
 Perfectly happy. He is such a good little man — that 
 is, such a good man. 
 
 Nevill. 
 My impression of him is distinctly pleasant. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 [With feeling.'] He's funny ; but, oh, so kind ! We — 
 we live at Neasden. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [ Vaguely.] Neasden ? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Nodding.] The Laurels, our house is called. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Really ? 
 
 Letty. 
 It had no name when we purchased it ; it was merely 
 Number Fourteen. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Slightly puzzled by her manner^ Fourteen ? 
 
218 LETTY 
 
 Letty. 
 
 [ With drooling /ids.] It was my husband's idea to call 
 it The Laurels ; and his idea also — also 
 
 Nevill. 
 Also ? 
 
 Letty. 
 That our daughter should be christened Enid. 
 
 Nevill. 
 A daughter ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Yes. 
 
 Nevill. 
 You have a daughter ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Just under a year old. A dear little thing. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [With, a polite inclination of the head.] Resembhng 
 her 
 
 Letty. 
 \Simply^ Her papa. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 {Consolingly.] Ah, well, she'll grow 
 ' They laugh together, her eyes 
 
 first time. Suddenly she checks herself and is 
 
 [ They faugh together, her eyes meeting his for the 
 first ti ' 
 silent. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Eh? 
 
 Letty. 
 I run on, talking of myself. Will you excuse me - 
 
LETTY 219 
 
 Nevill. 
 Certainly. 
 
 Letty. 
 I — I am afraid you have been an invalid more recently 
 than I. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Oh, I — I am as fit as a fiddle. 
 
 Letty. 
 Hush! no, no. What's the matter — please 1 
 
 Nevill. 
 [ With a smt/e.] Home-sicUness — if you will wring it 
 from me. 
 
 Letty. 
 Homesickness ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 [Grtmacm^-.] They are sending me away, Mrs. 
 Perry. 
 
 Letty. 
 Why? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Because I caught a trumpery cold at Harrogate in 
 August. Upon my word, they've no other justification. 
 Yes, they are packing me off to a place in Germany— a 
 beastly place in Germany ■ 
 
 Letty. 
 In Germany ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Where I am to be compelled to dwell almost entirely 
 in the open air 
 
220 LETTY 
 
 LETTlf. 
 
 [^Under her breath.'\ Oh ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Where I shall receive innumerable suspiciously cheery 
 letters from the men at my club, planning gaieties for my 
 return ; where I shall scribble equally light-hearted 
 epistles in reply, deahng humorously with the ghastly 
 comedy of my surroundings ! 
 
 Letty. 
 \MoHoning him to sit, tremblingly. \ Don't stand ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 However, out of evil ! Do I not owe this en- 
 counter to my approaching banishment? By bringing 
 my sister here this morning, I provide myself not only 
 with what will doubtless prove a charming specimen of 
 Mr. Perry's talent — I carry with me to Nordrach tlie assur- 
 ance of the welfare of a young lady in whom I shall re- 
 main interested as long as the affairs of this world interest 
 me at all. 
 
 \^He seats himself in a chair at the table on the 
 right. She produces her handkerchief and, with- 
 out attempt at concealment, wipes away her 
 tears. 
 
 Letty. 
 When — when do you leave ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Brightly^ I am borne hence this day week by Mrs. 
 Drake — in a bundle. 
 
 Letty. 
 Mrs. Drake — Mrs. Drake is your sister Florence ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Yes. 
 
LETTY 221 
 
 Letty. 
 I heard my husband nientioii a Mrs. Drake as being 
 among his morning's sitters, but it didn't strilie me to 
 connect her with you. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Naturally. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 He did marry her, then ? I beg your pardon — I 
 
 nfean, she married again ? 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Frowning.] In due course. 
 
 Letty. 
 Is she happy, at last? Ah, I hope so. 
 
 Nevill. 
 My dear Mrs. Perry, is anybody happy — save yourself? 
 Poor Tiny ! a more unsatisfactory beggar than Mr. Cop- 
 pinger Drake doesn't walk the earth. Whew ! I am 
 
 denied the luxury of getting into a rage 
 
 [He rises and crosses to the left, where he surveys 
 the litter upon the fable scmvlingly. As he 
 moves, she goes to the folding-doors, opens them 
 an inch or two, and listens. 
 
 Letty. 
 
 [After a pause. | Mr. Letchmere. [He turns to her.] 
 One more question. 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 No, no — a dozen. 
 
 Letty. 
 Your little son — your boy ? Is he well ? 
 
222 LETTY 
 
 Nevill. 
 [Eagerly.'l Ha ! that he is. By Jove, Mrs. Perry, that 
 fellow is a strapping chap ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Ah? 
 
 Nevill. 
 He was at my rooms yesterday. They've brought him 
 to me regularly of late. He turns up again on Thursday 
 — to bid me good-bye. He's full of excellent promise, 
 they tell me. [Dropping his voice.] I wonder ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Don't ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 
 Don't ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Don't wonder ; be sure. 
 
 Nevill. 
 [LigMy.] Ha, ha ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Oh, be sure, be sure ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 \Tkoughtfully .\ We shall see — others will see. 
 
 \_She listens again at the folding-doors, then closes 
 them and returns to him. 
 
 Letty. 
 \Her hands clasped tightly.] Your sister will be down 
 -soon. Mr. Letchmere ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 Yes? 
 
LETXr 223 
 
 Letty. 
 You are glad, you say, to carry away with you the 
 knowledge of my welfare? 
 
 Nevill. 
 Glad — comforted. 
 
 Letty. 
 I want to give you something else to take with you — a 
 keepsake — a memento 
 
 Nevill. 
 A memento ? 
 
 Letty. 
 A mere word for you to bear in mind constantly. I 
 want you to appreciate thoroughly one fact — that I 
 realize to whom I owe my welfare. It is scarcely prob- 
 able that you and I will meet often in the future ; it is 
 possible — we may — never 
 
 Nevill. 
 Quite possible. 
 
 Letty. 
 I should like you to Ciirry with you, then, as almost 
 the last word you ever heard me utter — this word 
 
 Nevill. 
 What word, my dear ? 
 
 Letty. 
 Thanks. I was very foolish when — when you knew 
 me, worse than foolish ; and now I find myself, as it 
 were, in harbor — thiough no desert of my own. I have 
 married in my proper rank, an honest man who is de- 
 voted to me ; we have a child ; we are tolerably pros- 
 perous. We shall live, God willing, the humdrum lives 
 
224 LFA'TY 
 
 of "respectable people"; and if old age is granted 
 to us, we shall nod over our winter fire, and doze in our 
 garden in summer, as meel< and humble a white-haired 
 couple as could be met with out of an almshouse. As 
 true as I stand here, instead of scoffing at these things as 
 I would have scoffed at them two-years-and-a-half ago, 
 I believe in them as being the richest gifts this world can 
 bestow. \^Df awing herself up to her full height and offer- 
 ing him her hand.\ Thanks. 
 
 Nevill. 
 I shall ca.rry your word with me, Mrs. Perry ; I cherish 
 the possession of it. [Releasing her hand.'] Thanks. The 
 man would be fortunate who, upon his death-bed, could 
 recall having earned that word, spoken with the signifi- 
 cance you attach to it, not once but a score of times. 
 
 Letty. 
 Perhaps. But — once will suffice. 
 
 Nevill. 
 Ha ! I wonder ! 
 
 Letty. 
 Don't — be sure. Be sure ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 I will try to be, my dear. 
 
 [Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, she 
 moves to the fireplace as Florence andOwvii^w 
 enter at the folding-doors. Ordish goes to the 
 door on the left and, opening the door, waits 
 therefor Florence to precede him. 
 
 Florence. 
 [ To Nevill.] Have I taxed your patience ? 
 
 Nevill, 
 Not in the least. 
 
LETTr 225 
 
 Florence. 
 [To Letty.J You have my address? 
 
 Letty. 
 [Advancing to her^ Yes, madam. 
 
 Florence. 
 Mr. Perry pledges himself to be quick. 
 
 Letty. 
 You may rely upon us, madam. 
 
 Florence. 
 Good-morning. 
 
 Letty. 
 Good-morning, madam. 
 
 [Florence departs, Okdish following her. 
 
 Nevill. 
 \To 'Lktty , pointing to Ordish.] Why, ^^ is an old 
 acquaintance of mine too ! 
 
 Letty. 
 l^Ai the door.] Yes — Jimmy Ordish. And Marion is 
 down-stairs, in the shop. Marion ! 
 
 Nevill. 
 [^Pausing in the doorway and looking at her smilingly. ^ 
 You forget no one. 
 
 Letty. 
 \_Reinrning his gaze steadily.'^ No — I forget no one. 
 
 \He passes out. She closes the door and stands 
 leaning against it, staring into space. 
 
 the end. 
 
^y 
 
 A^ y 
 
 / 
 
m^^ nwrnwis ^VLxu 
 
 ^fr — ' — ' — ~ ^^^~ 
 
 I .''''f TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER |a,; 190^. 
 
 NEWS OF THE THEATRES 
 
 •^LBTTY," latest PINEItO PLAY, 
 PRODUCED AT THE HUDSON. 
 
 jWUllam Faversham Aoqalts Himself Ad- 
 
 ! mlrably ana Miss Carlotta TilUson In 
 
 Some of Her Scenes was Remarkably 
 
 Good, bnt It Remained fot- Miss Olive 
 
 Oliver to Strike the Truest Note In the 
 
 Play— As a Drapa It Is Inferior tp 
 
 I Both "The Gay Lord Quex" and "Iris" i 
 
 I —Its Theme Is Sordid and It Lackg 
 
 a Single T^ote of Real Passion. 
 
 L. 
 
 !■ The moral of Piiiero's " Letty "seems to be: 
 { "Be good and perhaps you may marry the, 
 j poor photographer.' Interesting as last 
 I night's performaiiee at the Hudson was' 
 from every point of vie-w, the evening closed - 
 , with a sense of disappointment that so 
 I bruliant a dramatist and so supreme a 
 I craftsman should have wasted four long 
 I acts on a problem -w-hioh remains unsolved. 
 In fact, unless "lietty" is to be regarded as 
 another and superiof version of "A Working 
 Girl's Wrongs" it is just a. little difficult 
 for the audience to gather exactly what 
 [the problem was. But then, as a woman in the 
 [audience remarked, it certainly was a 
 problem play, because there were such 
 [yftrds and yards of talk. Seriously, how- 
 lever "Letty" has all of Pinero's harshest 
 and most bitter tones, and as sordid and 
 unattractive a set of characters as ever 
 trod a stage, without toy of the brilliancy 
 of "Lord Quex" oi- /the big, though 
 sombre, notes o( "Iris" to atone for them. 
 i To mention it in the same breath with 
 ! "The Seep nd Mrs. Tanqueray" would savpr 
 jot artistio sacrilege. It lacks passion. 
 To be sure, Letty, the little bucket shop 
 cl^k, loves her Nevill Letc^mere in her own 
 little two-and-six-penny way, but through- 
 •<5ut she seems far more flattered that a gen- 
 _; :I;: '...,: rtr"!"-; herNsut and 
 ..f,-,-,.^-,„».. ^„™.,r ,„m^ ghe is to eet 
 
lover fe already a Mixia^i.^'sy. ^^... ^,-_.- >i,^, 
 iotta ifillson, who played Leity last night, 
 gave in many ways a remarkably clever. 
 ■j|jertormanoe. In the scene on the housetop, 
 yrhen Letchrhere tells her that he is already, 
 married, she acted so oonvlncinrfy that -with^ 
 Mr. Faversham's aid this scene baoame the ' 
 most impressive of the play. But somehow , 
 she just missed making Leftj/a big portrayal. I 
 FoK one thing, partly on account of a clumsy 
 make-Up, the character was allowed to be i 
 atl;raotive enough to win the audiei\oe; j 
 th^n, in the second place, she imitated j 
 jlrS. Fiske so boldly and at times,) 
 so ludicrously that the spectators fre- 
 quently foi-got the real.yojth of her pe^-! 
 formance in watching the intricate details ; 
 of her imitation. It would he, interesting 
 to know what Mrs. Fiske, who sat' in front, 
 thought of it, all. Mr. Faver8ham,on the 
 ;pther hand,as lieitchmere,did the best piece j 
 of acting which he has shown siince he 
 fir^t won Broad*ay many years ago as 
 Prince Ernil in "Aristocracy." The one 
 big scene of "Letty" falls to his share. It ^ 
 occurs in the fourth act where Letty comes , 
 i to his room, at -midnight, lets down her ; 
 back hair and consents to become his mis- ^ 
 tress. A note arrives informing Letckmere' 
 that his married sister, the only decent mem- 
 *ber of his whole tolten family, as he. 
 'himself expresses It, has bolted with a haiad- ! 
 somer man. IJis rago and fuiy as he thinks j 
 of her ruined life awaken Letty to her own j 
 8ituaX}on,^axid sh^ pe^^uades him to let her j 
 go home to her old/ld^inits at once. It is | 
 a Scene of masci^line hysteria of -great, 
 length and immense variety. Mr. Faver- ! 
 sham struck nearly all th^ notes of it soundly ' 
 with one exception. V/heh he picked up his i 
 sister's phptogra$)h8 and showed' her to ! 
 Letty as she looked as a young pure girl j 
 he! Jaokld tenderness. The same note was ; 
 lacking in his love scenes with Letty, butl 
 : iaone the less he gave a very fine perform- 5 
 ,'ancp, which deservedly raises him several < 
 grades as an artist. Charles Frohman has i 
 ' selected the cast with great ceire; it { 
 ' proved a fine all-round company, and 
 'in ' spite ' of the excellence of both 
 . Miss NUlson and Mr. Faveraham it remained 
 •for one of the minor artists to sound the 
 'one big honest note of the night. When 
 ' Letty decides to remain in Letchmere'a rooms 
 t indefinitely her friend and roommate, PoUy, 
 decides to leave her. The one unselfish 
 jtand really dece'-<.a'a«.«»«...-,L-a-, ,« . • ■■ , 
 
^* yiji* ii^^L w a^ i^ t^'^i^uUMjay tendeT&oi that it ^, 
 awoke the house and gave them the one 
 genuine thrill of the night. The easiest, or ! 
 ^trhat actors caU the fattest, r61e fell to Miss ' 
 Julie Opp, who played a cheap and nasty [ 
 I dresglnaker'S assistant, -who eventually de-, 
 velops into a musical comedy show girl. ; 
 Ijlto this rdle Pinero has thrown a large 
 proportion of the comedy line& of the piece, jj 
 [But Miss Opp played the part with too 
 little variety, and her cockney accent might 
 have been made in .Germany, so completely 
 I foreign was it to Bow Bells. As the night '< 
 wore on this tfile became tiresome. In- 
 [finitely more artistic were the sketches' 
 I of two of Letty'i other suitors, an insurance 
 agent and a young salesman, as played 
 I by Sydney Herbert arid Tom Terriss, and 
 ' as Letchmere'e erring sister Miss Katijerin^ 
 Florence gave a most excellent per{oTta4'i\ 
 ', ance. The other cOmedy rble, a 'Hebi'ew*^ 
 I loounder, was played by Arthur Playf air • 
 I in a manper which remincied you of fi i 
 series of subway explosions. He over- ,! 
 acted the part- out of all rea- 
 I son, but the audience enjoyecl'j 
 him bciBause he was the nearest approach ] 
 i to gayety that there was in the perform- 
 I ance. Mr. • Robert Hilliard could have J 
 I made this r6le a genuine character study. 
 Mr. piayfair brought it perilously close to ; 
 i caricature. ^ 
 
 ■ How "Letty" wiU appeal to the average i 
 j autjience remains to bb seen. After all, 
 , there is only one Pinero, and' whatever he 
 does must make( some sort of an appeal 
 to all lovers of the theatre. But frankly,! 
 " Letty" is liot even his second best. The third 
 ' act, with its fight in the. restaurant, failed 
 to carry any conviction. In its pugilistic , 
 j details with the waiters in the foreground i 
 I it might have been a dramatization of Our 
 own revered Jack's at 3 A. M. The scene . 
 on the housetop, Letchmere'a Rt of de^air 
 and Polly's last appeal to her old friend are 
 the three artistic oases in this sordid drama. 
 The epilogue showing ieteMiere in the 
 last stages of oonsximption and, Lertj/' com- 
 fortably m rried and matroni^ed was a 
 sop to Mrs. Grundy and a bore to the audi- 1 
 ence. In spite of the fact that all Pinero i 
 manuscripts are held sacred by producers,] 
 this particular one is sorely in need of cut- 
 ting. 
 
^U^ f-^\l-V«»'-v»»Jy ^v^*» 
 
 NetF YorU, Tneaday, Sept. 13, 1904. 
 
 MUSIC AND DRiMi. 
 
 ' "Letty," 
 
 It was close upon the stroke ot mldnightj 
 when the final curtain fell upon the first! 
 pefformance qt A. W. Pinero's comedy! 
 "Lotty" In the Hudson Theatre, last eve-.; 
 nlng, leaving scant time tor anything llkei 
 minute, comparative, or closely considered \ 
 
 I; criticism, but there are certain things 
 which may be said of it with a good deal of 
 
 , con^dence — even after a single hearlng^-j 
 although on some other points it may bei 
 wise to hold a definite verdict In Abeyance. 
 In the first . place, it is a play strikingly i 
 
 ' characteristic In many respects of Its j 
 author, while 'not up to the level ot his bestj 
 work — except, possibly, at one or two rare i 
 moments — in respect of literary finish, ; 
 dramatic power, or compactness of con- ^ 
 structlob. Some ot the dialogue is quite i 
 worthy of him in its crisp vitality, its ver-J 
 acity, its keenness of perception. Its humor, 4 
 and Its pathos; a. good deal ot It is trivial '. 
 and superfluous, and' some ot it is the com- 
 monest sort of comic padding. Moreover, j 
 many of bis sentences are of an Involved 
 and artificial character, wholly Inappro- 
 priate in the mouths of the personages to 
 whom they are allotted. On the other hand, 
 the general design ot the piece exhibits j 
 much of the originality, freshness, and Inge- , 
 
 > nulty to which Mr, Plnero has accustomed : 
 us; the story is told with admirable cle&r- j 
 ness, with an artful prolongation ot sus- : 
 pense, and' a auocesslon ot cleverly devised, 
 It, not always very coijTlnclnB. situations, i 
 leading. In turn, to a passionate and power- ' 
 tul crisis and a most logical, human, and] 
 satisfactory solution. There Is nothing In 
 the whole play which is so entirely becom- '. 
 Ing as the ending at it. < 
 
 It is more than likely that some of the 
 most enthusiastic admirers of Mr. Pinero's 
 social problem plays will discover that this 
 last act. with Ha traglo Indication of the 
 wages of lust, and its simply eloquent tes- 
 timony to the happ!;;;-: — !;'-h ?- ^^-.-.-'-r- 
 ally the reirard of 
 
• ' ■z—- -^i:'—t:j^':z':/ a H^Z^HwCuikl decay. Never- 
 theless, It Is the finest and most valua,ble 
 work that he has done In many a long day, 
 Without It, "Letty" would be tor all but 
 the most thoughtless a futile, depressing, 
 and unwholesome work. In spite of 
 all Us glitter and sparkle. As tt 
 stands, It entorces a salutary and ' 
 much needed lesson, and' can fairly lay claim 
 to be called a moral work, although Its 
 general atmosphere and tone are suggestive 
 of anything but moral inspiration. It may 
 ;be admitted readily enough that the story 
 which It tells is true to life, that there is,. 
 '■ astonishing verisimilitude in many of the 
 personages who figure in it, and that the' 
 plot is unfolded with a somewhat rare ob- 
 servance of plausibility and the habits of 
 human impulse: but mere truth, on the 
 stage at all events, is not always attrac- 
 tive or beneficial, and the exhibition of tha 
 coarsest side of human nature, with a view ; 
 to the provocation of guffaws or the grati- ' 
 ficatloh of prurient desire, is not. the pri- 
 mary object of the theatre. 
 
 For four acts the sordid vulgarity of 
 "Letty" is almost unrelieved by any mani- 
 festation of the higher sort pf human in- , 
 tstlnct or any creditable emotion. All the 
 principal persons are in pursuit of V&lgar ■ 
 jor vicious pleasure, and all are cynically 
 unmoral. A wealthy young aristo- ' 
 icrat, Nevlll Letchmero, belonging to, 
 an eyll raoe,^^, lately ; separated froip. 
 his wife _ and child, is trying to se- 
 duce lietty Shell, one of the female clerks ■ 
 In the office of a notorious usurer and curb- , 
 stone broker. He entertains the girl, and ' 
 her female companions luxuriously In his 
 rooms, but does not know that he ha^s for a 
 rival the broker, Mandeville, himself, until; 
 the latter visits him, threatens him with 
 exposure, and wa.rna him In his own ver- 
 nacular "to keep oft the grass." The' oppo-, 
 sitlpn only serves to stimularte the young. 
 j profligate's intent, but he realizes that he 
 must no longer permit' Ijetty to Imagine' 
 him a bachelor, and therefore Ijreaks the 
 truth to her in a highly cbaraoterlstio scene i 
 at a tea party given on the roof of her Lon-.* 
 don lodging house. The girl, who has 
 counted confidently on marriage, is outraged 
 hir fy<a /iflces'tion, rejects Sis advances, andi 
 - : r:--::r -ICCepts the^ 
 
It so happens— ana ■ at this juncture Mt'A 
 Plnero stretches the long arm ol colncl-'l 
 denoe to unaocustomed lengths — that the , 
 
 ; first lover, Nevlll Let^hmere, Is supping at; 
 the same place with his married Ulster and ' 
 a youth who wishes to elope with her. 
 To tbls part of the Intrigue, very ingenious-^ 
 ly managed, It is impi^sible to pay atten- 1 
 tion at this time. Suffice it to say that Ne-| 
 vill and Mandevllle meet, and that the 
 former deserts his sister, whom he has: 
 pledged himself to protect, for the sake of 
 being with Letty once more. The latter is' 
 disgusted with the overbearing vulgarity] 
 
 ' of Mandevllle — contrasting him with hls; 
 
 : more polished rival— but adjieres to her en- 1 
 gagement to him until the entertainment, 
 ends in a disgraceful riot,' when she yields 
 to NeviU'e entreaties, and agrees to jolnj 
 
 : him, at his rooms. In the -fourth ftct, in, 
 
 , spite of the warnings and entreaties of her', 
 most Intimate friend, she keeps her tryst.j 
 and has finally abandoned herself to her' 
 lover's keeping, when the latter receives a 
 note to inform him that his sister has de^.i 
 serted her home and husband. The newsi 
 throws him into a paroxysm of mingled! 
 rage and remorse— there IS fine imagina-j 
 tion in this scene— and in the unmeasured; 
 violence of his denunciation Letty diat- ! 
 corns his true estimate of fallen' woman, i 
 Conscience-stricken and terrified, she begs ', 
 him to release her before it is too late, J 
 to save her fronj the fate impending over,' 
 hiS' sister. At first he Is obdurate, but i 
 soon he yields to bonester Impulse, and 
 permits her to depart. This is a scene 
 pregnant with theatrical effects, handled j 
 with all Mr. Pinero's adroitness. In the 
 epilogue Letty, happily married and a moth- ; 
 er, once more encounters her lover, now 
 stricken with consumption and -sinking to ] 
 his grave, and tells him of the' happiness 
 she has found in the discharge of domestic! 
 duty in a station befitting her social con-j 
 ditton, and the comps^nlonship of a de-' 
 voted, if undlatlngulBhed, husband. 
 
 This hurried sketch of a very long play, 
 is necessarily extremely imperfect, but is | 
 sufficient to show the general character of i 
 the piece. The main interfest, of course, j 
 centres In the pursuit of Letty by the j 
 rival lovers,, of whom ism's eKirs MsiiJS'^'ita"'! 
 
dilemma in woicn ano has Involved herseU 
 is du« to an ouUMe providence, not ^er^ 
 own virtue; but her character derives some 
 elevation from her subaequent confession o£ 
 her folly ancl her grateful recognition of the 
 value of the happiness -which she so nearly 
 threw away. As a study of a flighty, silly ,j 
 I romantic, but at heart ; essentially ho,nest,| 
 I girl t)!t the loweir middlg English class, she' 
 :1b drawn with 'much accuracy, but although 
 [ ehe is for a great part of the time the , 
 j central, she is not always the most proml- j 
 ! nent or vital figure. Ttfls is because she is i 
 I sltetched, and rightly, in subdued ahd rather 
 tiague dolors. The impersonation ol the 
 [part by Miss Oarlotta Nillson was, upon the; 
 j whole, very satiBfactory. It was not brll'-, 
 liaut, or emotionally powerful, ,but it was' 
 I constantly Intelligent and sympathetic, and' 
 [in the trying fourth act helped to save more 
 than one delicate situation by Its sugges- i 
 tion of innate wiomanly refinement. The ao- ■ 
 tuaj appeal to NeVill was rendered with 
 just the right effect of tremulous and plead- ' 
 ing sincerity. If the characterization had ' 
 been stfonger in outline and color it would, '[ 
 probably, have been also muol» less natural. ' 
 lt~ was always in the stage picture, which 
 is more than can be said of some of the i 
 other parts. As a whole, the representation ; 
 was a E»od one, but several of the per- j 
 formers were sorelj; in need of judicious'? 
 restraint. This was notably the case in the '; 
 I instance of Mr. Arthur Playfair, who, aa' 
 j the swaggering Mandeville, a sort of gros-^ 
 sor Maldonado, spoiled a capita) conception^ 
 by excessive, often painfully excessive,! 
 I vigor of execution. Reduced to its proper' 
 I proportions, his sketoh would be ad-; 
 mirable. In the same way Miss Julie I 
 ! Opp, encouraged by the quick apprecifltlon ; 
 of her audience, sometlmeB cams near to 
 ruining what was in its first stages ai 
 really flrst-class bit of cockney'' charac- ' 
 terlzatloo. Her dialect and intonation', 
 until she began to exaggerate, were ex- 
 cellent, and gave full effect to the humor 
 of her Jlnes. Another able Httlo bit of 
 [oliaracteF acting, thiat of a sullen and re- 
 vengeful degenerate, by Ivo Dawson, : 
 would have been still more effective if 
 ; less violently accentuated. A very neat { 
 of acting waji the 
 
I thing that ha has „„.„„ v.^o. ^n 
 
 hte Impereionatlons are upon the siamo 
 i lines, but some pai:ta suit him better than 
 I others. In light, comedy iJassages his con- 
 stant repetition of familiar mannerisms be- 
 comes' exceedingly monotonofls, while hla 
 abominable methods of utterance, with 
 their deadly sing-song, play hfevoo with the | 
 emphasis due to Plnero's dialogue. But 
 he exhibits a growing capacity for the, 1 
 manifestation of the more violent emio- | 
 tlons, and although his wrath and scorn 
 In the fourth act, last evening, lacked va- /! 
 riety and modulation, they conveyed the 
 impresision of real physical passion, and.' 
 were loudly, and persistently — a little too 
 persistently — applauded. Katherlne Flor- 
 ence, Fritz Williams, Tom Terrlss, and i 
 Sidney Herbert all contributed to the gen- 
 eral excellence of the ■ cast. The represen- ' 
 tatlon was greeted with much favor, and 
 there can be little doubt that the play i 
 will prove a irapular success. It Is a 
 great pity that Mr. Plnero should be so 
 addicted to the etudy of tlio shadier ele- ' 
 ments of our poor human nature. But 
 , he Is much nearex to tha truth In "Lietty" 
 I than In "The Second Mrs. Tanquteray." , 
 
 
 1797— ESTABLISHED— 1904. 
 
 PUBUSHBD EVERT BVBNINQ, EXCEPT SUNDAY, i 
 
 By Th« 
 
 COMMBRCIAI. ADVEETISEK ASSOCIATION. 
 
 NEW YORK, TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 13. 
 
 SBK 13. I 
 
 "LETTY." 
 
 For four acts in "Letty" Plnero has' 
 written an Interesting, plausible, diversi- 
 fied, and, at moments, striking play. The 
 fourth brings It to a climax and a conclu- 
 sion with his favorite device of the clos- 
 ing" door that shuts upon the chapter In 
 the life of his heroine tliat he has been 
 writing. Then he adds an epilogue In 
 which each character is neatly tloketeaj 
 to the destination the audience has beea 
 foreseeing for It. with a moral common- j 
 place with each ■■'"'I'' ■" 
 
{ in^l play. It: Is such in the main in the 
 [ treatment of Its drawatic material. But 
 Ithat material is among ' the oldest and 
 I surest of melodrama— the working girl 
 I with traits ' and desires above Ijer sta- 
 tion, pursued by the lover, , who would 
 gratify them arid blmaelf dishonorably; 
 i bullied by an amorous employer, and es- 
 caping at last ■ into marriage and happi- 
 ness with one of her own Icind, who has 
 ' seemed prosaic and tawdry beside them. 
 Time and'a^ln the malc'ers oi ordinai'y 
 melodrama nave unToldfed all this to. re- 
 sponsive audieiices.. ' But their methods 
 I ha-ye, been crude fnd obvious, Violence 
 I usually wins, and force rescues the beset 
 [ heroine. 
 
 Plaero is writing In a different vein for : 
 a different audience. Impulses and de- 
 i sires smouldering in Letty and kindled : 
 by «ircusmstances Impel her toward her , 
 dishonorable lover. A rebound of both 
 their coBseienoes, under stress of some- 
 thing like the same fate for his own sis- 
 ter in her own world, rescues the girl 
 with no need of heroic speech or muscle. 
 Around the pair are the usual characters, ■ 
 comic or sober, ot such melodrama, but j 
 Pinero has studied them more carefully, ; 
 or slietched them more lightly, from life 
 itself. Yet with them, abd, indeed, with 
 the whole play, he sticks resolutely to his 
 purpose to write a glorified melodi-ama. 
 There are touches of familiar exaggera- , 
 tioa and of familiar stage humor in these , 
 characters. Once and again his dialogue ' 
 climbs upon melodramatic stilts, He al- 
 ternates his humorous and serious interest 
 as assiduously as though he were a mere , 
 mechanical conoocter of melodrama and 
 not a past master of all the devices of 
 pjaymaklng. To crown all, there is even 
 the moral tag at the todj 
 
 In Bubstailee and in form "Letty" is a 
 melodrama, and none the woraa for that. 
 But it Is a transfigured and glorified melo- ' 
 drama^a psychological melodrama, if the 
 phraS'f is not too big, because the springs 
 
 j of the action lie in ^he hearts and minds 
 
 ! of the characters and not If» external 
 Incidonts. That Is > the essence of the 
 
 I chdnge' the old ^hackneyed material has. 
 undergone at Piit^ro's hands. 
 
 I^tty, clerk in Dugdale's bucket shop,, 
 of good people, but- alone and unguided 
 sa*e by her own impulses, longs for the 
 
 i freedom, the joy, the opulence of life 
 somewhere over there, beyond the chim- 
 
 I ney pots of London. These things, and 
 not in their vulgar aspect, call to every 
 
 j tingling abre tn her. For Letty is "all 
 alive," and most keenly in the quick 
 sensitiveness of her pride. 
 ■a^rr<arA M^nd'-ville. OBS 01? thei owners 
 
 rsest and 
 
betrothed for an evening. Manoeviiie, 
 bawling tJironp;li supper at a restaiirant 
 an4 ending with a fight with the mana- 
 ger, aiaUluslons her beyond recall. 
 
 It was pride cut all unexpectedly and 
 deep that drove Letty to'MandevUle. An- 
 other man has the ease and opulence of 
 I life to give her, and brightened in her eyes 
 by the glamour of the giver. Neville 
 Letchmere^tactless and unpleasant name 
 —well born, well bred, knowing his own 
 j world and weary of it, has fancied Letty 
 and philandered with her. As she is no 
 ! ordinary working gtrl of melodrama, so 
 he Is no ordinary seducer. For genera- 
 tions the Letchmeres have been a bad lot 
 —the sons with wonaen, the daughters 
 (rtth men. Their weakness haunts them. 
 A.t every critical moment their will fails 
 them for good, because they expect fail- 
 ure. Therefore has Neville played with 
 Uetty because her fresh zest for life has 
 brougtit baek ^ome of his— played with 
 her in the Xiet6bmere fashion, until the 
 time comes when be hag to tbll her that 
 lie has a wife. 
 
 The rebound from Mandeville sends her 
 back to him. Better the price she must 
 pay and the joy of living than existence 
 with Mandeville. They are dreaming 
 their dreams and seeing their rosy vi- 
 sions. In a flash comes the news that 
 L«tchmere's sister is off with a man not 
 her husband. . The brother, cut deep, 
 Bp^aks in his words. Almost, heedless ot 
 [iStty lie , pours out his hurt and shame. 
 ' EJvery sentence awakens her. She sees 
 herself. She will go. For a moment 
 Letchmere hesitates- He knows he can 
 hold her If he will But he has cared 
 for her more than he thinks. The ap- 
 peal on her lips beats down the Letch- 
 mere weakness. Ha opens the door for 
 her, and the play ends. A flg for Letty ' 
 and her photographer husband and sub- 
 urban villa! I 
 
 All this Is a long way from Pinero ' 
 craekUt(g epigrams la drawingro^s^ or i 
 minufeIy~deodrnpbsing womeii's souls, or j 
 proclaiming his mastery of every play- 1 
 Wright's device of construotlbn and sus- 
 pense. Those that have applauded him 
 tor all these things will be disappointed 
 in "Letty." But we are by no means sure 
 that a wider and less sophisticated public 
 will not welcome the play the Blore warm- 
 ly for their absence. For once Pinero 
 has been willing to admit that the good 
 in us may beat the evil, fate kindly aiding. 
 For once he has stirred his audiences to 
 sympathy with his heroine, and they like 
 It better than an invitation to look on at 
 a dissection. They will find pleasure, too, 
 in what is frankly his comic relief.' His 
 vain, greedy, drawling, dressmaker's as- 
 sistant, his supper in the restaurant, his 
 "photograph party" r>n t>« ronf to"i <i)t 
 amuse them. The-"- ~-i»i --— -' 
 
lue piay was aeiea witn even excellence, '. 
 and, since Dion Boucicault, the close J 
 Irlend of PinerOj staged It, with a nice 
 regard fpr his intentions. These inten- 
 
 I tlona, If we are not mistaken, warranted ' 
 the humorous exaggeration with which 
 
 I some of the players clothed their parts. 
 
 I For the rest, Mr. Faversham has done no 
 part so well as Letchmere in twp or throe 
 seasons, and as Letty Miss Nlllson con- 
 firmed her reputation as perhaps the most 
 promising, in serious parts^ of our young 
 
 ; natural actresses. 
 
 Although "Letty" cannot be said to* 
 bristle with epigrams and aphorisms,;; 
 there are here and there a few "mots" , 
 that are worth quoting. 
 
 One of these la the French word maga-^ ! 
 sin, used as an adjective, and meaniijs' 
 I BbPP-wade, Bhop-looking, ■unindlvidual, i 
 and not quite the newest fashion. ' 
 
 It will In all probability be the thing ' 
 after this to refer to a frUmp as a woman 
 whose gowns are "magasin." 
 
 In the first act, where Letty's employer 
 pays his visit to Nevill and asks him to, 
 desist In his attentions to his "dark," the 
 hostilities are opened in this fashions 
 
 MandevlUe (ottering a huge black cigar ' 
 to Nevill)— Flor de Cuba/, eighty-two shil- 
 lings. 
 
 Nevill (lighting his cigarette)— Plenty ; 
 tor the money. j 
 
 Later on there Ss this between I^tty-j 
 and Perry: i 
 
 i Perry — I hope I am not too tardy in 
 ; proffering you these succulent little denl-. 
 zens of the deep. 
 Letty— Why, they're shrimps. 
 Perry — I said shrimps. 
 I In the third act there is this auto- 
 mobile gem: 
 
 Drake— I expect Jenny la shuddering, 
 outside my front door ali-eady. 
 NevlU — Jenny? 
 
 Drake — That's Mrs. Crpsbie's nick- 
 name for the auto/' 
 And this as a toast: 
 "May yourjtlres never grow lesd." 
 I The scene at supper in the cabinet 
 ; parti^ulier, where mussels and their n3- 
 I fariOTis Influences are discussed, is very 
 good. 
 
 Perry — Mussels? (Innocently). Dear me, 
 ; what a prejudice there is against mussels! 
 
 Maijdevllle — Prejudice, Is there! 
 i Perry — Enormous. Many people won't 
 I look at a mussel. 
 I Mandevllle— Ho! won't they? 
 ; Perry' — NerroUs people. And, of course, 
 
 ' they have this to go upon 
 
 i Mandevllle— What? 
 
 I Perry-rOne is continually hearing of In- 
 t disposition — serious indisposition — as an 
 I after effects — \ 
 
 Mandevllle — Loott heah, , Mister Per. 
 
 ..« ^v_ 
 
fend, I'm sorry. 
 
 Letty — No, no, there's no ottense, not 
 the least. (To Mandevllle) lathere? - 
 
 Mandeville— Ho, no, not the Bllghtest. 
 
 Neale— It is a (act, though. Flrlend of 
 mine had a cousin who died o( 'em. 
 
 JlandevUle (throwing his knife and fork 
 down and leaning hack in his chair)— 
 Phugh! y , ' ' 
 
 Letty (hystertoally toying a restraining 
 hand on Mandevllle)— Hush— ah— ah! Ha, 
 ha, ha! We don't intend to die of them, 
 do we? Do we? 
 
 Mandeville (in a growl to her) — I*tty! 
 
 Ordish— According to the insurance 
 tables, poisoning from mussels la very 
 prevalent among the humbler classes. 
 
 Mandeville (explosively) — Humble?' 
 classes! Yes! 
 
 Letty— Ha, Ha! 
 
 Ordish— A case came up before our board 
 not long ago. The assured had paid only 
 two premiums, so we lost heavilyi,' 
 
 Letty— Ha, Ha! ' V 
 
 Scene Puts Pinero'Si 
 M Lachrymose L^dy on Her 
 Damp but Emir^ntly Respect- 
 able Feet. ^"Wm-^ 
 
 rAVERSHAM DOES BEST * 
 
 WiQRK OF HIS LIFE.; 
 
 ^OqW"^ 
 
 VOl^V^ 
 
 Carlotta Nillson Gives an Ap-j 
 pei^ling Portrayal of Troubled] 
 Heroine and, Cast Tbrougli< 
 qut Is Good. 
 
 Poor .tetty! ' ' "^>' ' I 
 
 She wasn't strong, and she was ellj 
 
 alone in the world, " ' ' "' ^ 
 
 Wvo, luia she did t-,-— ■ - 
 
Dvii' la.c ...i,.^„ „^ .., „ „tTieil Artihur- 
 AVingr-Pinero fate forced her to swallow 
 an epilogue — and in this case epilogue is 
 only another rtenm for Wtt&r pill. Arid to 
 think, of the Mtter pills Letty had al- 
 ready swallowed! No wonder she had 
 soulful indigestion! 
 
 Bot'h Letty amd fihe SLUdience migiht 
 have been spared jnuch of the first three 
 i ficts— for it is not until the fourth act, 
 that "Letty" gwts down to reali InitterBst,.' 
 compelling business. Before that "I.etty" 
 i, wai'ders woefully, • !30 goes to pieces, in 
 ' fact, that your- .hands atshefor a literary 
 broom to sweep it together again.' Mr. 
 Pinero must have been all out of b|ue 
 i pencils tho day he wrote "Letty." * 
 I There'.s an immense amount of aimless 
 i talk in the play. At first It is more or 
 I less amui^ing, but after' a while it trows 
 I" -wearisome, and you have quite Wade up 
 [lyour mind that "Letty" isn't seriously 
 1 'wor'.h while, when up. goes the ourtalii 
 on that v^ry-much-alive fourth act! 
 p At flrst there fs a little birtlhday din- 
 ) mer— or nearly a birthday dinner— fo'r 
 ' Letty In Nevlll Letohm«re's rooms. 
 'I'here's Letty's name and "Many happy 
 , raturns" frosted oai tjie, property cake. 
 ^ But, alas! the cake is all dough, frir 
 Letty, who has, been starving, hei:, 
 'stomach to -cover her back in order that'; 
 j«he may look pretty to. the generous 
 ^sent^eman Who bestows his attentions-, 
 on the poof little "bucket shop" clerli, is 
 ] subject to sinking spells, esid the oele- 
 jjtiraition comes to a hungry end. ^ ', 
 iy- Back to the Roof for Her. j 
 
 i It's ba«k to the roof-top for Getty ,>,r 
 land it's only to.be expected she should') 
 grow dizzy again -when Getohmere tells*] 
 llier he's married^— sort of "semi-de-: 
 te^ched;" as tlje song In "The Girl from ■ 
 Kay's", hds it. . '■''' ; . ; i 
 
 Then in climbs the sjvinlah .^mployer,. 
 of Getty and i>roposes to, her on ;Strictly 
 business principles. , Msnclevill«'s^-Hi3 
 3i,ftm^, 'and Arthur Playfair playefl htm- 
 to well that you "felt an Itching to get 
 him by the collar and toss' hlra imo the 
 street. In order that she may ride in' 
 her carriage ' <n Bond street— Geteli- 
 mere's Bond street— Getty accepts the 
 loud, vulgar duffer. But In celebrating 
 the betrofhs.1 that evening Mandeville- 
 raises such a low-down devil of a jjiw 
 in a restaurant that Gettyi is so' dis- 
 gusted and shocked she lets Getchmere,* 
 ™t,.^ i« nn«ira,Yii,ftTiti-v on hand — ap herbe-^! 
 - , , ^,r."r — - pla,ys— coax i 
 
f 
 
 wui HI'- v\<*j Lille- ,f- 
 
 Two oi Getty's feminine friends come; 
 ■with iiei". Stupid, you say,' and you? 
 curse tliem for ttie intrusloVi on what' 
 jjromlses to he a ,drA.mal'leaUy .,EOod 
 tiling. Tliey'ro all right In their plact. 'i 
 but this isn't Iheir place. Kven though 
 Julie Opp made ■ lh« dreasmaitor's as-jr 
 si.'jtaiit amuslng-^aplng as she does the,-) 
 ;nian.nersi of her betters— tind Olive Oliver '■ 
 was nice and proper as ah offloe a5j!0-| 
 chUi- of ifclty— yiiu yearned for them^ 
 to he off. For they have alreadv tried! 
 yoiu' patience by exercising their ton-. I 
 gues to the full limit oi; their aex, ieav- j 
 liie lachrvnjore Getty notlilng to do 
 bat sit still and look pal? and pinched 
 and heart-.5lcU. 
 
 They Saye lUe Davy. 
 
 Pre.'ienily, however, they are gone, 
 end WJlli;im Faversham as Lietchmerej 
 and Miss Carlotta Nilisori as Letty 
 are left to redeem not onl.v IhomselvesJ 
 'out the play. They du both .i^lerididly. 
 
 Xietty has talten oft hei- damp cape,' 
 
 tit her feet into dry .'3lipa"iers, let 
 
 ijwn her moist hair, and if altogeti-i,eri 
 "comfy," while Letchraere turns her' 
 iTead with dreamy little melodies on 
 the piano and' descriptiori.- o' the; 
 Jojurnejangs they will take to an "^?rth-'' 
 ly parad'se" all their own. i 
 
 ;, -But there's a rude awakeii.ing, Itj 
 eomes with a knock at the door. The' 
 servant is there with a message, 
 Ijetchmere tears ooen the etivelope and 
 read.? that his unhappily married sis- 
 ter has riin away with a young ass. 
 
 With surprising suddennes.s Mr. Fav-J 
 <;rsba.m came to his acting self at this' 
 (Boint, and did the h^st work of his* 
 life. Rrntinp of the'rottenness of the 
 Letohmeres— an awfully fr.'sky family, 
 If we're to. believe all we hear— he. 
 da.'jhes out and you* hear him tearing, 
 sister's cictures fram the wall kiWI ■ 
 smashing them oh the floor; and ypu' 
 recall that other aimiahle psntleman of 
 Kr. Pinerc'? v,-ho br»i:e the furniture' 
 in "Iris." 
 
 Letty hustle."! baick into her wet but 
 respectable shoes, convinced that love's 
 young dream is o'er, and that it's her 
 eue to mril^e a (iui(*k exit. Letchmere 
 Kets. brutal and plants himself hefore- 
 the door. Letty tames him Vfllh a- 
 eliijple .aroeal. "You can save a, 
 woman." she ,says. and he stands aside 
 'find lol.s her pass. 
 
 The scene was tellingly played. Be- 
 fore Hint Mr. Faversham, with an ex- 
 tra spring or two m his knees, had* 
 Riven himself up to an "English'' no-,, 
 cent which had taken him heah. theah 
 and Pver^Whe-ah. and whicln shou'd be 
 nnturalized at the first opportunity. 
 Kow. however, all this was cast aside 
 and he ended ciulto gloriously and alto- 
 eethtr dishevelled. 
 
 Hnn liun« netti?r,", bnt— 
 
 Mis,"! Nellson pla,.ved Letty better, "per- 1 
 hap.'y. than ar- ~*'-~^r. '* -r--' 
 oouId_ ha\'e ,D.»iw../i«*^^,i^T.j 
 
^„;.Q i,: i _-i- _eT chlld-Iike B\m- 
 
 plk'Uy. artd her half-bj'sterical cries 
 anfl sobs in which the human, note 
 ,■ rings so true, place her portrayai above 
 o-iti'eism. \ 
 
 There was one actor— Ivo Dawson, of 
 
 •the Ijondon cOTitJnuent brougrht over 
 
 iiy Mr. Frohtr.aii— of wliom we would 
 
 ■(A-illingly havf ;'-,een inore. He was oiit 
 
 I (\Cl in the first iwt after an excellent 
 
 L-bU,_..pf acting . agg'an 'ill-tempet6#. aijaf 
 
 ^ii liWlibtstjil an B. funriy UttW pJio- 
 [ioffaitiker, Tvlth the U'ghteat arUstJc 
 Itei)!!^ imaglti&blc. ' 
 
 f Hut^ ah! The oomlc Irony 01 fate tJi3.t 
 f Iiettjr Mihould be found, In that unnices- 
 jary ep416eue, married to the photdii- 
 ' fMpher, ' while : Letohniere' •ai:a.g;3 hlmSelf 
 tpn to die, of 'consumption— Ijetty, who 
 aoultoVt ^anJlacdi, pleasaftt. CD. 
 
 It 
 
 WeW'^erkw; S^aata-^^titungi. 
 
 5«eW=§)orJ, 13. ©e*)tem6«« 1904. 
 
 ^l)tattr utti^Sufik. 
 
 „!Letty". 
 
 ®ie ©wffnung beS ,§ubfon Sl^eaterS 
 I brac^te geftern 2t|»enb ein neue§ ©titdt Btjn . 
 iStrt^ur aBtng ptiero — „Letty". spinero 
 ;ift etn <ScE)riftfteIIer, ber .^u (5ngtaitb§ 
 J litterarifdjer 9io6Icjye ge^brt' — etne Sto^i 
 iBitat bon i^iTt ttjirb ba|er mtt betn gro|en 
 ';Irttifd)en SJla^ftafi genteffei^ , 333trb iaber'. 
 biefer an^elegt, baijn tcitb ^.Xetty", in^ 
 bicier SSe^ieJiung jh Itein befunben roerbeij,-; 
 lobmol^I e§ ein mirffameB JBu^rtenftiicf mti 
 manc^en SSorgiigen ift. 
 , 23ei Karbittalfe^ler, .beg ©iii4e| ifi, foi 
 iJOToboj bal Hingt, bdS tec|ntfd)e, Sefd^jdE' 
 %ca SlutorS. StefeS ermoglic^t if|m, baS', 
 ttJcniger tief fclicEenbe, spubltlum .baruBcri 
 lintDeggutdufc^ett, ba^ atnar ouf bet! 
 fflii^ne 2JiartcE)erIet unb gang ©tgolIid^eS 
 ?;j5affiTt, bafe aber ber Rnoten ber SQerffii^s, 
 feng gar nic^t rcc^t^gefc^urgt unb 3|MrtHd|i 
 
 ■ „Cett^" ift eine S9u(i|:^oIterin in einir, 
 aBinfelbiJrfe, tocldjer ein bon feiner tJratij 
 getrennt Icbenber iunger Sebemann, JJebiHe; 
 .Eetdimcre, nodifte'ni. ©r irirb it)r red)t' 
 gefat)rli(^, aber Settl) ift tugmbl^aft unt),; 
 fo befc^Iic^t fie, lieber ben §eitot£)§antraft! 
 beg Sefiliexl -ber aSBinlelbbrfe, eincS hut^;, 
 flflrsrt. firutttlm ffierl§. anjunel^men,'al8'fic^' 
 . SU laffen. -®oiJ|) 
 
!gang unglaubltilen ©gerich, toelfije bet te*; 
 
 igel^ofielte SiBin!el6iJrfiarter Seranlafet. 2).ie 
 
 ;©ai^e cHbet bamit, ba^ btefct in etnc, 
 
 ifolcnne ^ptiigelei mit bctn SteHnevjjcrfonalj 
 
 1 bctttiidelt mirb. 2)a§ .inbet aud§ 'Setttj'S 
 
 fotDtefo fe^t iDtbertDinigen S3rauiftanb, 
 
 m&i in ,fclbigct ^tift eflt fie in £efc^= 
 
 mere's ©trc^tDitiiBer'^pattement. , 
 
 Sort toerben bie SSeiben in eincr whU 
 
 lid^' reigenben ©jene, ber einjigen, in toth 
 
 {■(fier man Don bem ©eijt etncg Hijnnen§ 
 
 etncn §auc^ berfpUrt, eintg, ettiig, eintg. 
 
 |,©c^pn foil ber inegitimc £iebe§frii£)Iing 1)6= 
 
 ginnen, ha pp(S|t' ba§ ®^itffal an S«t(i^« 
 
 mere's Sp.r in ©eftalt eines SSriefd^enl, 
 
 in toeld^em feine ©d^wefter, eine ungliidlid^ 
 
 ber^eiratl^ete junge ^rau, iijm mittl^cili, 
 
 ba^ fte, njie a'nbete £etd^mere'§ aui), i^rem 
 
 SUtq/nne mit einem 2tnberen bur(3^geBrannt : 
 
 fei. fietd^merc, ber mit biefer ©(^rtefter . 
 
 einen X^ultug trei6t, ift au^er ftd^ unb raft> 
 
 laute SBfrgtoeiflung. 35a§ offiiet SettQ bi{.< 
 
 , 2li«en — fie fKe:^t bor :^ini=^unb bem mo= 
 
 ; raltfd^en Slibgrunb. 2)ie Oefd^i^e fcfylie|t, 
 
 in einem, fijrtf ten 2t!t,ber atg 9?a4f)ji|gj gc= 
 
 , bftd^t ift, tbie ein fjamilienroman. Setllj 
 
 ,,i!tiegt" ©inen, unb ^toar einen ficineit | 
 
 Spfiotograp^en, bem fie gliidftic^e ©attin j 
 
 un^ DUJutter feiner ^inber toirb. Cetd^mcre I 
 
 mu^ aber eigens fd6h3inbfiid§tig toerben unb 
 
 fterben, um bor feinem Stobe hbd^mals all' - 
 
 biefeS spi^iliftergliidE njit an^ufe^cn. 
 
 63 bebarf tool^I faum erft be§ ^ommen^ j 
 tor§, ba^ in fold^er, 9lii:^rftuii=§anblung i 
 fein sptoblcm geliSft ioirb. 5pinero mu^tc, | 
 ; toeld^' biinnc moralinfaure ailaffcrfupbe er 
 i in biefem ©tiid angerid^tet l^at, unb fuc^t; 
 fie balder burd§ .Sutj^at bon SWilieu^ unb' 
 uliiger 6^ara(terfd§ilberung ju hJiiraen.- 
 S3ei biefen Sut^aten t)at er : ftft dberj 
 ettoaS iibernommen. 5Dic fi^atdlteri, 
 aeicEmung ift t^eilwetfe gvbb, h)ie beii 
 .[bem mit unangene£)men ^igtnfdfiaften bidt 
 gefd^minlten iffiintclborfenBefi^cr, Itieilteeife' 
 nic^t fc^r brigineH, miei h^ etncr berl 
 jt^reunbinnen Setti)'?; bie hjeiter nicE)i» alS^ 
 eine 6od(nel)=SSerfian bbn ber „!prubence"j 
 in ©umaS' „JtameIienbame*'^ ift. SIber 
 bie Sutl^aten finb — baS lafit fid^ nid£)t 
 leugnen — jum 3;:^eil red^t amiifant au§=' 
 iflefaffen. Unb mo baS spuiblitufn lad^t, baJ 
 ifat ber Slutor. genjonneneS,, ©piel, jumolj 
 fttenn ,bte 2>arft- '■'.■..■,,-' ;.. 
 
ti.iciit,' -+>uti ueii ., gajijeti'v fcniimentat^ 
 ©efyilt ,^erau2su3te]§en, ofjnt it untDai|j;= 
 fcEietnrid^ ober ti^eatranfi^ 3(1 toerben. g'^re 
 „2ettt)" tji nid^t gerabe eine gtonjenbe, after 
 eine ungemein f^mpaf^ifc^e !pei|bnlf#itii!; 
 :Sffiittiom g^o&erfl^am lUarber IRoHe btl'4«*' 
 ganten SBtrfii^rerS ntd^t gart^ 'getoad^fen, 
 ;fanb ftcE) tnit t^r a6cr in acceptaBIer aUeife 
 \af). ■, atuSge^eid^net tDo'r ^rt|ut ^Ia,l)fatt 
 iin ber IRoIIe be§ SSulli) toon ber mWth 
 jbbife. ®te notfmebrungenen Ueberirei6uii= - 
 I gen tommen . niqt, auf fern, fonbern auf' 
 b?§ aiutorS ©^ulbionb. einen QatSj^: 
 ■erfolg fiir ftc^ trug ^utte Opp bason/ 
 ipelcife in ber SRofle beS ®odne^:=®irt piel 
 amiifanten §umor entfaltetc. 2tuc^ ^ti^ 
 •SIBiniam^ ats ber bef^eibpne ipfiotograpf 
 uifb Stattjtxint gflorencc in ber koUt ber 
 ©lilttiefter Eetd^mere'S Boten. fei|t Si[nneJ)ni= 
 l^ar^. ■ '^« 
 
 I Hudson— Letty. 
 
 : Drama in four acts and an epilogue, by Artliur 
 
 ] Wlnji' Pinero. Produced' Sfept. 12. 
 
 ' NeviU' LeiAimere William Faversham " 
 
 i Ivor Cro'slite Ito Dawson 
 
 i Copplnger Diake , Frank Goldsmith 
 
 , ' Bernard MandevlUe Arthur Fiaytair 
 
 r Richard Perry j, Fritz WilBaniB 
 
 : ■ Neale o. ./. ^. J .<,..... . item Qterrlp 
 
 Ordlsh , .) ;>;\ ; >. . Sidney H^rBert 
 
 j Rugs .■:. Wallace Widde&inbe 
 
 , Frederic . ., ; -fienri De jp^rry - 
 
 Walters ('. ..^ r Albert (SSwJep 
 
 **"^*" i Johu.,0.- Tremayne 
 
 Mrs. iTor Orosble Katherine Florence 
 
 . Lettv Shell Carlotta .Nillson 
 
 , Marion AUardyce v QJlye Oliver 
 
 mida Gunning ....;..:. Julie pop 
 
 A Lady's Maid MSrgery Taylor 
 
 I Artliur Wing Finero's latest r>lay, Letty, which 
 last season won favor In Lonwrn, was presented 
 
 I for the first time in Amez|ca at the Hudson 
 
 I Theatre last Monday evening, with William Fav- 
 ersham as the .star and Qarlotta Niilson in the 
 
 : title-role. The audience Was the most brilliant 
 of the season thus far, and although the play 
 was exceedingly long — lasting close upon four 
 hours — ^the spectators remained after the final 
 curtain to bestow further applause upon the prin- 
 cipal plslyers engaged In the presentation. 
 
 ! Letty is an ~ odd — almost an incomprehensible 
 — product of the Pinero pen. It is not equal to 
 The Second Mrs. Tangueray, nor to The Gay Lord 
 
 ] Quex, nor to Iris.. Yet it has. the power- pos- 
 sessed by all of those plays to hbld the specta- 
 
 i tor's Interest captive from first to last. The 
 
 ! f,„^„^f._f^if \f^^, ^^j^jj^gij ^j, enter the tilting ground 
 
 I. S)B w:i!-a •■■xxirjimre i&i-emw m the American cham- 
 
Tuft story oi ijettv nmnn^ rf% tn^ BAw^rw. 'jrer^ 
 treatment belongs to Broaflway. And the play 
 stands somewhere In the No-Man's-Land between 
 those two theatrical high roads. Cruel and harsh 
 and sordid is the play as the meanest of city 
 streets. It is unpleasant to the eye and jarring 
 to the ear. It buffets the mind and heart and 
 ; soul of the spectator — and all to no purpose. 
 
 Finero has followed his master, Ibsen, inas- 
 much as he has made his characters and bis 
 episodes unpleasant. But he has forgotten — as 
 Ibsen never forgets — to lay his foundation on 
 some great human problem and to erect there- 
 on a stern. Indestructible monument to be at 
 once a warning and a guide toward better things. 
 Having no value in this respect, Letty falls to 
 the level of the ordinary melodramas, which in- 
 vite the spectator to concern himself merely with 
 the affairs of the individual characters concerned. 
 And considered as such a drama, Letty Is again 
 found wanting ; because amidst its clamor and 
 clash of vice there rings no true, clear and con- 
 tinuous note of sentiment and virtue. Mr. Finero 
 has dealt solely with the prose of passion — of- 
 fering none of the poetry that even the crudest 
 of melodramas supplies. Letty seems, therefore, 
 a needless play — yet withal, by Its very brutality,! 
 perhaps, it fascinates the onlooker. 
 
 The heart of the play is to be found in a, 
 scene in the fourth act, wherein Nevlll Letch- 
 mere, a profligate, about to seduce the not un- 
 willing Letty, is apprised of the fact that his 
 sister, whom he adores, has left her husband and 
 eloped with her lover. The similarity of the 
 situations of the two women, both on the brink, 
 gradually dawns upon Letchmere, and at the 
 same time Letty's eyes are opened to a clear view 
 of her position. Letchmere opens the fateful 
 door, and Letty, who " went In a maid," departs 
 in full possession of her bodily — though perhaps 
 not her mental — ^virtue. 
 
 This sudden conflict of emotions Ifl the minds 
 of Letchmere and Letty is the play's pivotal 
 point to which Mr. Finero has climbed laborious- 
 ly through three acts and a half. Having reached 
 a point of that sort, Ibsen — or Finero himself,' at 
 his best — would doubtless have placed that man 
 and that woman face to face and abso- 
 lutely silent, realizing the situation, and convey- 
 ing to the audience Its horror entirely by means 
 of expression and gesture. But Mr. Finero, filled 
 apparently with a lust for melodramatic action, 
 makes them rant and rage until one is remind-' 
 ed, if not of Kremer, at least of Safdou. After 
 this episode the dramatist makes his heroine 
 marry a respectable, middle class photographer, 
 raise children, and prate about the joy and con- 
 tentment of life in a humble rut. This conclu- 
 sion, instead of impressing the looker-on with an 
 Idea of the wisdom of morality, rather makes 
 htm suspect that Mr. Finero tacked on the com- 
 monplace moral in order to gain favor with his 
 straight-laced, middle-class countrymen. As a 
 matter of fact, when Letty stands momentarily ^ 
 poised on the fence between the flower garden of, 
 vice and the vegetable patch of virtue, one Is; 
 Pagan enough to hope — taking all things into; 
 consideration — that she will fall In the direction; 
 of the flowers. Thus, Mr. Pinero's moral is, in^ 
 a fashion, a temptation toward immorality. 
 
 The action of the entire play takes place in 
 London, at the present time. In the flrst act, In 
 Letchmere's apartment, the facts are disclosed 
 that Letchmere, who comes of a rich family,! 
 " rotten to the core," has become seriously Inter-} 
 ested in Letty Shell, a poor clerk In a broker's 
 office ; that Bernard Mandevllle, a bounder and{ 
 Letty's employer. In "1"" *« \nva »!*■»! ko,. oti.^ i«<j 
 order to be rid of t:i ™ " t t7 ■: __ : .:.: 
 fhnt T.ptchmprp Is ii wn;a:rr^,®n m'Sli- Rf'^ff-^nva^ ^mr,-: 
 
I tne seeona act is tne 
 roof of a lodging house in Langham street, In 
 which Letty has humble quarters. She is weak 
 and 111 — ^having deprived herself of food In order 
 to keep up appearances, In the matter of dress, 
 before her admirer. Letchmere appears, and, 
 mindful of Mandeville's threat to expose him, he 
 confesses to Letty that he Is married. This, of 
 course, brings Letty's air castle tumbling about 
 her head. Letchmere then proposes the one pos- 
 sible course open to them — that the girl shall be- 
 come his mistress. From this suggestion Letty 
 recoils in horror. Mandevllle, the vulgar, dom- 
 ineering, self-sufflclent employer, now comes to 
 Letty with his proposal of marriage, which, 
 couched as it is In brutal terms, is almost as great 
 an insult as the other suitor's suggestion. Letty, 
 driven to desperation, accepts him and deter- 
 mines to plunge into the swirl of coarse gaiety 
 that Mandeville's money will provide. 
 
 The third act finds Letchmere, his sister and 
 her lover, Drake, in a private dining room In 
 the Cafe Eggence. Drake Is about to leave on a 
 long journey — to the land of forgetfulness that 
 disappointed lovers always seek — and Letchmere 
 has come to the little farewell dinner In order to 
 guard his sister from any temptation to accom- 
 pany Drake on his travels. As the trio are leav- 
 ing the room Mandevllle, Letty and a number of 
 her boarding-house associates enter. Mandevllle, 
 the swaggering host, bees Letchmere to remain 
 with them, and, forgetting his sister's peril at 
 sight of Letty, he joins the boisterous company. 
 Mandevllle boasts of his conquest of Letty, bul- 
 lies the waiters. Is boorish toward his guests, 
 and finally, when the manager of the restaurant 
 sends words that the time for closing has con;>e, 
 he reaches the climax of caddlshness by indulging 
 in a free fight with the manager and wait- 
 ers. While this combat is going on In an adjoin-; 
 ing room Letchmere appeals to Letty to cut loose 
 from the company and come to his apartments 
 that night. She, thoroughly disgusted by the 
 vulgarity of Mandevllle and the rest, consents. 
 
 'The fourth act — to which allusion has already 
 been made — begins at one o'clock of the follow- 
 ing morning in Letchmere's rooms. Here Letty 
 abandons herself to the joy of luxury and love, 
 and lays happy plans, with Letc3;;jere, for their 
 journeyings In a fool's paradise. In the midst of 
 this comes the news of Mrs. Crosbie's elopement 
 with Drake : the consequent rage of Letchmere ; 
 the sudden opening of eyes to the realities of the 
 situation, and the departure of Letty for her 
 humble, but virtuous, lodgings. 
 
 Two years and a half elapse between the 
 fourth act and the epilogue. The scene of this 
 moral tale-piece Is the shop of Letty's photog- 
 rapher, Richard Perry. This Perry person was 
 one of the motley crew at the lodging-house — 
 where he appeared as an eccentric comedy char- 
 acter and gave no hint whatsoever of ultimately 
 becoming the leading man. He has prospered 
 and Is now at the head of his profession In Lon- 
 don. Letty, who married him shortly after her 
 escape from Letchmere, is his assistant In the 
 shop, has come to be comatosely content and 
 enormously commonplace. Letchmere comes by 
 chance to the shop with his sister — now Mrs. 
 Coppinger Drake — and reveals the fact that ill- 
 ness has fallen upon him as a sort of preliminary 
 punishment for his sins. He gives Letty a bit 
 of fatherly advice In " old family lawyer " fash- 
 ion, and departs for Switzerland, where he pro- 
 poses to shortly die. Letty presumably sets her- 
 self down to the work of retouching negatives 
 as soon as the curtain falls, and it appears likely 
 (■hot aha wiU soend the rest of her days In that 
 
 in T.- s crsxo! tea cnder the stage direc- 
 
But the whole preseutatiou was pitched in a 
 .clangorous melodramatic key that made Broad- 
 way playgoers shudder. The adroit, crafty, 
 powerful Plnero would surely have shuddered, 
 too, had he been witness to the rumpus on the 
 Hudson stage. Some of the characters were made 
 caricatures, and the points of the play — which 
 were clear enough for the most dull wltted — ' 
 were pounded into the ears of the listeners with 
 marvelous vocal vehemence. The better class of 
 American theatre-goers long since outgrew the 
 necessity for that sort of thing. 
 
 Mr. Faversham's portrayal of Nevill Letch- 
 mere was what might be expected from a player 
 of Mr. Faversham's experience — and no more. 
 The character itself lacks in sympathetic guality, 
 and Mr. Faversham lent to it no grace in that 
 direction. At the crucial point in the play — 
 when Letchmere receives news of his sister's 
 ruin — the actor rose to a height of considarable 
 power, but It was the power of rant rather than 
 reason. The characterization was not illumina- 
 tive. It was merely mechanically good. 
 
 Cariotta Nillson as Letty — the real stellar role 
 — ^gave a performance that ranged from almost 
 great to almost bad. In some of her scenes she 
 showed the utmost sincerity, and her wistful 
 pathos was exceedingly effective. Again, in the 
 supper scene, when Letty is between the vul- 
 garian to whom she is betrothed and the culti- 
 vated man whom she really loves, the actress de- 
 ?lcted finely the varying emotions of the woman, 
 n the epilogue, however, and in certain of the 
 
 i other quiet scenes she brought repression to the 
 
 : polnt-of-dulness. ^ 
 
 , Arthur Playfair's portrayal of the swaggering 
 
 1 Mandeville was theatrical in the extreme. It 
 was striking, to be sure, but so exaggerated that 
 there Was not in it the least touch of reality. 1 
 Fritz Williams had In the role of Richard Perry ' 
 an almost hopeless task, since the dramatist bad .' 
 failed to make the character logical by suggest- 
 ing in the earlier acts the final situation. Mr. 
 Williams played with his accustomed humor and 
 buoyancy, and won high favor with the au-J 
 
 ; dience. Ivo Dawson was a very melodramatic ^ 
 Crosble ; Tom Terriss overacted the role of 
 Neale, and Frank Goldsmith was only acceptable 
 as Coppinger Drake. Sidney Herbert made the 
 role of Ordlsh, a melancholy insurance solicitor, 
 stand out prominently by reason of his perfect 
 make-<ip and careful character drawing. Henri 
 De Barry did a capital bit of work as ITrSdgrlc, 
 the steward of the Cafe Rggence. 
 
 Eatherine Florence gave a delightful portrayal 
 of Mrs. Crosble, being genuine in feeling and dis- 
 tinguished in manner and bearing. Julie Opp 
 played the role of Hilda Gunning, a low bred 
 shopgirl, with considerable humor, but she did 
 not make the best of her opportunities. Olive 
 Oliver was womanly and strong as Marion Al- 
 lardyce, and was one of the most human of the 
 characters in the play. 
 
THE FRANK QUEEN PUBLISHING CO. (Limited.) 
 
 PBOPMBTOBS. 
 
 ALBERT J. BOKIE, 
 
 EDITOItlAL AND BUSINBSS Mli.NAQI», 
 
 \ Saturday, September 17, 1904. 
 
 " ']dhasmi Tlieatre (Henry B. Harris, man- , 
 ager). — This house was opened for the sea-j 
 sou Monday night, Sept. 12, with William | 
 Faversham and company, in the first Amer-^ 
 lean production of "Ijetty," a drama, in I'Durj 
 acts and an epilogue, by Arthur W. Plnero. | 
 The play, which was originally produced : 
 Oct. 8, 1903, at the Dulse of York's Theatre, ; 
 London, Eng., is written in the vein af- i 
 fected by Mr. Pinero for some years past ' 
 and deals with womfen who are easily per- j 
 suaded to leave the path of virtue. Letty 
 Shell is a clerli in a "buclcet shop" conducted I 
 by a firm of which Bernard Mandeville is a , 
 member. Letty is the daughter of a so- ! 
 licitor and has been given a fairly good edu- ' 
 cation. Her ambition soars above the position 
 in which her Hmi ted' means confine her and J 
 her natural refinement rebels against the ad- ;, 
 vances made by Mandeville, even though / 
 they be honorable. When the play opens * 
 we find her on terms of friendship with Nevlil 
 Ijetchmere, a rich roue, who is naarrled and 
 has a little son but has been sejja*ated from i 
 his wife for two years. His chief object in; 
 life seems to be, conquests with women. 
 Letty believes Lttchmere to be a. single man 
 and also believes his intentions are honor- 1 
 able. She has learned to love him and in! 
 V the expectation that he will marry her she 
 8 has borrowed money in small sums from any , 
 i of her friends wiao could loan it. Mandeville 
 { learns of the attachment and after search- 
 H ing Letehmere's record calls upon that 
 ( gentleman and demands that he retire from i 
 the iield and leave Letty to him. In his i 
 lustful way Letchmere is fond of Letty. He , 
 , calls upon her and tells her of Mandeville'a • 
 visit. He also acknowledges that he Is a , 
 married man. When Letty recovers from ( 
 the shoBki LetchnmiiB- adjfJaesn.ii^^'.tcrtpi'jSTy 
 Man<levi!le.,'-*-AfteTI his .depa'rture Manae- 
 Ville arrives and presses his suit. His illiter- 
 ate and uncouth manner is repulsive to her, 
 but he is rich and able to gratify her ambi- ; 
 tions and she accepts him. He makes up a box [. 
 party of Letty's friends and takes them to , 
 a music hall, after which the party repairs < 
 to a restaurant for supper. They are shown 
 to the only available room in the restaurant, ] 
 I In which, it happens, Letchmere, his sister, , 
 (Mrs. Ivor Crosbie) and Coppingcr Drake 
 have been dining. Mi's. Crosbie had preiyiously , 
 informed her brother that she feared the 
 power Coppinger Drake exerted over her and f 
 begged Letchmere not to leave her side, v 
 Drake and Mrs. Crosbie leave just before the ) 
 Mandeville party arrive, but Letchmere 1 
 lingers and sees Letty. Mandeville reeog- f 
 nizes him and suggests that bygones be by- \ 
 gones, and that as Letty is his afSanced 
 wife he and Letchmere had best be friends. 
 Letchmere accepts the invitation to have a : 
 glass of wine and has an opportunity to speak 
 with Letty. While the supper is in progress 
 Mandeville takeS*o(Eence at the actions of the , 
 restaurant proprietor and going off stage ' 
 start.<! a row which ends in a general fight, i 
 ■■'■' r :_"-- ;3ted, accepts Letch- j 
 " - ■■ ■■ '" as his mistress and 
 
! she would prove vo be the exception to the 
 
 I rest of the family, all of whom, he declares, 
 
 sire bad. He raves about the elopement and 
 
 declares he will force Drake to marry his 
 
 ' sister. It is the only honorable way, he 
 
 says. Gradually a light dawns upon Letty 
 
 and, slipping on her things, she begs him to 
 
 i save her from herself and allow her to go 
 
 , to her humble lodgings. He finally gives 
 
 way to her pleadings and she leaves. This j 
 • completes the four act.s and in the epilogue 
 ' which follows Letty is disclosed as i 
 the wile of Richard Perry, a pros- ! 
 perous photographer. Mrs. Crosbie has 
 become Mrs. Drake and Letchmere is 1 
 to be sent to a health resort, he i 
 having contracted consumption. He learns I 
 from Letty that she is happy and that she 
 feels that she owefe it all to him who per- J 
 mitted her to leave his apartments on. that j 
 fateful iiight. The supposed elapsed time | 
 of the four acts i^ oijly a lew hours and , 
 the action ol the epllodie transpires^twp andj 
 ■ o^-tortf 7ears later.' .Mr. Ffnero has handled i 
 his subject deltly and has given us a play of j 
 good construction. The plot is not strong in ] 
 interest of itself because it surrounds char- 
 acters seldom seen in real life, but the au- 
 thor has so used his material that the in- 
 terest is well sustained. At times he startles 
 the auditor by the bluntness of speech of his 
 characters, but a Pinero play without "Pi- 
 neroisms" is not to be looked for. The play , 
 is better suited for a female than lor a male 
 star as the title role is the strongest in the 
 work, nevertheless Nevill Letchmere provides , 
 opportunity which some actors would make j 
 much ol. Mr. Faversham, however, failed' 
 to attain any great liei^t. He did not! 
 fully grasp the character and the result | 
 was only a fairly satisfactory performance. , 
 ("arlotta Nillson, as Letty, easily carried off \ 
 first honors. Her work from first to last 
 was convincing and the many moods of the 
 character were brought out with a pleasing j 
 delicacy. Through the entire play she never \ 
 oneo forgot that Letty, even after she was ■ 
 a wife, loved Letchmere, that he was her i 
 ideal and that she had no idea of ever loving 5 
 another. Her suppressed emotion when she ^ 
 flr,=:t learns Letchmere has a wife and her i 
 work where she abandons herself to him j 
 were artistically done and well deserved the , 
 hearty recognition accorded her. Fritz Wil- | 
 liams was excellent as Richard Perry and | 
 Katherine Florence made a splendid Mrs. Ivpr , 
 j Crosbie. .TnileOppgaveanartistlcperformance i 
 of Hilda Gunning and Oliye' Oliver was ex- i 
 I cGllent ffs Marlon ■^llard.vce. Arthur Piny- , 
 fair was a trifle too obtrvisivc as Bern.ird • 
 MandevUle but, nevertheless, gave a good 
 i performance. ThR cast In full: Nevill Letch- j 
 ; mere, William Faversham ; Ivor Crosbie, Ivn 
 [ Dawson ; Copplugei Drake, Frank QoldB mltU.; ' 
 ili'Vminl Miiiiili'villr. .Vrlliiiv l'l!i.\ I'liir ; Hicli '/ 
 Mnl I'ei'iv, h'ritz WIIMiinis; N>'ali'. 'I'om Tui;- 
 riss ; Or'dish, Hidnoy llerberL ; Uugg, Wal- 
 lace Widdeeombe ; Frederic, Hcuri De Barry ; 
 WKllers, Albert Cowles, ,lohn C. Tremayne ; 
 Mrs. Ivor Crosbie, Katherine Florence ; Letty 
 Shell, Carlotta Nlllson ; Marlon Allardyce, 1 
 Olive Oliver; Hilda Gunning, .lulie Opp ; 
 A Lady's Maid, Margery Taylor. The ex- 
 ecutive stair of the house Includes : James 
 Forbes, assistant mauaRer; Theo. ..Bendls, 
 musical dirwlov; Uobi-rt H. Forbes, treas- 
 urer ; George Loomls. ticltet agent ; Camp- 
 bell B. CuBK'l:. i-:.:si- ^.bx.-- . ^--.^ -.' 
 
 Ston, dOOrmsi.,:: . ir^ji-iiJ ^.-v'l ,;:. J-i--=. -i.i '. 
 
^.„^.."tles. 
 
 In Mr. Pinero's new play, Letty, the 
 all-important thing to certain moralists 
 was the fact that the 
 tempted woman did not 
 "Letty." fall. The aristocratic 
 
 tempter repented. She 
 was saved and the cur- 
 tain fell on her living happily in a hum- 
 ble and virtuous home. The main point 
 to us, however, was the narrow range of 
 its interest. Compared with the work 
 of other playwrights it is, of course, ex- 
 cellent, and it is fully up to the level of 
 some of Mr. Pinero's earlier plays ; but 
 his absorption in a single theme is be- 
 coming monotonous. He is not advanc- 
 ing. He does not even change his route. 
 Much the same kind of people appear in 
 play after play, and they do and say much 
 the same kind of things. In Letty he has 
 merely rearranged constituents of the 
 Second Mrs. Tanqneray, The Gay Lord 
 Quex, and Iris. It is clever craftsman- 
 ship, and Letty's motives are so skilfully 
 handled that you are intent on the great 
 question. Will she or won't she, but the 
 moment it is answered the whole thing 
 drops from the mind as completely as a 
 tight-rope performance. 
 
1,'B'or^ people 'who'thlnk;— 
 i_Tlia ,t It would seem, -would be but a fair 
 I^Pinsr for those who want a sum^nhig up 
 fcf~'£.et'ty.'" Not that esvery one does not 
 Fhink— It Is difficult to And. these daya 
 Piaji 'without a religiqua system or a 
 wonx^-n without a "soheme for reforming 
 tnankind. It Js perhaps a warning' more 
 than a summing upv "L.etty," view-it as 
 you will, makes you think and think alon^g 
 lines that are not perhaps partioularly 
 pleasan-t. 
 
 Not that 'Mr. Arthur Wing Pinero's 
 latest, play is unpleasant— far froih It. It' 
 is a great play, But all tJie phiioeophy of 
 disillusion from Leopardi to Schopenhauer 
 is there, and to those ;who: view' the^the- 
 atre ipurely as a place of amusement, Vho 
 see it as the home of the musical cock- 
 tail or the Innocuous farce and? who do 
 not care for the mental stimulant, the' ad- 
 vice would be "don't." / 
 
 As a picture "Letty" will- not- meet with' 
 the approbation of fhose who do not care 
 tp 'have the muddy waters of life stirred 
 up too much. People who are,, not fond of 
 pulling -their souls up by the roots and 
 looking at /them will soowl a Wt and 
 shrug their /shoulders. For ■ a'bove'- all 
 things th-e new Plnero -playlsa- raw ■view 
 of life. ,-There ore lo1»' of unpleasant mo- 
 m.«nts ta.it, sonle Indee^ that are far' from 
 nice, and some that are almost nasty,' but 
 th« thing, that slaps you in th« face, rig'ht 
 and left, all the time, ia that It is— life. 
 
 And ,w!hy should we avoid life? A more 
 Important question, perhaps, is why do 
 we avoid facing It. 
 
 ,IPerha.p3 because we realize it Is not 
 
 3[0ia uaaM-^iaq, uoif:^s8nb * e; gpiRL 
 
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 •^wi MV!m\'fl tot ■atataijo, qunos 
 
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 upio-iuiJl-MitB JOiii— 'aTOa mj-M 
 
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 BlDf'W S9AJ.3 ttoiniMi 'ai-Bui a^mj, uo 3-113} -b 
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 .M. . ' ^i\^^. V i)U» aiitu sna: 
 
 is an In'^alld,- and pines for the co 
 that only a rlchSman can give her. I 
 on« of theim would" bo , decorated 1 
 EJtMoal Society.- . 
 
 When she learhs that Le tohmere i 
 ried she' claims that'he'ha/s mot playi 
 ■with her, and out of pique and' the 
 for a comforfable home agrees to 
 her employer, but his -vrulgarity c 
 tresses her that'she agrees to beooi 
 mistress of Litchmere. 
 
 AH this time' at her elbjj-w atan< 
 friend,, the Greek chorus of the plaiy 
 ing the song of virtue and 'bidding"! 
 member the wages of sin. 
 - Has It an^.eflfect? Not a Wt. G 
 philosophical syBtenis have never re) 
 any one but the maker of the syster 
 
 But fate Is kind, or unkind, to Lei 
 you choose to look at it),, and In th 
 wihen'.ia<he accepts - Letchhiejre word 
 that. Ms married sister has .run awa 
 a man, a<nd his rajitlngs and raving 
 the man's;crime and Ills lamentatror 
 his sister's downfall give .her an i 
 of the isea that she is embarking or 
 plunge loses its charm and she dec! 
 be respected rather tha,n loved. 
 
 ISiere's , where the play' jshould 
 ended. But out of defffl'ence to tha 
 cus tJiInjg, the BritiS;h conscience, t-h: 
 as Macaulay says, a spaam of \\T'tvi 
 every sj-ven years (the only itrue th 
 ever said by. the way); Mr. Piner^ 
 added an epilogue in which we see 
 mayried to' a risingr' photographer 
 Letohmere dying of consumption. 
 
 "Thanks.'- she says to him— than 
 tlie tuimfiUng down of the structure t 
 
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 'jttoJJ :'«l IlSJtt .S-EM-B SI- eOBJ, S\xo\i\ 
 ■B JO }J«|s aio ;rB- ssjoq, epis^no stll 
 
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 puo-«a<l s^JBvt usi' JSB3[ ?"© aq o% sjB' 
 jajl^BI 8H:t ■^1i^\ "ass sq, ItfJii II pa's 
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 Supuni ein mT'>»- «^™ ^•'l' P"^ ^lO** *t 
 Xts Bin tu-oaj ■pSJsin'B.S *q U'BO uon 
 Bji 05 SI! oiin ■» eoi3-i 3U0ipnj ibs i3 .loj 
 Sunifiei-s eil^i X^ 3I3UB em o;"Sti!.ii3ja, 
 
J.ondon Is Convulsed by "A Wife 
 
 ■Without- a Smile,*' Produced at 
 
 Wyndham's Theatre. 
 
 ITS TASTE DIVIDES CRITICS 
 
 New Comedy of Satire, Which Strikes -at; 
 &erythlng, Has Situations Which, 
 While Clever, Raise Question. 
 Vv^,\*k . \«^oVl^ 
 
 [BPECUIi CABLB TO THE! BBBAI^D.] 
 
 ^e Hebaud'b Buropean edition publishes 
 the fo'Ilo-winigr ti'acd Ita oorresfpcm^enit:— a 
 , Iiondon, frhtirBaaT.— "I am ionVlnpe| 
 that the Mstonr of RlppftglU's urip'rcjsper- 
 ous conjugal adventures furnlsilieB a tnii- 
 tive so unique, eo powerful, so ppQUOS'thsil 
 an Intelligent puibllo oantWft-«faH'"toileap to 
 
 it." • ' •"•: 
 
 These words, spoken with dileeolemnlty, 
 In the middle of the third act by the 
 «itupldest character on the stage, form the 
 keynote of Mr. Arthur W, Ptoero's now 
 'play, "A Wife Without a Smile," pro- 
 duced at Wyndham's Theatro'last night.; 
 
 The Dally M3aia says:— 
 
 "With , delicious humor Mr. JPlnero has-j 
 administered the most valuable^ tonic thai,i 
 the enervated British playgoer' could- pos-J 
 slbly assimilate." ., ; 
 
 I The Dally Newsi eaya:— 
 I "the evening was spent In hilarious 
 'laughter, some of -which wag not alto- 
 Igother tinocmneoted -vrtth a- 'risky' doll, 
 ' "Whatover else may lbs thought of Mr. 
 [Plnero's comed-y In disguise, It has at 
 least the dlstlncttlon o*-maWng«a'don, sua-' 
 Ipended by the neck, the oentre'Of dramatic 
 iinterest. In more tlvan>one altuation-Jt -was 
 I not an Jnnoioent doll by any means. In^ 
 I many ways that doU-ls'ithe index of mu«jl| 
 of- the fun of the piece. 1 
 
 \ "Seymour Rlpplnglll seeka to<.malco big 
 you'ng -wlf smile by ordering ■ a nounlbeiv 
 !of toys from. Iiondon. He Has allso, so 
 iirtrange are his Ideas of a joke, bored a 
 
Mterary man, anij' his wMe, ' I 
 
 Told by the Doll, | 
 
 "Wihen 'Weibtonmrsh is auppciBea „ to be' 
 writing ^ revlie-w It la. evident thaitiJie'ls 
 alttingr with Ills rwlfe on 'Miat oouch-Sjyfthe 
 'ffyira/tiona o« the aoll ' attawshecl to the 
 string. liater on In the play it serves asi 
 an inaex ■ehat Vivian Triood, a former aa-l 
 imteer of Mrs. Blpplng'Ui. is sitting on a,\ 
 sofa with her. It is a rather gratuitous! 
 piece of buaaness and certainly not in good! 
 taste, but it ■made ths audience hold its 
 sides 'with laughter." . 
 
 The Daily Telegraph says:— "It was a 
 datfcing: doll laiat did it. The ingenuity,! 
 jfaumor and tricky spirit whicli turned ev-| 
 erything Into ridicule; the brilliant lines 
 which convulsea the 'house— ^11 these should 
 have thei^r full meed'of praise, but it was 
 the danciftc: doll that won the trick." 
 Nothing? l<e£t tntoaclied. 
 
 Mr. ^ Pinero's glancing wit touched on 
 everything in turns— the Chantrey bequest, 
 thei jokes of judges, the sins of the re- 
 viewer and the critic, the recipe for writ- 
 ing the fashionable novel— nothing was, 
 sa«red to Mr. Pinero. He laughed atjiigh; 
 art. He said wilful words about impres-j 
 slonism and realism. He dared to niake! 
 oblique reflections on Scandinavian plays. 
 He spoke of the amateur craze for writing 
 the untechpieal drama and bringing raw, 
 bleeding chunks of humanity upon the 
 Stage. Every line flashed and scintillated 
 with some Tinloohed for drollery. 
 
 The play suggested In point of fact an 
 odd problem 'for the critic. Nobody could 
 for an instant doubt its cleverness or its 
 exceeding ingenuity. Both in incident and 
 treatment it was like 'all Mr. Pinero's 
 work, admirably put together, piece to 
 Iplece, angle to angle, square to square, like 
 ;the trickiest bit of elaborate mechanism. 
 
 \ ANOTiipn pmWRa '^succesK~ . 
 
 liOndon Critics Pi-onounce "His House In 
 Ordir" the Dramatist's Best Worls. 
 
 Special CabU Despatch to The Sun. 
 libNDoN, Feb. 1.— Arthur PifleiWs new 
 comedy, "His Souse in Order," ' wa^ pro- | 
 duoed to-night I at the St. James's Theatre, ; 
 and was an unqualified success. ' | 
 
 The critics; are enthusiastic over the '\ 
 i construction, dialogue and style of thei j 
 ' play, some of them deoJaring that it is j 
 ' Mr. Pinero's iinest achievement. The audi- 
 ence registered its appreciation by un- 
 stinted applause. George Alexander and | 
 Irene Vanbrugh played the leading parts,