The sense of chill and disillusion was extremely disagreeable to him, and, by the time the scene was half-way through, he had almost ceased to watch her. Edward Wallace, who had seen her some two or three times in the part, was perfectly conscious of the change, and had been looking out for it.

'Not much to be said for her, I am afraid, when she comes to business,' he said to Kendal in a whisper, as the two leant against the door of the box. 'Where did she get those tiresome tricks she has, that see-saw intonation she puts on when she wants to be pathetic, and that absurd restlessness which spoils everything? It's a terrible pity. Sometimes I think I catch a gleam of some original power at the bottom, but there is such a lack of intelligence—in the artist's sense. It is a striking instance of how much and how little can be done without education.'

'It is curiously bad, certainly,' said Kendal, while the actress's denunciations of her lover were still ringing through the theatre. 'But look at the house! What folly it is ever to expect a great dramatic art in England. We have no sense for the rudiments of the thing. The French would no more tolerate such acting as this because of the beauty of the actress than they would judge a picture by its frame. However, if men like Forbes leave their judgment behind them, it's no wonder if commoner mortals follow suit.'

'There!' said Wallace, with a sigh of relief as the curtain fell on the first act, 'that's done with. There are two or three things in the second act that are beautiful. In her first appearance as the White Lady she is as wonderful as ever, but the third act is a nuisance—'

'No whispering there,' said Forbes, looking round upon them. 'Oh, I know what you're after, Edward, perfectly. I hear it all with one ear.'

'That,' said Wallace, moving up to him, 'is physically impossible. Don't be so pugnacious. We leave you the front of the box, and when we appear in your territory our mouths are closed. But in our own domain we claim the rights of free men.'

'Poor girl!' said Forbes, with a sigh. 'How she manages to tame London as she does is a marvel to me! If she were a shade less perfect and wonderful than she is, she would have been torn to pieces by you critics long ago. You have done your best as it is, only the public won't listen to you. Oh, don't suppose I don't see all that you see. The critical poison's in my veins just as it is in yours, but I hold it in check—it shan't master me. I will have my pleasure in spite of it, and when I come across anything in life that makes me feel, I will protect my feeling from it with all my might.'

'We are dumb,' said Kendal, with a smile; 'otherwise I would pedantically ask you to consider what are the feelings to which the dramatic art properly and legitimately appeals.'

'Oh, hang your dramatic art,' said Forbes, firing up; 'can't you take things simply and straightforwardly? She is there—she is doing her best for you—there isn't a movement or a look which isn't as glorious as that of a Diana come to earth, and you won't let it charm you and conquer you, because she isn't into the bargain as confoundedly clever as you are yourselves! Well, it's your loss, not hers.'

'My dear Mr. Forbes,' said Mrs. Stuart, with her little judicial peace-making air, 'we shall all go away contented. You will have had your sensation, they will have had their sense of superiority, and, as for me, I shall get the best of it all round. For, while you are here, I see Miss Bretherton with your eyes, and yet, as Edward will get hold of me on the way home, I shan't go to bed without having experienced all the joys of criticism! Oh! but now hush, and listen to this music. It is one of the best things in the evening, and we shall have the White Lady directly.'