But Katherine held off with a strange new imperiousness that was not to be trifled with. “You came for your answer this evening, Dick, and I have it ready for you—the answer that will determine the future for us both beyond a question;” then she held herself a little straighter and spoke distinctly:
“I was married to Willis Shaw at three this afternoon.”
DRAMATIC FLASHES FROM LONDON & PARIS
By
ALAN DALE
Some plays in Paris. “Ces Messieurs” at the Gymnase, once prohibited by the Minister of Public Instruction, is unsatisfactory, but well acted. Little theaters, like the Berkeley Lyceum, immensely popular in Paris. In London one feels more at home because the dramatic atmosphere seems more wholesome. Alfred Sutro’s play at the Garrick, “The Walls of Jericho,” the most successful of the season. Other plays and some players
TWO distinct sets of impressions were carried away from the Paris season by two distinctly different individuals. One pure and conventional set was borne by that extremely nice and unsophisticated young man, the King of Spain; the other by that not-so-nice, more sophisticated, less-young person whose name appears at the head of this. We jostled each other—the little juvenile king and myself. He, poor young man, was taken by thoughtful people, who had his welfare at heart, to that over-advertised home of mediocrity, the Théâtre Français, and to a “gala” performance at the Opéra; I—well, I went where I liked. Not being a young king, it was not necessary that my impressions should run along conventional grooves.
The King of Spain saw what he could see anywhere, and would probably avoid seeing in his own country. I was able to select my own dramatic fodder. Possibly we were each equally glad when we had done our duty and were allowed to proceed. If the King of Spain rejoiced more than I did, then he must have been exceedingly exultant. We found the Paris season quite disordered and fatigued. The Grand Prix was in the air; open-air vaudeville was hurling defiance at the drama; Bernhardt and Réjane were packing themselves off to London; it was all very comfortless and noisy. I felt sorry for the little King of Spain, as I saw him bowling along the Rue de Rivoli bound for the Français. I was on my way to the Gymnase to see the new shocker called “Ces Messieurs.”