“‘Because it takes the least amount of stage preparation, that’s all. That reminds me to say that the reports you have heard about my gorgeous scenery, etc., you will find, I think, exaggerated. Our stage decorations are quite simple, and their beauty consists merely in their nice adjustment, and the scrupulous calculation of the effect produced by them on the audience.’
“Meanwhile Miss Terry’s maid had been very busy preparing tea and buttered toast for her mistress, taking out dainty little things for wear out of a big lockbasket. Being repeatedly asked if Miss Terry could not be seen a moment, the train meanwhile arrived in Chicago, and most of the other actors and actresses having got off, she made evasive answers. Suddenly, however, the door opened, and a very pretty lady looked briskly around. This, then, was Miss Ellen Terry! A beautiful woman, indeed! Lustrous eyes of rare azure; a profuseness of wavy blonde hair, long and of a luminous shade and silky texture; the form lithe, yet full, every motion of a natural supple grace. She was shaking hands with the ‘Daily News’ man, even while Mr. Copleston introduced him, and then scurried back into the dark depths of her room, where she continued wailing: ‘I’ve lost my luck! I’ve lost my luck,—my beautiful horseshoe brooch, which I wouldn’t have missed for the world!’ And maid and mistress went down on their knees, peering into every nook and cranny. While still thus employed: ‘You see, Miss Terry, the Chicago reporter is the first introduced to give you a hearty greeting to this city, and to hope you’ll like your stay here as well as I am sure Chicago will like to hold you within her walls.’
“‘Thanks! thanks!’ said Miss Terry, and then continued her search for that obstreperous brooch.
“‘And what do you think of America?’
“Miss Terry held up a round, well-shaped arm appealingly, and merely said. ‘No, no. You mustn’t try to interview me. I won’t stumble into that pitfall.’
“‘How do you like the American women, then?’
“‘Very nice and pretty they are,—those I’ve seen, at least. I think we must say, in this regard, what Lord Coleridge did: ‘They can’t be all so nice and pretty; I suppose I’ve only seen the nicest ones.’ And one thing I’ll tell you which I have not seen; I’ve never set eyes on any Daisy Millers.’
“‘Of course not,’ rejoined the reporter. ‘Who ever heard of or saw a Daisy Miller outside of a book? That’s a character you’ll only find in James’s novel,—not in America, Miss Terry.’
“And thus, still hunting for that unfortunate brooch, which she plaintively called her ‘lost luck,’ and so apparently a kind of voodoo or talisman, the reporter left her, momentarily feeling a ray out of the sun of her glorious eyes lighting up his departure. It was a little after eight o’clock then, and, while she soon after went by carriage to the Leland Hotel, Mr. Irving put up at the Grand Pacific, and was, two hours later, busily arranging things at Haverly’s Theatre.”