Here it is, headed:
“MR. BOURCHIER’S REJOINDER
“When Mrs. Alec Tweedie a few days ago met Mr. Arthur Bourchier, who was wearing, of course, his fiery red dyed Henry VIII. beard, she exclaimed: ‘Why, I thought you were Bernard Shaw, with a swollen face!’ ‘What an impossible conception—Bernard Shaw with any part of his head swollen,’ replied the Garrick manager.”
Chaffing Mr. Bourchier about this a week or two later at a luncheon given by Mr. Somerset Maugham at the Carlton, I said:
“I really believe your beard is redder than ever.”
“Quite so,” he replied; “to-day is dye-day, Monday.”
“Oh, is it? I always thought it was wash-day?”
“With me it is dye-day, and every Monday morning I am steeped in henna,” he replied.
“Why did you start that beard?” I asked.
“Because, dear lady, when we began Henry VIII. it was winter, and I had not the pluck to face gumming on a beard for eight performances a week in the cold weather, tearing it off again, and shaving daily. I should have had no face left by now. It would have been raw meat. The only way was to grow a beard, and as the beard would come grey, the only way to master it was to dip it in the dye-pot.” And he laughed that merry chuckle which has become so familiar in his impersonation of bluff King Hal.