The play was full of blood and replete with thunder, and we
truly enjoyed it, only Harley would not talk much between the acts.
He was unusually moody. After the play was over his tongue loosened,
however, and we went to the Players for a supper, and there he burst
forth into speech.
"If Marguerite Andrews had been the heroine of that play she'd have
seen that gun, and the audience would have had to go home inside of
ten minutes," he said. Later on he burst out with, "If my Miss
Andrews had been the heroine of that play, the man who falls over the
precipice in the second act would have been alive at this moment."
And finally he demanded: "Do you suppose a heroine like Marguerite
Andrews would have overlooked the comma on the postal card that woman
read in the third act, and so made the fourth act possible? Not she.
She's a woman with a mind. And yet they call that the latest London
realistic success! Realistic! These Londoners do not seem to
understand their own language. If that play was realism, what sort
of a nightmare do you suppose a romantic drama would be?"
"Well, maybe London women in real life haven't any minds," I said,
growing rather weary of the subject.
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